From Left Out to Chosen: How I Finally Found My People at 30

How years of rejection, silence, and starting over led me to the people who truly see me

It was two in the morning when I got the message from Ashe. One of those quiet, late-night texts that makes you sit up straight—not because of what it said exactly, but because of how it made you feel.

Here was someone I admired. Someone I had watched and respected from a distance. And now she was reaching out—not just to say “great job,” but to invite me in. That message led to a guest spot, which turned into trust, which turned into something I hadn’t felt in years: belonging.

But to understand why that message hit so deeply, you’d have to understand the path that came before it.

---

The Early Years: Trying to Belong

My first real friendship wasn’t with a classmate or a neighbor—it was with my cousin, Desiree. We were just a few months apart in age, but she always seemed so much cooler than me. More confident. More sure of herself. The kind of kid who just knew how to be liked.

And I wanted so badly to be liked by her.

I would’ve followed her anywhere if it meant being included. But the truth is, she didn’t want to be my friend. At least not in the way I hoped. She could be sharp, dismissive, and sometimes outright mean—but I kept showing up, thinking if I just tried harder, maybe she’d let me in.

That early lesson taught me—wrongly—that friendship was something you had to earn. That being chosen was a reward for being quiet, helpful, or agreeable. Still, I held onto hope. I believed real friendship had to exist. And for a while, it did.

---

The Best Friend Who Disappeared

Then came Becca.

We became best friends in sixth grade because we were the only two girls who chose to play trombone in band. It made us feel like a little team—two girls with big brass instruments and even bigger laughs.

Becca and I were inseparable for years. Through middle school and into high school, she was my person. We passed notes in class, hung out after school, shared everything. I thought she’d be in my life forever.

But by senior year, things started to shift.

I had fallen into an on-again off-again relationship with a younger guy. It was messy, but at the time, I convinced myself it was something. I had never really been seen as “the pretty girl,” and when someone finally showed interest, I clung to it—even when it didn’t feel good.

Becca started to pull away. Slowly at first. And then came the moment that broke everything.

We were getting ready for an after-school band rehearsal. Becca wasn’t there yet, and someone casually mentioned that she had just texted them to say she was on her way.

I froze. Texted? Becca wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone. It had always been this thing between us—how strict her parents were, how she was the last one without one. And now she had one... and never told me.

It seems so small, but in that moment, it felt massive. Like she'd stepped into a new version of her life and left me behind.

A few days later, things blew up. My boyfriend got into a physical fight with another kid in our section. Becca rushed in immediately—to the other kid. Checked on him. Comforted him. She didn’t even look at me.

We never had a fight. No confrontation. No explanation. She just stopped being my friend.

And that was the first time I realized how quietly someone could leave, and how loudly that silence could echo.

---

Almost, But Not Quite

When I got to college, I had learned how to blend in. I could be friendly, easy to talk to. I knew how to fit myself into whatever space I was in.

Freshman year, I had older roommates who took me under their wing. They made me feel included. But I was always the outsider. They were two years ahead of me, had already lived together, and two of them had been friends since high school. I appreciated them, but I never quite fit.

Sophomore year was better. I made friends who were my age, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had people. We stayed friends even after college—but slowly, things started to crack.

I began questioning things—politics, culture, the world around me. I had what you might call a red pill moment. I started seeing through a lot of what college had conditioned us to believe.

But my friends didn’t come with me. They stayed where we had started. And suddenly, the people I once felt aligned with now looked at me like a stranger. The space between us filled with tension we couldn’t bridge.

By senior year, I was placed with freshmen. I tried to be friendly, to connect—but they weren’t interested. I was older, focused on graduating, and they were just beginning. We were in totally different worlds.

Once again, I was alone.

---

The Group That Wasn’t Mine

After graduation, I kept trying. I moved to Georgia to be with Cam, my boyfriend to try to start over after college. I met Gina, and we clicked instantly. We were both Latinas and bonded over shared experiences. She made me feel seen, beautiful, included.

