As I move through this spiritual awakening, I find myself questioning the meaning of friendship almost every day. I’ve noticed that as I change, my friends change too. I once believed that true friendships could weather any storm. But years ago, during my nervous breakdown—and even before, when my behavior became increasingly erratic—my friendships shifted.

People I had known for years seemed to disappear. At the time, I felt abandoned. But looking back, I wonder—did they leave me, or did I change so much that they no longer recognized me? Even in intimate relationships, friendship transforms during a spiritual awakening.

I am not the same person I was in 2020. I am certainly not the same person I was in 2016. My changes haven’t been just about age. I’ve walked through at least two dark nights of the soul.

In 2016, I was hospitalized after I had, quite literally, lost my mind. When I entered the hospital, they put me in a room with no handles and asked me to sit on the bed. I hadn’t yet accepted how much I had changed, or that others believed it was best to keep me in that kind of room. How had I gone from being an officer in the military—strutting around in my uniform, proud to carry the flag on my arm—to this? I had once vowed I would never become “a crazy,” yet here I was.

In that moment, I realized I wasn’t even my own friend anymore.

At the VA hospital, I was surrounded by others who, like me, had once worn the uniform with pride. Rank didn’t matter there. Some were homeless, some had families, and some had already lost so much. But for 10 days, we were bound by one shared truth: we had all been committed. These people—strangers just days before—became my friends. I wasn’t alone.

When I left the hospital, I had to relearn what friendship meant. Many of my old friends were gone—some because I had pushed them away, others because they had stepped back.

So I began to wonder: do friendships change because we change, or because other people change? I think it’s both.

Friendship, I’ve learned, is like the ocean—fluid, shifting, and alive. Sometimes the tide brings people back, sometimes it carries them away. We grow, we swell, we recede. With these changes come new connections.

Now, I believe people are meant to come and go from our lives because we’re constantly evolving. Those who remain for years are rare treasures—proof that you’ve both been able to grow, adapt, and change together.

In the darkest times, you truly see the value of friendship. But don’t carry guilt or shame for the ones you’ve lost. They served their purpose in your life, and now it’s time to welcome the new.

Change will always come. The gift is learning to greet it with open arms.