There comes a point in your life when you realise you’ve simply outgrown certain people, and it’s not because of some dramatic fallout or some huge betrayal. It’s just that their energy doesn’t match yours anymore. It feels different, like you’re sitting in the same room but you’re living in a completely different world. I think the hardest part is recognising that what once felt like friendship now just feels like noise. You can’t laugh at the same jokes, you can’t care about the same drama, and you can’t keep pretending to be entertained by the shallow when your whole soul is craving depth.

Immaturity is one of those things that feeds itself. Immature people will validate each other, keep each other in the loop, and pass the same behaviour around until it becomes the norm. It’s like they all take turns stirring the pot and calling it connection, when really it’s just chaos disguised as friendship. Gossiping, competing with each other, playing games, making every conversation about who has the better story, the better outfit, the better attention. For a while, you don’t notice it – you just go along with it because it feels normal. But the second you step outside of it, you see how tiring it actually is. Their drama becomes recycled noise. Their behaviours don’t surprise you, they just drain you. You start wondering why you even gave it so much of your energy in the first place.

I sometimes think maybe I was just always an old soul. I’ve been told that more than once, that I’m ‘mature’ for my age, but I never really knew what that meant until I found myself bored in rooms where everyone else was having the time of their lives. It’s not that I think I’m better than anyone, because I’m not. It’s just that I don’t want to keep playing games with people, because I know how much it costs me emotionally. I don’t want to keep repeating the same conversations with people who are never going to grow. I don’t want to pretend shallow connections fulfil me when I know they don’t. So maybe that makes me boring in some people’s eyes. Or maybe it just makes me someone who values peace more than performance.

The funny thing about immaturity is that once you’ve outgrown it, it becomes impossible to ignore. You start seeing it everywhere, like a filter you can’t take off. It shows up in friendships where people can’t be present without tearing someone else down. It shows up in the way some people compete instead of connect. It shows up when people laugh off serious feelings because they don’t know how to handle depth. And when you see all that clearly, it’s like standing on the outside of a glass box. You can see everything going on inside, but you have no desire to step in. You just watch it play out and feel relief that you don’t live there anymore.

I used to think having lots of friends was the sign that you were doing life right. That a big group meant security, validation, a sense of belonging. But actually, I’ve never felt more drained than when I was surrounded by too many people who didn’t actually get me. It’s exhausting, because you’re not just managing your own energy – you’re constantly caught up in the noise of everyone else’s. At some point, you have to be honest with yourself: do I actually want this, or do I just want to be seen as someone who has this? That was a wake-up call for me. Because the truth is, I’d rather have a handful of people who get me than ten people who keep me stuck in cycles that don’t serve me. I’d rather be misunderstood by a crowd than manipulated by one.

Outgrowing people isn’t about arrogance. It’s not me saying I’m above them. It’s just me admitting we’re at different stages. Like, you can’t have a deep conversation with someone who only wants to skim the surface. You can’t expect support from someone who’s still too busy competing with you. You can’t build something solid with people who think friendships are built on pettiness and temporary highs. It’s not a matter of better or worse, it’s just a mismatch. And mismatches matter, because they chip away at you when you ignore them. They drain you more than you realise. I had to learn the hard way that it’s not worth the cost.

The best part about letting go of immature people is the freedom that comes with it. You stop needing to prove yourself. You stop waiting around for them to finally grow up. You stop holding onto this idea that maybe one day they’ll change. You don’t feel responsible for babysitting anyone’s growth anymore. You just let it go. And honestly, that’s the most peaceful decision I’ve ever made – choosing myself, choosing my own clarity, choosing not to carry connections that don’t grow. There’s nothing more draining than trying to water a plant that doesn’t want to grow roots. And that’s what immature friendships feel like.

If I could speak to my younger self, I’d tell her this: it’s okay to walk away. Not everyone is supposed to grow with you. Outgrowing people doesn’t mean you’re bitter, it means you’re self-aware. Protecting your peace is survival, not selfish. And yes, you might always feel like the old soul of the group, the one who craves something deeper than surface-level fun, but that doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you aligned with yourself. And the right people will see that as a strength, not a flaw.

I don’t hate the people I’ve outgrown, I don’t even wish them badly. If anything, I hope they’re happy. I hope they find people who fit their energy, people who can dance in that same cycle without feeling drained. But I also know that’s not me. I don’t belong in those loops anymore, and I don’t feel guilty for stepping away. If that makes me boring, too mature, too different? Fine, at least I’m free.

Because life is too short to keep shrinking yourself for friendships that aren’t growing. It’s too short to spend your energy in spaces where peace doesn’t live. It’s too short to stay small just to fit into someone else’s comfort zone. I’d rather be misunderstood, I’d rather be labelled the old soul, I’d rather be left out than lose myself in a crowd that was never meant for me. Outgrowing people is never easy, but sometimes it’s the most honest form of self-respect. And once you’ve felt that freedom, you’ll never want to go back.

— Lilly x