My circle isn’t small because I’m hard to love — it’s small because I’ve learned to recognise what fake love really feels like. I’ve tasted the sting of shallow loyalty, of being remembered only when it’s convenient… and I’m no longer willing to pour into places that only take, never give.

I’ve noticed something sacred: real people — the kind who walk in truth, who speak with kindness and live with conviction — rarely have large crowds around them. The more true you are to yourself, the quieter your circle becomes. Not because you’ve shut people out, but because authenticity unsettles the performative. Most people prefer the version of you that blends in… not the one who dares to stand out.

Real ones don’t chase applause. They show up. They stay. They speak truth with tenderness and love without conditions. That kind of presence is rare. And it's not meant for just anyone.

So if your circle is small, don’t mourn it. Honour it. It means you’ve chosen depth over noise — truth over pretending. It means you’re not for everyone, only for those who truly see you.

Being real does come with a price. You may lose those who only loved your silence, your compliance, or your usefulness. But in letting them go, you gain peace. Wholeness. Rest. And that’s worth far more than holding on to what was never mutual.