Lately, I’ve been remembering difficult situations from high school and college that I thought I’d moved on from—as if they happened yesterday. My NVLD diagnosis has been making In junior year of high school, some people I thought were friends pretended to like me but played cruel pranks—like convincing me to kiss a guy I liked, only for him to reject me and then be mean, or putting water in my food, filming me spitting it out, and posting it on Snapchat. My guidance counselor found out partially through other students who were concerned about me being bullied, and luckily, I eventually found supportive friends—but those early wounds left a mark and didn’t ameliorate my trust issues I had from bullied bullied so badly I left public school after 7th grade.

College wasn’t easy either. My anxiety and depression worsened during that time, largely due to my inability to make friends and lack of sleep caused by my freshman-year roommate from hell. My mom tried really hard to be kind—insisting on making her a bed when she arrived late at night, jet-lagged, wanting to be “motherly” to someone she’d never met. But for this person, “friendship” meant people doing favors, giving her presents or money, without respecting boundaries. She even took my books without asking. I didn’t handle things well but these kind of situations reinforced the need for boundaries and compartmentalizing relationships so I don’t get taken advantage of. On top of that, I put immense pressure on myself in college, thinking every interaction had to lead to a friendship because society told me it was my last chance to find “my people.” That pressure sabotaged me, and my struggles to connect sometimes felt like a replay of high school—mean girls and their pranks—but I never ended up finding the right people. With those mean girls they preyed on me because I was vulnerable and desperate for company but were never really my fiends. I should have walked away much sooner. At least in college I didn’t settle for people who were bad news although I became a loner out of resignation.

Recently, I blocked a specific person from high school. My mom had thought we’d inevitably click and be the best of friends because we grew up close and were two of the few Americans at our international school. But she had a passive-aggressive, snarky disposition—mocking my interests, making nasty comments when I spoke Spanish to friends, and even making snide remarks about Venezuelans, knowing both my parents are Venezuelan. Seeing a silly mug she sent saying, “Will you be my bridesmaid?” through a mutual acquaintance’s Instagram story unexpectedly upset me. Blocking her wasn’t about bitterness—it was about protecting my peace.

On the positive side, my NVLD diagnosis report described me as a “bright, intelligent, kind young woman” who “presents as friendly, makes good eye contact,” with a good sense of humor and sensitivity to others. Those words remind me that my struggles don’t define me. I’m hoping to restart therapy soon now that I have insurance through work, and I’m learning to be gentler with myself.

I’m turning 27 soon, and although I’d hoped by now to have the college experience my parents had—finding lifelong friends, maybe even being married to the love of my life—I went through a lot of growing pains that still sting to this day. I still worry that potential friends will judge me for having struggled socially or for having NVLD, but I now understand anyone who rejects me for things I can’t control isn’t a friend worth having.

Even with the scars, I’m taking small steps forward. Today, I complimented a stranger on her bag at a bookstore, and we exchanged Instagram handles and numbers. At 18 or 19, I would’ve never dared that. I’m learning to trust myself, set boundaries, and make space for the people and experiences that truly serve me.

One year from today, I hope I’ll feel happier, less lonely, have more friends, and maybe even a loving partner. For now, I’m keeping my heart open, protecting my peace, and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel—even if it flickers sometimes.