I want to tell you something I’ve learned over the years — slowly, sometimes painfully, and not without moments of doubt: having fewer female friends isn’t a flaw. It doesn’t mean you’re unlikable, cold, or missing out. It means you’re selective. It means you’re intentional. And, most importantly, it means you’re protecting your energy and your wellbeing.

I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years. Some drifted naturally, as life pulled us in different directions. Others I consciously let go of because the connection no longer felt nourishing. There were periods when connecting with women at all felt almost impossible — when jealousy, miscommunication, or just the rhythms of life made it feel safer to keep people at arm’s length.

For a long time, I worried about this. I thought a small circle meant loneliness. I thought it meant I was doing something wrong. I watched other people effortlessly maintain large networks, while I struggled to keep even a handful of meaningful connections alive. I questioned myself: am I too picky? Too hard to please? Too different?

But over time, I realised something crucial: the number of friends doesn’t measure the richness of your life — the depth does. A smaller circle allows you to invest fully in the people who matter. It gives you space to breathe, to grow, to be yourself without compromise. It teaches you to cherish the friendships that are real, that are healthy, that remind you why female connection — when it exists — can be extraordinary.

I’ve come to see that losing friends isn’t failure. Drifting apart isn’t betrayal. It’s just life. And those gaps, those spaces, those periods when connecting felt impossible, taught me something important: the friendships that survive — the ones that feel effortless, full of trust, laughter, and honesty — are the ones worth keeping.

There’s a freedom in having fewer friends, too. You learn to care less about social performance, less about obligation, less about the pressure to fit in or meet expectations. You focus on quality over quantity. You learn to recognise when a friendship is nourishing, and when it’s quietly draining you. You learn that your time, your attention, and your emotional labour are valuable, and they deserve to be respected.

Sometimes, I look at my circle now — small, tightly knit, chosen with care — and I feel a sense of relief, even pride. I don’t have a hundred friends, and that’s okay. I have the friends who lift me up, who celebrate without envy, who hold space without judgement, who make me feel seen without asking me to perform. Those are the people worth my energy.

And here’s the truth: having a small circle doesn’t mean you’re lonely. It doesn’t mean you’re missing out. It means that the relationships you do have — and the ones you choose to cultivate — are precious, rare, and worth every ounce of care. It means that you are intentional, that you are protecting your energy, that you are honouring yourself enough to surround yourself with people who truly belong in your world.

It took me a long time to stop seeing a small circle as a failure. It took years to trust that my friendships didn’t need to be numerous to be meaningful. But now, when I think of the women I am closest to, I see how rare and beautiful these connections are. I see how they make me feel safe, seen, and fully alive. And I see that having fewer friends, if they are the right ones, is not a deficit — it’s a gift.

You are not lacking because your circle is small. You are rich because it is real. You are intentional. You are protected. And you are learning — slowly, beautifully — that sometimes less is more.