You know that sinking feeling when you realize you’re not quite yourself with someone? Are you portraying a character you don’t like?
A three year relationship turned me into someone I barely recognized. It started thin. I would make sarcastic comments, which I usually wouldn’t. I would gossip more. I would consider myself small in things that are not important. Around this person, my worst qualities became stronger, and my best qualities faded into the background.
The weird part? I knew it was happening. Every time I left their company, I felt this uneasy residue, like I needed a shower for my soul. But I stayed. For three full years.
Looking back, I realize that most of us have been there. We all have that one person who puts out a version we’re not proud of. Maybe it was a friend who indulged in drama, a partner who fed your insecurities, or a colleague who turned every conversation into a competition.
The real question is not whether you have such a person in your life. That’s why you stayed as long as you did.
Familiar dysfunction comfort
Something that occurred to me when I first learned this: our brains don’t really care if a relationship is healthy or not. They care if they are familiar or not.
Mark Travers, Ph.D.a psychologist puts it perfectly: “The nervous system classifies things as ‘known’ or ‘unknown’ rather than ‘healthy’ or ‘unhealthy’.”
That explains a lot, doesn’t it? Why do we stay in relationships that turn off our lights? Why do we keep showing up for people who bring out our smallest, most uncomfortable, or most bitter selves? Our nervous system has mapped dysfunction as a well-worn path, and while that path leads nowhere, at least we know where it leads.
I remember thinking I could make a difference. If I just worked harder, communicated better, or gave more time, the dynamic would change. But here’s what I’ve learned: when someone constantly brings out the worst in you, it’s not a communication problem. This is a compatibility issue.
Slow erosion that you don’t feel
What makes it worse around one is that it rarely happens overnight. It is more like erosion. So slowly, you don’t notice until one day you look in the mirror and see who you are.
In my case, it started with small compromises. I would laugh at jokes that were bad even if they weren’t funny. I would engage in conversations that made me feel empty. I find myself complaining more, judging more, caring less about the things that are important to me.
Back in my warehouse days, struggling with anxiety and taking breaks to read about Buddhism on my phone, I came across a concept that struck me like a bolt of lightning: you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. If one of those people is constantly bringing out your shadows instead of your light, that’s 20% of your influence pulling you in the wrong direction.
Think about that for a second. A fifth of your social influence can make you a worse person. Most of us accept this as the price of keeping the peace or avoiding change.
Why do we stay so long?
So why do we do it? Why do we stay in relationships that clearly do not serve us?
Sometimes it’s scary. Fear of being alone, fear of confrontation, fear of hurting someone’s feelings. Sometimes he is guilty. Maybe they’ve been there for you in the past, or you share a history, or you feel responsible for their happiness in some way.
But often it’s something more insidious: we start to believe that this little version of ourselves is who we really are. When you spend enough time being your worst self with someone, you start to forget that you are a better self.
I wrote a lot in my book, “Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How to Live with Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego” about the importance of surrounding yourself with people who lift your consciousness instead of drag it down. But knowing it intellectually and acting emotionally are very different things.
A moment of clarity
The wake-up call for me came during a meditation session. I was doing loving kindness meditation, sending good wishes to various people in my life, and when I reached that person, I felt nothing. Not anger, not malice, just emptiness.
That’s when I realized that relationships didn’t make me worse; it made me numb. I became so attuned to the dysfunction that I lost touch with my own emotional compass.
The decision to leave was not dramatic. There was no big fight, no ultimatum. I just started creating distance. Less time together, less shared activities, gradual boundaries that become stronger over time.
To my surprise, I started to feel like myself again. Within weeks, friends commented that I looked lighter, more like my old self. The sarcasm subsided, the judgment softened, and slowly the person I really liked began to resurface.
Recognizing the red flags
In retrospect, the signs were clear. Here’s what I wish I’d noticed sooner:
Feeling tired after spending time with them, they have drained something vital from you. The way you find yourself doing or saying things you would never do around others. How would you make excuses for behavior that you would not accept from others.
There is also a mirror test. When you look at this person, do you see qualities that you admire and want to cultivate in yourself? Or do you see traits that bother you, behaviors that you hope you never embody? If it’s the latter, watch out. We often become what we are continuously exposed to.
The gossip factor is another big one. If most of your conversations revolve around talking negatively about others, that’s a glaring red flag. Healthy relationships build you up; they are not bound to tear others down.
Courage to choose better
What I know now is what I wish I knew then: leaving a relationship that made you worse is not giving up. It is growing.
It takes courage to admit that someone you care about isn’t good for you. Acting on this knowledge takes more courage. But the alternative—staying in a dynamic that slowly erodes your best qualities—is a form of self-abnegation that cannot be justified by any loyalty.
I’m not saying cut everyone out of your life at the first sign of conflict. Relationships are complicated and we all have bad days. But when bad days become the norm, when you constantly feel bad about yourself around someone, when you find yourself becoming someone you don’t want to be – it’s time to reevaluate.
Last words
We all deserve relationships that bring out our best, not our worst. Relationships that inspire growth, not regression. Not the ones who choose us in the shadows, but the people who see our light and help it shine brighter.
If you’re reading this and thinking about someone who makes you feel less than your best self, know that you’re not choosing yourself. It’s okay to want better. It’s okay to walk away from people who put out versions of you that you’re not proud of.
The person you surround yourself with is important. And you have more control over it than you think. Sometimes the greatest act of self-love is letting go of relationships that demand you to be less than you are.
You don’t have to stay in any relationship that constantly brings out the worst in you. Your only obligation is to respect the person you want to be. And sometimes, that means saying goodbye to people who don’t see or support that person.
The truth is, everyone has had someone who screwed them up a little. But not everyone has the wisdom to leave. And even fewer have the courage to leave without staying too long.
Don’t be too human. Choose to be better. Choose to surround yourself with people who celebrate rather than stunt your growth. Your future self will thank you.
