The Quiet art of choosing your people

Gentle reminders for women who are tired of giving too much.

Not long ago, a dear friend told me she felt more alone sitting at a table full of people than she ever did at home by

herself. Her words stayed with me. I saw the heaviness in her eyes, the exhaustion of pouring herself out in places where she was never truly received.

And I thought—how many of us know this feeling too well?

There comes a season in a woman’s life when she realizes: not everyone is meant to walk with me. It is a quiet yet powerful awakening. We begin to see that connection is not measured by how many people surround us, but by how deeply we are seen by the few who matter.

For years, many of us have been the dependable ones—the steady one, the caretaker, the one who always shows up and checks in when others forget. We’ve been the listening ear, the problem-solver, the one who gives second, third, even fourth chances.

And yet, how often do we walk away from those interactions feeling drained instead of filled? How often do we silence our own needs for fear of seeming “too much” or “too sensitive”? How many times have we kept showing up in places that did not feel good, simply because we didn’t want to disappoint?

This is where exhaustion lives—not in the giving itself, but in giving where there is no reciprocity, no soft landing place for our own hearts and where we feel like we need to be a version of ourselves that is not truly who we are.

To “pick your people” is to honor the soft, intuitive part of yourself that whispers when something feels off. It is to choose presence over pretense, depth over surface, and alignment over obligation.

Your people are not the ones who make you shrink or second-guess your worth. They are the ones who leave you lighter, not heavier. With them, you don’t feel the need to explain your sensitivity—it is cherished, not criticized. They love the way your heart notices the small things, and they meet your softness with care, not impatience.

Within self healing circles, there has been some (or perhaps a lot) of focus on no being dependent on the validation from others, and to love yourself enough so that you don't really need anybody else - but the truth as I see it, we do need each other, and what other people sometimes think actually matters! We need to feel like we belong, we need community to support each other - as long as it's the right kind of people!

How Do We Choose the Right People?

Choosing your people is not about making a list of qualities or setting rigid expectations—it is something much more organic, more tender. It begins within.

To recognize the right people, we first have to recognize ourselves. To sit with our own company and learn what feels good, what feels draining, and what feels true. The clearer we become about our own rhythms, our values, and our boundaries, the easier it is to notice when a relationship aligns—or doesn’t.

The right people often feel like ease. There is no performance, no tightness in your chest, no pretending. You don’t have to dim your light or explain your sensitivity. Instead, you feel accepted in both your softness and your strength.

Choosing your people also means listening closely to your body. Our minds can justify almost anything, but our bodies rarely lie. Notice how you feel after you’ve spent time with someone—do you feel expanded, peaceful, quietly joyful? Or do you feel tense, small, and drained? This is your compass.

And perhaps most importantly: allow it to take time. The right people reveal themselves slowly. They show up not just in the big moments, but in the small consistencies—the gentle check-in, the shared laughter, the way they honor your boundaries without making you explain them twice.

When you choose your people from this place of self-knowing, there is no striving, no forcing. There is only recognition: Ah, here you are. You are safe for me. And I am safe for you.

When you know your people, life itself feels more gentle. You exhale. You return home to yourself. You discover that love, friendship, and connection are meant to feel nourishing, not draining. Not everyone is meant for you, and you are not meant for everyone else. My dear friend once told me "you could be the most beautiful and radiant rose in the garden, yet there are people who don´t even like roses...", I always keep that in mind.

But what if you’re reading this and thinking, I don’t know who my people are…

That’s okay. Truly. Many of us arrive at this realization with empty hands. Sometimes we have spent so many years tending to the wrong relationships that the right ones have yet to reveal themselves. It can feel lonely, even frightening, to imagine stepping away from what no longer serves you without knowing what comes next.

And perhaps the bare awareness of not knowing who your people are is a deeply meaningful realization itself, one that is enough.

Here’s the truth: emptiness is not failure. It’s a clearing. A sacred pause. The space in which something new, something truer, can take root.

If you find yourself here, be gentle. Choose to become your own person first—your own safe place, your own steady companion. Fill your days with rituals, creativity, and slowness that nourish you.

The right people are drawn to women who are living in their truth, women who no longer chase but instead shine quietly in their authenticity.

Loneliness will visit, yes. But loneliness is not permanent—it is a threshold. And walking through it with grace opens you to the kind of soul connections that feel like home when they finally arrive.

Honoring Your Energy

As we grow older, our energy becomes a resource we learn to guard with greater tenderness, because we know by now how much it costs us if we don't and that is simply not worth it. I have found this to be specifically true in motherhood, having small children not only depend on me but watch me and how I do things everyday, and part of protecting my children is protecting my own inner peace as a mother.

We no longer have the desire—or the need—to be everywhere, with everyone, saying yes to every invitation and every request. Slow living teaches us that our presence is precious.

To pick your people is to become intentional with where your presence goes. To notice which conversations feel like nourishment and which ones feel like noise. To trust the quiet pull of your intuition when it tells you, this person is not for me.

And to trust, just as much, the warmth in your chest when you realize: this person is safe, this person is mine.

This is the quiet art of slow living: to curate not just your surroundings, but also the souls you invite into your space. Because when you choose carefully, your circle becomes a sanctuary. A place where you can arrive unmasked, unhurried, and wholly yourself.

And there is no greater freedom than that.

✨ A few journaling questions for your heart:

• Who makes you feel most like yourself? (If you are unsure or feel like there are none specific, than that's a beautiful thing to simply become aware of)

• Who leaves you lighter after you’ve spent time together?

• Where in your life are you giving energy that never seems to return to you?

• What might shift if you let yourself step back from one-sided relationships?

• And—what would it feel like to become your own person first, before attracting others?

May you walk gently with yourself in this season of becoming.

May you honor the quiet spaces as much as the full ones.

May you hold yourself with compassion through the unseen pain

of shredding and letting go of what doesn't serve you.

And may you always find yourself surrounded, not by many, but by the right few—the ones who feel like sunlight on your skin - knowing deeply that it is enough.