I didn’t find my friendship circle until I hit my thirties

“I’ve stopped mistaking access for intimacy.”

Friendship, for me, arrived late, yet precisely on time. One night at a small table, passing dessert and stories, I realised I finally knew the feeling of being held by a circle, and it was ordinary and sure in a way I had never quite envisioned for myself.

I’d never been the girl with a big group. In high school, I had one person who knew everything and a crowd of ‘almosts’. At uni I could sit with anyone and still belong to no one. From the outside it didn’t look like loneliness – there were parties and numbers in my phone, but I had no anchor.

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For a long time I treated friendship like a test with quiet rules: be easy, say yes and soften your edges so you fit the scene. In my twenties, I went to things I didn’t want to go to, laughed at stories that landed flat and stayed long after the buzz wore off. I collected acquaintances like tote bags and still felt alone. What I needed first was a steadier self that could choose.

Eventually, my thirties arrived and I finally arrived with them. Work began to feel like mine, rather than something happening around me, and motherhood narrowed my time and clarified what I could give.

Somewhere between childcare drop-offs, late-night edits and small pockets of joy, a circle began to form. It wasn’t overly loud or methodically curated. It was people who pass the salt and the hard truth with the same type of kindness; the ones who make a small house feel big.

We’re often told that friendship is something you get right early, that you find your people in high school or week one of uni and coast from there. Some do, but many of us don’t, and by the time we know ourselves well enough to choose, most people already have their circles.

Of course, there have been plenty of misses along the way – group chats that were never opened, plans that faded, unanswered messages that stung more than they should have. Eventually, I tried something that felt small and huge at once, and wrote the simplest text I could manage to an acquaintance of mine: I would love to be friends.

She wrote ‘yes’ back, and later told me she too had been asking the universe for people who felt real and who would get her. We first met through work, trading briefs, ideas and voice notes, and that message is what tipped us from polite conversation into dinners, debriefs and the kind of calls that run long after the problem is solved.

I’ve stopped mistaking access for intimacy and noticed who wrote back in full sentences. I notice who remembers my child’s name and who asks follow-up questions. Care has tells, if you let yourself see them.

The circle that I’ve formed in my thirties is not big, but it is steady. A neighbour became a lifeline, a work friend stayed after the job ended, a mum from the park is now a midnight call, and a friend from years ago slid back in and fit. There’s my best friend, too. The one I met at uni and orbited for years around, before finding the middle in our late twenties. Her husband and kids are my family and mine are hers, and she knows my history and the version of me I’m still growing into.

Even inside this, I still doubt myself. I wonder if I’m too much, if I’m not giving enough back, if I text too often or disappear too easily. So we try to be deliberate. A Thursday text that asks, “need anything for the weekend?”. An unwritten rule that birthdays get fuss, even for the people who would never ask for it.

When I miss a beat, I try to name it and send the message that lives in my drafts: sorry I went quiet, life got loud, I am back. It sounds simple but it keeps the room warm and reminds me that friendship can hold small repairs as well as big feelings.

Not every friendship has lasted. Some belonged to versions of me that needed different things, and letting go was not dramatic, just a string of choices. A text I didn’t send, a coffee I stopped rescheduling, the realisation that something I had been carrying didn’t fit anymore. The space that opened made room for people who could meet me where I am now.

If you’re still looking for your people, know that you aren’t behind. You don’t need a crowd to be seen – you need a few people who remember quiet details. If you want a way in, begin small. Two people at your kitchen table, food that doesn’t ask for performance and a better question than ‘how are you?’. Notice who answers with their whole self and who you can breathe around.

I used to think friendship was a matching set. Now I think it’s a room where everyone brings their own shape and still fits. I have screenshots that make me feel calm, names my child says like they’re family and a kitchen table that has heard every kind of laugh.

These people didn’t arrive late. They arrived on time, when I could recognise them. The long way to a circle is still a way.

For more on adult friendships, try this.