I’ve struggled for years with my very outgoing mom trying to force friendships on me that “looked good on paper,” even when the connection wasn’t there. Back in high school, there was a girl my mom really wanted me to be close to because we were two of the few American students at my international school and grew up just 15 minutes apart. To the adults around us, it looked like we were destined to be platonic soulmates. But I was baffled by this assumption—one, I didn’t attend an international school to hang out with Americans, and two, I’d had a very negative experience with people from the area where I grew up, so bad that I had to leave public school after 7th grade due to bullying. The girl and I were very different in personality and interests, and I never clicked with her. She would make racist and xenophobic comments about Venezuelans (knowing that both my parents are Venezuelan) and harassed my friends and me for speaking Spanish in public. Despite this, my mom insisted I “kill her with kindness,” even suggesting I tutor her in Spanish since “she was probably just frustrated with the class.” It felt less like friendship and more like being forced onto a playdate at age 17.
Later, in college, my mom again pushed me into situations that backfired. On move-in day my freshman year, she demanded that I “say hello to your neighbor,” a girl from Alaska who lived in the dorm next to mine. My mom had a long conversation with her mother and, based on her own experience where she instantly clicked with the first person who sat next to her in medical school and this interaction, naively assumed we would inevitably be platonic soulmates.This person from Alaska was a tomboy who liked fishing, camping, and hiking, whereas I was a “girly girl” from NY with immigrant parents who liked music, foreign movies, travel, and reading. On the other hand hand, with my mom’s medical school BFF they had a lot more common ground since they were from the same country, both medical students, and both devout Catholics. She even remembered the girl’s name because it was the same as a former babysitter of mine and interpreted that as a sign from the universe. My mom commented afterward about how “nice” this neighbor seemed since she got along well with her mom and hoped we’d become fast friends. However, trying to talk to this person was like pulling teeth and she was rather cold and rude. My roommate, however, turned out to be a devout Muslim from Pakistan with an arranged fiancé. The only thing we had in common was requesting an all-female dorm.
Living with this roommate was extremely difficult. She would take my things without asking, refuse to adapt to U.S. time, and insist “this is your country and your culture,” forcing me to adapt to her schedule rather than compromising. I was getting around four hours of sleep most nights, which affected my health, mood, and grades. On weekends, I often had to go home just to escape the stress, which hindered my ability to meet anyone on campus. Her fiancé would bombard me with messages on Facebook to check on her whereabouts—as if I were her babysitter—and I ultimately had to block him. My mom even insisted on making my roommate a bed because she felt bad that the “poor girl” was arriving alone and jetlagged.
Adding to the frustration, my RA during that first year—who was dismissive, unhelpful, and enabled my manipulative, Veruca Salt–like roommate—is now in jail facing serious charges abroad. She had been popular, outgoing, and “peaked” in college, yet she gaslighted me and left me without a safe space during a formative period of my life. Strangely, she even liked my LinkedIn post announcing my Master’s graduation back in May.
I’ve also recently been diagnosed with NVLD at age 26 (turning 27 in October), which has helped me understand why I’ve struggled socially. Since moving back home after completing my Master’s, I’ve been feeling isolated. Most of the people in my immediate environment are either significantly older or have young children, and I miss being surrounded by peers with similar life experiences. I have some close friends—one from childhood, one from middle school, a few from international school, and some I met while living abroad after college—but the scarcity of a consistent support system makes me feel lonely.
I’m really trying not to repeat the mistakes I made in college—going home on weekends or becoming cynical and withdrawn instead of actively seeking out people I might have had more in common with. I’ve started attending events in NYC where younger people gather, and I’m trying to approach social interactions with openness while keeping realistic expectations about friendship. I want to cultivate genuine, supportive, long-term connections, but I worry that people might judge me for being inexperienced in close friendships or for being neurodivergent. This is my biggest worry since I was judged by my peers in college despite adults telling me college student are more mature and accepting than middle schoolers or high schoolers.
How do I move forward and heal from lingering resentment—toward my mom, high school mean girls, unfriendly college classmates, my college roommate, and my RA—while also successfully finding and nurturing authentic, mutually supportive, close friendships for myself as an adult?