Letter 8 • The Trusty Sidekick Dilemma
Isn’t it troubling when the people closest to you surprise you in the most disappointing way?
I used to think we were unshakable — my husband, my closest friend, and me. We had years of laughter, plans, and late-night promises that felt too real to ever fade. But now, here we are, drifting into our own separate corners.
They were the stars, always chasing the spotlight. I never thought I could be one of them, but I was content being the trusty sidekick. It felt safe there, standing just close enough to shine in their light.
Before my husband, I believed the only person I could trust was myself. It hurt to find out just how true that was.
There was this one night where our intimate circle of friends gathered at a small, half-empty Chinese restaurant. Before we left, the waiter placed a plate of fortune cookies on the table. We each grabbed one and took turns reading aloud. The last, slightly stale sugary shell we opened read, “You have found good company.”
I wanted so badly to believe it. To believe that the people sitting across from me were still my safe place.
Later, I overheard my husband tell someone struggling to find their way into an acting role, “You have to fool yourself before you can fool the audience.” He wasn’t talking to me, but I took it to heart. Maybe I’d been fooling myself all along.
Still, there was a time when I felt lucky — chosen even. “So embarrassing how grateful I felt they chose me. Me.”
But the truth is, we surround ourselves with others and do things because we think they’re going to make us feel more like ourselves. Until one day, the illusion cracks.
The world around them seemed to bend to their wants and needs. I was part of that world — but now, what about me?
I was chosen because I enlivened their world, but now, it’s my turn to choose who gets to enliven mine.
Finally, trusting me,
Flora Mancini
This letter was inspired by the book Good Company by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney
A few lines slipped directly from its pages:
The people closest to you surprise you in the most disappointing way?
Drifting into our own separate corners
Trusty sidekick
It hurt to find out just how true that was.
You have to fool yourself before you can fool the audience.
Embarrassing how grateful I felt they chose me. Me.
Slightly stale sugary shell…You have found good company.
Do things because we think they’re going to make us feel more like ourselves.
Enlivened their world.
Short Content Brew:
Not every story brews the same. This one steeps in the quiet complexity of relationships — how they lift us, test us, and shape the way we see ourselves. A blend that reminds us that even when love changes form, its lessons linger.
The Cup We’d Share
Consider this a moment to sip tea with Flora Mancini, in the soft light of early evening. The Authenticitea Barista (a character from my upcoming book, A Cup of Authenticitea) would pour something delicate yet grounding — a blend that honors trust, resilience, and the slow courage it takes to begin again.
It’s a cup for those who’ve stood faithfully beside others, only to realize it’s time to stand fully in their own story.
A Sip of Renewal
Tea Blend: Jasmine Green + Honey Oolong
Mood Pairing: For the moments you stop searching for approval and start listening for your own voice.
Flavor Note: Floral and lightly sweet with a quiet strength that lingers — gentle clarity steeped in warmth.
Reflection: Where in your life are you still playing the sidekick when you’re meant to be the lead?
Why This Letter?
I chose this story because Flora’s experience isn’t uncommon. You know those relationships where one person does most of the talking, leaving little room for you to be heard — or they take up so much space that when you finally try to reclaim your own, you’re unsure what that even looks like.
Flora’s story is a reminder that in order to pour into others, we must first have something left to pour. Otherwise, we’re offering from an empty cup — one that’s been sitting too long, waiting for a refill.
That’s why I let Flora’s letter slip through the pages — to remind us that self-trust and self-worth aren’t selfish; they’re how we begin again.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today. Thanks for reading — until the next letter.
