The Roles We Play In Old Friendships

I came across a podcast recently that was exploring the dynamics we hold with old friends. How special it is to have people in your life who share your history—the ones who knew you before your prefrontal cortex was fully developed. Who’ve been inside your childhood home. Who remember the person you said you’d never become, and the person you always hoped you would.

There’s a comfort in these relationships that’s hard to replicate. A deep knowing that doesn’t need to be explained. Being with them can feel like coming home, or taking a big exhale.

But like most good things, there’s a flip side. One that got me thinking. We also tend to regress in old friendships. We fall back into familiar patterns and roles that were shaped long ago—ones that might no longer fit, but still feel oddly hard to shake.

There’s a subtle teetering between being placed in a box and being afraid to step out of it. Because stepping out means risking something. Will you still be accepted? Will they understand the version of you that’s been growing quietly in the background? And maybe even more unsettling—what if you realize you’re no longer as compatible as you once were? Would you even be friends if you met today?

While that history matters, it doesn’t always stretch far enough to hold who we’ve become. Sometimes we can carry shame around who we once were, that reflects back at us as soon as we sit down with an old friend. Like muscle memory, we may find ourselves becoming smaller or louder, more competitive, less mature, more irritable, less patient. Stepping into a version of ourselves we thought we’d grown out of. 

And yet, even with all this, many of us hold onto these friendships. Not just out of loyalty, but because they represent something hard to name—something tied to identity, belonging, memory. There’s love there, and comfort, and maybe also a quiet ache. Like being known and unknown at the same time.

Reflect

What role do I play in my oldest friendships?

Do I still recognize that version of me?

Are there ways I shrink or stretch myself to fit into a role I’ve outgrown?

Can I hold both the comforts and limits of these friendships?