I Can’t Tell If I Fit In or Just Learned How to Be Around

I keep trying to figure out if I actually belong here, or if I have just been showing up long enough that my presence has become something people expect, not necessarily something they want. There is a difference, even if it is subtle. One feels like being invited without the words, and the other feels like no one had the heart to tell you not to come. I cannot tell which one this is. I go multiple times a week now, to the point where it would probably feel noticeable if I didn’t show up, and somehow that makes it worse, not better. Because now it is not just “do they like me,” it is everything that exists underneath that question, everything that is not said out loud but still somehow feels like it needs to be figured out.

And the thing is, no one is outwardly unkind to me. Conversations happen naturally. I am not forcing my way into interactions, but I do feel like sometimes I interject into conversations because everyone knows each other so well, like they all grew up together and have known each other for decades. There is this history there that I do not have, and when I try to join in, it can feel like I am stepping into something already in motion, like I am catching up to a rhythm that was established long before I got there. I am not chasing people down for attention, but there are moments where it feels less like joining and more like inserting myself into something that was already whole. And at the same time, when I walk in, people greet me, they say my name, I get hugs. There is warmth there. There is acknowledgment. There are clear, visible signs that I am not invisible in the space.

But somehow, that is not the part my brain holds onto.

Instead, my mind goes straight to overanalyzing everything in between. The tone of a conversation. How they talk to each other versus how they talk to me. The way everyone has years of history together that I was not a part of. And then I start noticing how nice everyone can be to someone’s face, and then say something completely different once that person leaves. Not always mean, not always harsh, but enough to make me think about it. Enough to make me wonder if the same thing happens when I am not there.

And that is where I get stuck. Not in how people actually treat me, because if I am being honest, they are kind to me. They greet me, they hug me, they include me. It is not about that. It is about what I start telling myself after the fact. I start wondering if I am just being tolerated. If they are just nice because that is who they are, not because they actually want me there. If I have just shown up enough that it would be awkward for me not to be there anymore.

So I end up reading between the lines, even when there is nothing clearly there. Looking for some kind of hidden meaning or confirmation that I either belong or I don’t. And the more I look for it, the more everything starts to feel like something I need to figure out instead of just experience in the moment.

I think part of it is that I did not arrive here in a normal way. I just… started showing up. There was no clear invitation, no defined role, no moment where it was established that I belonged. It just slowly became a habit. And habits are strange like that, because they can look a lot like belonging from the outside. If you repeat something enough times, it starts to feel like it has always been that way, even if it didn’t start with intention. So now I cannot tell if I grew into the space naturally, or if I just wore down the edges of it until I fit.

The confusing part is that I do feel like I belong sometimes. Not all the time, not in a solid, unquestionable way, but in these small, passing moments where everything feels aligned and easy and unforced. And then it disappears just as quickly, replaced with this quiet second-guessing that asks me to re-evaluate everything again. It is not loud. It is not dramatic. It is just constant enough to be tiring.

But I do know this: I will keep going back. Not out of habit, not because I have nowhere else to be, but because it is the only place that has felt like home in a long time. I genuinely love the people there. They are kind in a way that is easy, not forced. Down to earth, welcoming, the kind of people you do not have to over-prepare yourself for. And maybe that is the part that matters more than anything my mind tries to complicate later. Even if I question where I stand sometimes, I know how it feels when I am there. And for now, I am trying to let that be enough, even if my mind keeps looking for something more to solve.