Not Everyone is Your Person: Lessons from Savannah

I call her a “witch friend” because that’s how we met—and, as it turns out, that’s mostly what we had in common.

And this trip made that very clear.

I recently spent four days in Savannah, Georgia with her, and what I thought would be a simple getaway turned into something else entirely—something that cracked open old patterns, challenged my assumptions, and forced me into some very real reflection.

Two very different lives...

She and I met through the New Witch’s Q&A Meetup Jayme and I hosted for years. We were both local, around the same age, and shared an interest in witchcraft, so naturally we connected.

But beyond that?

Our lives could not have been more different.

Her life followed a path of stability—career, marriage, family, structure. Mine… did not.

I was abandoned by both parents at a young age, pushed into the juvenile system at eleven, and spent my early years surviving more than living. My twenties were chaotic—poverty, addiction, raising kids in instability, and navigating a world I didn’t trust.

That kind of life wires you differently.

You learn to rely on yourself.
You learn to anticipate problems.
You learn that control equals safety.

At the time, I didn’t realize just how much that would show up on this trip.

Expectations (and Assumptions)

If I’m being honest, I didn’t even want to go.

I had my own preconceived ideas about the South—rooted in past experiences—and Savannah didn’t exactly top my list of dream destinations. I’m a homebody. I like my routines, my space, my comfort.

But I also knew I needed to get out of that comfort zone.

So I said yes.

And Savannah surprised me.

It was beautiful—tree-lined streets draped in Spanish moss, historic homes, blooming camellias. The people were kind, welcoming, and nothing like the narrow story I had been carrying.

That realization alone was humbling.

The First Signs

Looking back, there were small moments early on that, in hindsight, were clues.

The night before we left, she asked who was driving—even though we had already discussed it.

At the time, it just felt odd.

Now I see it differently.

It was the first moment where I could have stepped in, clarified, taken a more active role… and didn’t.

Instead, I stayed passive.

That mattered more than I realized.

When Old Wounds Get Touched

On the drive, we started talking about life—real life.

I shared parts of my story I don’t often talk about anymore—abandonment, addiction, my relationship with my parents.

And then something subtle but important happened.

She tried to help.

She offered suggestions—ways to heal the relationship with my mother, things I could explore spiritually.

But I wasn’t asking for help.

And I wasn’t open to it.

Instead of saying that clearly, I shut down.

And in that moment, I realized something uncomfortable:

I expect people to read what I don’t say.

That’s not fair. And it’s not effective.

A boundary unspoken is a boundary unmet.

Chaos, Control, and a Parking Garage

Then came the day that felt like everything unraveled.

Wrong tickets.
Navigation not working.
Getting lost—multiple times.
Walking in circles.
Losing the car in a parking garage.

At one point, we spent twenty minutes wandering around, following random car beeps, trying to find hers.

I could feel it building in my body—that tightness, that rising anxiety.

Because here’s the truth:

I don’t do well with feeling lost.

Not physically. Not emotionally.

When I don’t know where I am or what’s happening, something in me goes into overdrive. I need a plan. I need clarity. I need control.

And she?

She moved through it all with ease.

Go with the flow.
We’ll figure it out.
No big deal.

Neither of us was wrong.

But we were operating from completely different internal systems.

The Silence

By the end of the day, I was exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally.

Back in the hotel room, we were quiet.

Not peaceful quiet.

Heavy quiet.

The kind of silence that tells you something is off, even if no one says it out loud.

And I found myself asking a question I didn’t want to ask:

Is it me?

The Real Work

When I got home, I didn’t do what I usually do—call my daughters and talk it all out.

Instead, I sat with it.

For two days.

And that, in itself, was growth.

Because this time, I didn’t rush to assign blame or make meaning too quickly. I let myself process. I let myself feel uncomfortable. I let myself be curious instead of reactive.

And what I realized changed everything.

What I Learned

My life taught me to seek control because control once meant survival.

Her life taught her to trust the process because things had largely worked out.

Two completely valid ways of moving through the world.

But not always compatible.

This trip wasn’t a failure.

It was information.

It showed me:

• where I still grip for control
• where I avoid speaking my needs
• where I shut down instead of setting boundaries

And it also showed me something just as important:

Shared interests don’t equal alignment.

You can like someone.
You can respect someone.
You can enjoy parts of who they are.

And they still may not be your person.

The Truth I'm Taking With Me

Not every connection is meant to go deeper.

Not every friendship is meant to evolve.

And that doesn’t mean anything is wrong—with them or with you.

It just means you’re learning.

Learning your patterns.
Learning your needs.
Learning what actually feels good—and what doesn’t.

And that kind of awareness?

That’s where real growth lives.