By Bethany Theulen

I used to believe that true friendship and love came from being with someone who helped you feel better—someone who saw the good in you and didn’t have trouble expressing it. Looking back, I realize just how much I relied on external validation to feel like I was truly someone’s friend. I also see now how that mindset—of needing to be seen as good in order to feel worthy—left me powerless. That very belief system created the dark, aching loneliness that haunted much of my life.

Sure, true friends do see the good in you and acknowledge it. They laugh with you, cry with you, attend your wedding—all the “normal” friend stuff. But over the last two years, I’ve learned a different version of love and friendship, and it’s far messier than I thought. It’s not just about joy or connection when everything is going well. It’s about consistent vulnerability—on both sides.

Friendship is allowing yourself to be seen not just in your strength, but in your mess. It’s not hiding in the darkness, but naming the darkness and saying, “I need help. My light is out. Will you share yours?” It’s learning how to accept and receive compliments instead of deflecting them. And it’s being open to feedback that might sting—but is offered with love.

I’ve spent most of my life hiding in the dark. I was terrified of being truly seen. And in doing that, I unknowingly became the architect of my own loneliness. I didn’t know that when I began this journey of self-discovery—however hesitant and unintentional—it would lead me to create the space needed for the kind of connection I’d always longed for.

Nature abhors a vacuum. And once I started clearing out the junk in my head—old stories of unworthiness, self-loathing, and the belief that joy had to come from outside sources—that inner clearing created a new kind of spaciousness. A kind of “voided space” that the world seemed eager to help fill.

Now, I can look back and see the pattern so clearly: the more I cleared out, the more love, belonging, and friendship found me. Do I still struggle with being seen? Absolutely. Vulnerability is a practice, not a destination. Some days, the old fears still whisper. But now, I have emotional tools, hard-won strategies, and a community—an army, even—of people who show up. People who offer comfort, challenge, support, and sometimes a loving kick in the pants to get me back into the light when I start to fade.

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