When I was younger, I got accused of being a bad friend all of the time. I didn’t really get that, because to me, being a good friend was just promising to stick around. I didn’t know there was criteria.

My standards were kinda low as a kid. I’ve been realizing that lately. 

Because I wasn’t a huge fan of breaking rules (you try being the daughter of a single immigrant Ghanaian mother. Messing around is basically treason), I was a prick, or no fun.

I sucked at being a friend because secrets made me feel so guilty I’d start shaking. (They don’t anymore. I’d say I’ve got more secrets than I’d like to admit.)

Reading a room was also a pretty difficult ordeal for me, so when I missed a social cue or a hand gesture, I was a bad friend for not going along with whatever someone was trying to get me to do.

The crazy thing is that I’ve always approached being a good friend the same way—It’s just that now I’m surrounded by people that actually care that I exist.

I don’t think I had bad friends as a friend. They just weren’t really my friends to begin with. And I wasn’t theirs. And that’s okay!

I can safely say that now when I gush about cartoons, I’m not met with a chorus of groans, even if my sentiments aren’t shared. Our friendship isn’t transactional, or out of pity. They’re just my friends.

A lot of the time that burden of feeling like I would never get the kind of friendships you see between casts of characters on TV felt like a product of my failures.

But I was just a kid. They were also just kids. And sometimes wanting a friendship isn’t enough for it to be one.

Fourth grade Faith might have a stroke reading that, but senior Faith gets to laugh about it, and I’m pretty happy with that.