Through her, I met Dariean and the rest of their group. They were the kind of friends who were always doing something—drinking, partying, staying out late. It looked like fun, but I never quite felt at ease.

I have social anxiety, and drinking never really appealed to me. But I kept showing up, trying to belong.

Something always felt a little off, especially with Dariean. I tried to give her grace—she was going through her own hard transition out of college athletics—but her behavior made me feel uneasy, especially around my boyfriend.

I remember one night vividly—Gina’s birthday. We went shopping together for new outfits, and I picked something I felt amazing in. But when I got home and saw it was going to rain, I changed into something more comfortable.

That night, I was ignored. Dismissed. I felt like I was being talked about. And when a situation happened that crossed a line for me, I told a friend—not to stir drama, but because I thought it mattered.

But instead of listening, they shut me out. When I tried to talk about it, they said, “I’d rather not say.” And just like that, I was out again.

Dariean and I have talked since. On the surface, things are fine. But trust doesn’t come easy when you’ve been burned this many times. And in my heart, I know I can’t fully let her in.

---

Back Into the Quiet

So I pulled away. Again.

I focused on work, kept my head down, and stopped trying so hard to connect. And when COVID hit, the world around me finally matched how I already felt inside—quiet. Isolated. Alone.

I convinced myself maybe this was just the way life would be. Maybe I wasn’t meant for close friendship. Maybe it was better to stay guarded.

But somewhere inside me, I still hoped.

---

The Beginning of Everything New

Cam was a loyal Badlands Media fan. He watched the shows religiously. I’d half-listen from the background but didn’t think much of it… until he bought us tickets to the Great American Restoration Tour in Myrtle Beach, November 2024.

I didn’t know what to expect. But what I found blew me away.

People who believed what I believed. People who got it. People who didn’t just tolerate us—they embraced us. Total strangers became fast friends. We were invited in without hesitation.

For the first time in years, I felt completely accepted. No performance. No mask. Just… me.

After that, I was all in. I started creating memes, shifted my business to serve this growing movement, and poured myself into the community that had welcomed me so fully.

---

The Text That Changed Everything

GART Las Vegas happened in March 2025, and while we couldn’t attend in person, Cam and I watched every livestream from home. Even through the screen, the energy was electric.

The following weekend, I was invited on In the Doghouse with CallSignCujo to share my experience from a fan perspective. It was a fun guest spot—something I thought would come and go.

But that night, at 2AM, Ashe messaged me.

I won’t share the exact words, because they’re personal. But I will say this: she saw me. She believed in me. She invited me into something bigger.

---

Stepping In, Speaking Up

Then came GART Plymouth—May 1–4, 2025.

Just six months after meeting these people in person for the first time, Cam was stepping on stage as a first-time speaker and new Badlands host. I watched him from the audience, emotional and proud.

And during that same weekend, Ashe asked Christy and me to officially join her as co-hosts of Alphas Make Sandwiches.

It wasn’t just a cool opportunity. It was a turning point. A full-circle moment. A door flung wide open.

As I write this, it’s May 25, 2025. Just a few weeks since that weekend. A few months since that late-night message.

And somehow, in the span of half a year, I went from feeling forgotten… to feeling found.

The other day, I got added to a girls-only group chat with other Badlands ladies—and I almost cried. It was such a small thing, but for me? It was a full-circle moment. Not just being accepted, but being invited in. No chasing. No convincing. Just… belonging.

---

If You’re Still Waiting

If you’ve spent years wondering if you’ll ever find your people—keep going. They’re out there. And when you find them, you’ll realize: they weren’t late. They were right on time.

I’m not the same girl who begged to be chosen. I’m not the version of myself who accepted half-friendships or stayed quiet to avoid being pushed out.

Because now, I am chosen.

I’m seen. I’m heard. And I’m part of something real.

If you’ve spent years wondering if you’ll ever find your people—keep going. They’re out there. And when you find them, you’ll realize: they weren’t late. They were right on time.