The message lit up my phone.

“Hey! Want to grab a coffee?”

I felt the conflict: the pull of wanting to connect, but knowing that I wouldn’t actually enjoy spending time with this person.

I didn’t want to go.

I knew exactly how it would play out. I’d sit in a cafe listening to the latest drama with her boyfriend, over a drink I don’t even drink. I’d listen to her complaints about not finding a higher-paying job, even though she had no interest in improving her skills, or her dream of finding someone to provide for her so she wouldn’t have to work.

I’d heard it all before.

But I typed back anyway: “Hey! Yes, sure. Let’s do it.”

And so, there I was again. Sitting across from her, asking myself, “Why am I here again?”

I knew the answer.

Loneliness. Limited choices. People-pleasing dressed up as friendship. The discomfort of saying no.

Later that evening, I said to my boyfriend: “I don’t want to be around her. I don’t know why I keep saying yes.”

He looked at me gently, “Then why do you?”

I didn’t have a good answer.

The inheritance we don’t question

Maybe you’ve been here too. Saying yes when you really mean no. Giving your time to people who want you to carry their problems, rather than own their choices.

This is what happens when we settle for whoever is around. We accept the friends from school who stuck around, the colleagues who became our social circle because they were there.

It’s not that these people are wrong. It’s that they were never really chosen. They were just available and convenient.

Looking back, I see the pattern so clearly. Not just in friendships or community, but in every aspect of life. My relationships were built on proximity, not values. I was maintaining the familiar simply because it was familiar.

The thing about defaulting to the people who’ve always been there, is that you don’t have to admit that you’ve outgrown them. You don’t have to put yourself out there.

But comfort has a cost. It keeps you surrounded by people who reinforce the identity you’re trying to leave behind.

Starting from nothing

When I arrived in Lisbon almost 6 years ago, I didn’t know a single person.

I moved into an apartment with six bedrooms and eight people living there. These people became my closest friends because we were locked in the same space together during COVID.

My work colleagues were nice enough, but I never really saw them as friends. I’d go out for drinks after work because it seemed like good form to connect with your colleagues.

So by default, I had two communities: housemates and colleagues.

People I didn’t choose, but that someone else had haphazardly chosen for me based on an interview. I was building a community around whoever happened to be available.

When I left my job and took a sabbatical, everything started to shift. Suddenly, I had no structure. No routine. No professional identity. The future felt completely uncertain.

I’d grown up believing that financial security was what one must aim for in life. My parents never had it growing up, so they taught me not to take risks. Leaving a stable job felt like stepping off a cliff.

What I didn’t know then was that this sabbatical year would become the single most powerful thing to happen to me in the past six years.

It forced me to re-evaluate everything: who I was, what I wanted, how I was living. And for the first time, who I was choosing to spend time with.

Finding people through intention

During that sabbatical year, ashtanga yoga increasingly became an important part of my life and I felt a calling to practice more, go deeper, learn more.

I started meeting people through this practice. We were united by more than proximity. We shared interests and these people were asking similar questions as I was. My community started to feel closer to who I was becoming.

There’s something about the ashtanga practice which weeds out the faint of heart. It’s a difficult and strict practice. You can tell who is there for spiritual depth and who is there for the ego inflation.

These were people who had chosen this path intentionally, not stumbled into it by default. They were definitely not there because it was convenient. They were there because they’d made a deliberate choice to show up, even when it was hard.

Two years earlier, when I’d left my job at Deloitte, most people looked on my decision with pity. I could see it in their eyes. “So what are you going to do next? What’s your plan?”

Shortly after, I went to a yoga retreat. I remember telling the group why I was there: I had left my job. I didn’t know what I was going to do next. But I knew that environment wasn’t for me.

The yoga teacher congratulated me.

For the first time in my life, someone didn’t look down on this counterintuitive decision. She actually celebrated it.

That’s when I started to understand the difference between communities built on proximity and communities built on values.

Creating spaces for connection

Fast forward a year, I moved to Ericeira. For a brief moment, this place felt like it could be home.

I was starting to understand what an intentional community felt like. I knew what I was searching for. Which made the reality of Ericeira more frustrating.

Ericeira is the Byron Bay of Europe. The surf and yoga lifestyle is undeniably beautiful. But beneath the surface, something felt off.

There are two types of yoga people here. The first group charges crystals under full moons, while the second group treats yoga like a performance. These weren’t the kind of people I’d connected with during my sabbatical.

