Sensitive content
What’s been on my mind is how we respond when someone we care deeply about chooses to sit at tables, or stay in rooms, where we are not welcome.
I don’t think there’s one universally right answer. Context matters. Capacity matters. History matters.
That said, Tito and I were talking about this last week, and I asked him a simple question:
“If you were invited to a party but told I wasn’t welcome, what would you do?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I wouldn’t go.”
I asked why.
“Because we’re a team.”
That answer made me love him more.
I’ve come to understand loyalty less as a grand gesture and more as a pattern of choices.
Loyalty is what happens when someone realizes you’re not welcome somewhere—and they feel that exclusion as misaligned with their values. Not because they’re told to, not out of obligation, but because proximity to you matters more than access to the room.
That doesn’t make anyone else wrong. But it does tell me who I can build closely with.
Earlier this year, I found myself in several situations where people didn’t mind if close friends of mine were around—but there were others in the room who were uncomfortable with me, didn’t trust me, or simply didn’t like me. I watched who stayed anyway.
And I realized something uncomfortable: I couldn’t think of those friendships in the same way afterward. (1/3)
Rosalyn Anne
in reply to Rosalyn Anne • • •Sensitive content
That doesn’t mean I stopped caring. It doesn’t mean they didn’t care about me. But it did clarify something important. There are people in my life who wouldn’t stay in a room where I wasn’t welcome. And that represents a level of loyalty I’ve learned I need—and deserve—in my closest relationships.
If someone doesn’t know or love me enough to feel moved to leave a space when they realize I’m excluded, that’s okay. Truly. But it tells me where we stand.
Because when people spend time around others who don’t like us, they begin—often without realizing it—to see us through those lenses. Resentment, distrust, and unspoken narratives bleed into perception. That’s why I choose, deliberately, to stay out of rooms where people are constantly speaking negatively about others. I’ve learned that it costs too much. That’s a personal boundary, not a moral judgment.
Earlier this year, I fell into a bout of depression when I realized I was prioritizing certain friendships more than I was being prioritized in return. But rather than let those thoughts fester, I shifted my focus.
I thought about who spoke up for me when I wasn’t there.
Who warned me when they could have stayed silent.
Who opened their homes.
Who gave their time—hours, days—without keeping score.
And I remembered: I am deeply cared for.
Care just doesn’t always come from the places we expect. (2/3)
Rosalyn Anne
in reply to Rosalyn Anne • • •Sensitive content
Not everyone has the emotional bandwidth to show care in the same way. Some people are overwhelmed. Some are stretched thin. And still—people make time for what matters most to them.
At the end of the day, I trust my gut.
If something feels right, I go with it.
If it doesn’t, I don’t. (3/3)