She introduced herself like many “healing-era” women do. Said all the right things. Used all the language of self-awareness and growth. Claimed she had “done the work,” was still doing the work, and wanted to guide others through theirs.
I believed her.
Until I saw who she really was, behind the lens of social media.
Anxious. Deeply insecure. Constantly spiraling. Terrified of being judged, yet obsessed with how she was perceived.
Afraid of being called a burden and yet still became one to everyone around her.
She would say things like,
“Sorry for being a burden... But can I... "
Then proceed to do exactly that. Again and again. Never learning. Never reflecting. Always justifying.
The Friendship That Moved Too Fast
We met through a mutual friend and clicked quickly, not in a grounded, mutual way, but in that trauma-bonded intensity people often confuse for connection.
Within a few months, I invited her on a trip with my best friend. Looking back now, the red flags were already waving, but I chose to overlook them.
One of the clearest early signs?
She sent me a long, emotional message saying she felt “left out” because I wasn’t as close to her as I was to my best friend of over 17 years.
Yes. 17 years. Compared to two months.
She genuinely believed she should be on equal footing, and felt hurt when she wasn’t. I had to explain, gently, that this kind of closeness takes time and shared history, not just intense conversation. But the fact I even had to explain that… should’ve told me everything.
Still, I reasoned it away. Because the trip has been booked anyway.
The Red Flags I Chose to Ignore
A week before we flew, I warned her not to push herself during climbing. She had a prior injury, and I reminded her to play it safe. She didn’t listen.
She sprained her ankle trying to climb a grade beyond her ability - just to prove something (?!)
The next day, we were meeting in town to shop for the trip. I took the train, as I knew that parking was expensive in town.
Then I get a passive-aggressive text from her:
“Why didn’t you drive today?"
Turns out, she assumed I’d be driving. Left her car at another mall (without asking) and expected me to fetch her back to it because of her injury.
And again, I swallowed my frustration. Played nice. Chose empathy. Told myself, maybe she’s just having a hard day.
But in reality? That was yet another moment where she created chaos… and then made it my responsibility to clean up after it.
When Her “Spiritual Growth” Was Just a Social Media Caption
One of the biggest highlights of our trip was supposed to be summiting Mt. Hallasan in Jeju: my idea.
I’d researched the trail, prepped the itinerary, and told both her and my best friend in advance what to expect. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was doable, as long as we trained and came prepared.
I did. My best friend did. She… did not.
She started the hike strong, even charging ahead of us, as if she had something to prove. But by the midway point, we caught up to her… and quickly saw the cracks
She was unfit. She hadn’t trained.
And for the next several hours, it was a constant loop of complaining, dramatic sighs, and declarations of how she wanted to give up.
At one point, she even said, completely seriously
"I wish a helicopter could just airlift me out of here."
Followed by:
"Ugh I wish I had a boyfriend to carry my backpack right now. I’m so tired."
Yes. While hiking up a literal mountain.
What should’ve been an 8-hour hike dragged into 10; not because we were physically unfit, but because I had to keep stopping. To wait for her. To listen to her spiral. To play emotional babysitter while she repeatedly declared she was “a burden” and begged to be left behind.
She kept complaining about how tired she was, how she couldn’t go on; as if I wasn’t dragging my own exhausted body up that mountain, ankle still healing from a fracture the doctor had only reluctantly cleared.
We were racing daylight. Even the elderly hikers ( some easily twice our age) had overtaken her before the park gates closed.
This wasn’t just a hike. It was psychological warfare. Every step tested not just my endurance, but my tolerance. For pain. For drama. For the kind of emotional chaos that turns a mountain into a minefield.
And even then, I chose to be kind. I kept motivating her. I wanted her to finish strong. And honestly, there was no point calling her out on her bullshit, not when my only goal was to get us down safely before the park closed. Survival first. Debrief later.
But here’s the kicker.
After the trip, she posted a deeply emotional caption on Instagram… About her spiritual transformation during the hike. About rising from the ashes. About how God gave her the strength to push through.
She credited none of the people who were actually there: who waited, encouraged, and carried her emotionally through that climb. (not that I care about the credit honestly)
It was like watching someone write fanfiction about a journey they didn’t actually live. Performative, exaggerated, and eerily void of any acknowledgment of the mess she created.
And That Was the Moment It All Clicked
That post was the turning point for me. Not because of what she said, but because of what she chose to leave out.
People who are truly growing don’t erase the hands that held them up. They don’t rewrite group experiences into solo sagas of spiritual rebirth. And they certainly don’t drain the people around them only to go online and brand themselves as “resilient.”
That hike made it crystal clear: This was not someone interested in real growth. She was interested in how growth could be branded.
And I was done being part of the performance.