Loyalty and Codependency
When people talk about toxic relationships, they usually mean romantic ones. But my first experience of relational harm came much earlier — through my childhood best friend. We’ll call her Lizzy.
We met in elementary school. Lizzy was confident, magnetic, and naturally in charge. Being close to her made me feel chosen. From the beginning, the friendship had a hierarchy I didn’t yet know how to question. Loyalty meant following. Discomfort meant staying quiet.
As kids, she tested me in ways I didn’t have language for — hurting me emotionally and physically, watching to see how much I would tolerate. I learned quickly to deny my pain. Endurance became the price of closeness.
By our teenage years, the stakes were higher. She was using drugs and pulling me into situations that weren’t safe. I often felt afraid, and some terrible things happened, but it didn’t feel right abandoning her. I felt trapped by the role I’d been in for years — the loyal one, the constant, the one who stayed no matter what.
I did try to speak up once. I wrote her a letter in 2015 — a kind of intervention — carefully naming my concerns for her wellbeing. But I never fully read it to her. Confronting Lizzy was never an easy, painless task. She’ll grow out of it, I thought. She’ll notice when I’m not around as much.
She didn’t. Lizzy was always going to look out for herself; she never needed me.
Recognizing the Pattern
Even as young adults, with college separating us for most of the year, the pattern persisted. The situations she put me in were never safe, only familiar. After one more dangerous night—when I finally saw how much I had been enduring just to make sure she was safe—I couldn’t ignore it anymore. She didn’t check in on me to see if I got home okay when I had no ride home. She didn’t apologize for what she dragged me into. I knew I was finished, yet the depth of our history kept me from naming the truth to her.
“We’re both in different places in life and have different interests,” I told her once over text.
Looking back now, I can see how deeply codependency was woven into that friendship. I learned to take responsibility for someone else’s behavior. I learned to minimize danger. I learned that closeness required self-abandonment.
That friendship didn’t just hurt — it trained me. It became the blueprint for later relationships where I mistook familiarity for safety and loyalty for love.
Years later, after I had done a lot of healing from what my therapist called “my first abusive relationship,” Lizzy reached out again. I had already stuck to my distance policy, though I continued to wish her well — congratulating her on graduating her school program, acknowledging birthdays, hoping the best from afar. When she messaged me talking about how close we once were, I prayed about it. Maybe she’s clean, I thought. I wanted to be open. I wanted to believe things could be different.
But as we talked, it became clear that it was the same dynamic. The same patterns. The same Lizzy.
Choosing Boundaries and Faith
I chose not to waste either of our time. I shared my hesitation about restarting the friendship, naming the years of unsafe situations — carefully, gently, still sparing her feelings. Her response was immediate and harsh. She accused me of judging her.
But honesty is not judgment.
Boundaries are not condemnation.
Ephesians 4:15 (NIV): “Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.”
Naming my concerns was an act of truth and love, not judgment. Scripture does not forbid discernment — it calls us to it. God does not ask us to ignore truth in the name of peace. He honors clarity, wisdom, and boundaries as acts of love, not rejection.
For the first time, I didn’t backtrack or over-explain. I didn’t try to manage Lizzy’s reaction. I allowed her to walk away, releasing the possibility of a relationship once and for all — not out of anger, but out of faith.
Lessons Learned
I don’t share this to villainize her. We were both surviving in unhealthy ways. But I do share it to name the truth: some of our most damaging lessons about love are learned long before romance ever enters the picture.
Healing began when I allowed myself to acknowledge what that friendship cost me — and when God met me there with clarity instead of condemnation. He’s been teaching me that love does not trap you, endanger you, or require you to disappear to keep it.
Some friendships shape us for years.
Others are the very places God later leads us back to — not to stay, but to finally choose differently.
Let’s Talk
For today’s discussion I’d like to focus on Matthew 10:16 (NIV) – “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”
Jesus reminds us as Christians to be discerning in the face of opposition and danger while remaining loving and upright. In toxic friendships, this means protecting yourself, setting boundaries, and speaking truth — all ways of living faithfully, balancing wisdom with integrity.
How have you balanced discernment with love in relationships that aren’t safe? What does it look like to honor God by protecting yourself from harm while staying compassionate?
Share your responses in Community Voices, there are no right or wrong answers.
With love,
Madison Taylore
Founder of Taylored Grace