Then there was the transience. I’d meet people, start to feel like I belonged. Then they’d move on. Ericeira felt transient in a way that left me constantly starting over. I was tired of building friendships that had expiration dates.

I started to resent this place because I couldn’t find my people: the ones with ambition but not on the treadmill of achievement. The ones who are intentional but not untethered and performatively spiritual.

My boyfriend and I started travelling, searching for somewhere that might feel right. Eventually, we moved to Bilbao.

I was still looking for the right place. What I didn’t realise was that I needed the right people.

In Bilbao, I started hosting meetups. For a year, I brought women together. I learned that I could create community, that I didn’t have to wait for it to appear.

But I was surrounded by people in conventional careers. None of them were questioning whether the traditional route was even what they wanted. They weren’t expansive in the way I needed the people around me to be.

I had learned to create spaces for connection. I just hadn’t yet found the people I was meant to connect with.

Choosing differently

When I moved back to Ericeira this year, I joined a female founders breakfast.

Walking into that for first time, I felt like I didn’t belong. Everyone else seemed further ahead. I was ashamed about being right at the beginning of my journey. Admitting I was starting from scratch felt exposing.

The format was simple: each woman had a few minutes to share her business journey. The invitation from the hosts was to share vulnerably.

There was something really special about the way the hosts held that space. This wasn’t a place to perform. It was a place to unmask.

Slowly, I started sharing more truthfully about where I was. I realised everyone else had felt the same way I did. We were all figuring it out. We were all learning and growing.

Within a few months of attending those breakfasts, I was given the opportunity to host. I took the leap, even though I felt like total impostor. It grew my confidence. My self-belief. My sense of belonging.

This was connection built on vulnerability and shared values of growth, authenticity and sisterhood.

And I think that’s what the right community does. It doesn’t keep you comfortable. It expands what you think is possible for yourself and invites you into truth-telling.

The people who shape you

The people you surround yourself with either keep you where you are or show you what else is possible.

When we feel stuck, we need new examples of how to live. We need people who’ve walked a similar path and survived. We need to see that the thing we’re terrified of doing is not only possible but worth it.

You can select who those people are. But it requires choosing and not settling for relationships built on convenience or loneliness.

I can say now that I genuinely enjoy the small company I keep. These relationships weren’t handed to me. I sought them out.

This past weekend, I launched a community I’ve been building. A space for women who are creating something of their own, who want to be surrounded by others on a similar path.

I’m excited about the women who will gather. About the conversations we’ll have and the possibilities we’ll open up for each other.

How to find your people

If you’re in the in-between space right now, here are some practical steps for building the community you need:

Audit your current circle

Ask yourself: are these people I chose, or people I settled for? Do they expand my sense of what’s possible, or keep me playing small? This isn’t about cutting people off. It’s about noticing the expanders in your social circle.

Get clear on who you’re becoming

You can’t find your people if you don’t know who you’re looking for. What values matter to you now? What kind of conversations do you crave? What version of yourself do you want to be around others?

Follow your curiosity

Join a class. Attend a workshop. Show up to an event. The people you’re looking for are asking the same questions you are. Go where those questions are being explored.

Make the first move

Post in a group. Reach out to someone whose work resonates. Most people are waiting for someone else to be brave first. Be that person.

Create the space you wish existed

If you can’t find the community you’re looking for, build it. Host a dinner. Start a meetup. Gather people around a shared interest. You don’t need to know what you’re doing. You just need to show up.

Give it time

Deep friendships don’t form overnight. Keep investing in the people who expand you. Consistency builds trust. Trust builds connection.

Who are you choosing?

The life you’re living right now was shaped by the people around you. The conversations you’ve had. The examples you’ve seen. The possibilities you’ve witnessed.

If you want a different life, you need different people around you. Not because the people in your life are wrong. But because you likely never really chose them in the first place.

The in-between space is uncomfortable. It’s lonely. But it’s also where you get to decide who walks beside you next.

The people you’re looking for are out there. They’re waiting for someone to gather them. That someone could be you.

About Work Worth Doing

Work Worth Doing is a space for people who’ve outgrown a professional career they’ve spent years building, and aren’t sure about what comes next. You’ll find essays on identity, purpose and finding fulfilment outside of work too.

I work 1:1 with people transitioning from a professional career into meaningful work. To learn more about how coaching can support you, book a consultation or learn more below.