The author, Jim Rohn said,
“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.”

Welcome to The Soul Podcast. I'm Stacey Wheeler. 

In the last episode we opened with the Epictetus quote, “The key is to keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best.” 

We can see that Jim Rohn's thoughts echo this idea and underline its' importance. 

The humorous writer, Garrison Keillor put it this way,
“Hang around funny people, because humor is contagious—and if you're surrounded by sourpusses, pretty soon you'll be the one making the funeral arrangements for your own joy.”

And George Carlin said,
“A lot of people spend a lot of time trying to be cool. But if you surround yourself with idiots, eventually you'll start to think you're a genius.”

Last time, we laid the foundation: our circles shape us in profound ways, and choosing keepers—those who live with integrity—can spark real joy. We drew from ancient wisdom to see how this idea has echoed for millennia. Today, we go deeper. We're exploring the inner pull of belonging, why it's so hard to step away from draining influences, and how this touches both our psychology and our spirit. Because understanding the "why" behind the struggle makes the path to better circles feel less lonely—and more possible.

Have you ever stayed in a friendship or group longer than your heart knew was good for you? Maybe it was the comfort of familiarity, the fear of being alone, or that quiet voice saying, “But they've been there for me before.” 

That pull is real. And it's human. Psychologically, belonging is one of our deepest needs. Abraham Maslow placed it right after safety in his hierarchy—love, connection, feeling part of something. Later, researchers Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary described it as a fundamental drive: we are wired to form and maintain strong, stable bonds. Our ancestors survived by staying in the tribe; being cast out often meant danger. That ancient wiring still lives in us. So when a circle starts to erode our integrity—when the jokes turn mean, the shortcuts feel normal, or the energy leaves us diminished—we face a conflict. The mind says, “This isn't right,” but the heart whispers, “Don't lose your people.” The short-term pain of disconnection can feel bigger than the long-term cost of staying. That's why so many of us linger in places that quietly pull us down. There are a few common psychological reasons we stay longer than feels right, even when we know the friendship is diminishing us. 

First, the sunk cost fallacy—that quiet voice telling us, “We've invested so much time, shared so many memories, laughed through so many hard seasons... walking away now would mean all that was for nothing.” It's the same bias that keeps us finishing a bad book or staying in a job that's draining us. In friendships, those years of history feel like an investment we can't afford to lose, so we keep pouring in more energy, hoping it will pay off again. But the truth is, past investment doesn't change the present reality—if it's no longer nourishing, more time won't magically fix it. 

Then there's fear of loneliness, which can feel overwhelming. Even a diminishing friendship provides some structure—someone to text, plans on the weekend, a sense of “not being alone.” The alternative—empty evenings, uncertainty about where we'll fit next—can seem scarier in the moment than tolerating the drain. Research shows this fear is especially strong when self-esteem feels shaky; we might think, “If I leave, who else will want me around?” 

But here's the gentle reminder: being alone for a season is often far less lonely than staying surrounded by people who make you feel unseen or small. 

Cognitive dissonance plays a role too—the discomfort of holding two opposing truths: “I value integrity and growth,” yet “I'm compromising those things to stay connected.” To ease that inner tension, we sometimes rationalize: “It's not that bad,” or “They're going through a hard time,” or “Everyone has flaws.” These mental adjustments help short-term, but over time, they erode our self-trust and keep us stuck. Low self-esteem or past patterns can amplify all of this. If we've grown up normalizing unhealthy dynamics, or if we've internalized that we don't deserve better, a diminishing friendship can feel familiar—even “safe” in its predictability. Breaking free requires rewriting those old scripts, and that takes courage.

The good news? Recognizing these patterns is powerful. It means you're not weak or broken for staying—you're human, responding to deep wiring and learned habits. Awareness creates space: space to grieve what's ending, space to honor your needs, space to step toward connections that truly uplift.

But there's more at play here—something spiritual. In the language of the soul, our relationships are energetic mirrors. Honorable connections attune us to higher vibrations—truth, growth, harmony. They reinforce our commitment to Satya, living authentically, and Dharma, walking the righteous path. When we surround ourselves with people who reflect excellence, as Marcus Aurelius suggested, their virtues cheer the heart and remind us of our own potential. Toxic or misaligned circles do the opposite. They create subtle discord in the spirit—karmic entanglements, as some traditions might call them—where compromise becomes easier, and our inner light dims. Detaching can feel like a kind of exile, a dark night of the soul. Yet that discomfort is often the doorway to purification, to realignment with something greater.

This is where the mentor-mentee balance we touched on last time becomes a lifeline. In a truly honorable group, you're never just receiving uplift—you're also giving it. You learn while you teach, grow while you help others rise. That reciprocity makes the circle feel alive and sustainable. It satisfies the need for belonging not through conformity, but through shared elevation.

To bring this home, let's revisit a story I teased last time—and add one from my own life. Tim Allen once ran with a crowd that made dangerous choices feel normal. Drug trafficking led to an arrest at 25, facing what could have been life in prison. In that low point, the old circle's influence had taken him places he never imagined going. But prison became a turning point. He reflected deeply, found humility, and emerged determined to rebuild. He chose sobriety, discipline, and better influences. Over time, he turned that redirection into a life of uplifting others—through comedy, acting, and advocacy. More than 25 years sober now, his story shows how stepping away from a draining circle can redeem everything.

For me, the shift came in a different way. A few years back, I started sitting in circles with The ManKind Project—groups of men committed to showing up as their better selves. Week after week, I was in proximity to guys doing real inner work: owning their shadows, holding each other accountable, celebrating growth without ego. It wasn't always comfortable. Their honesty challenged mine. Their commitment to integrity made me look at my own compromises. But it also felt expansive—like I was both mentor and mentee in the best sense. Being around men actively pursuing honor pulled me toward my own. It reminded me that belonging doesn't have to mean fitting in; it can mean rising together.

(Look for friends who lift you up.)

These stories aren't exceptions—they're proof that change is possible when we honor both our need for connection and our soul's call to integrity.

So, I invite you to pause here and reflect: Where in your life right now do you feel that inner pull—the tension between belonging and alignment? Here's a gentle tool to carry forward: Next time you're with your circle, notice how you feel afterward. Expanded and inspired? Or subtly contracted? No judgment—just observation. That simple awareness can guide your next small step.

We've gone deeper today into the mind and spirit behind our circles—the belonging we crave and the courage it sometimes takes to upgrade it. This understanding is the bridge to real change.

Next time, in our final episode, we'll get practical: the tools, steps, and mindset shifts to actively build an honorable circle that supports joyful living. Until then, hold this gently: Your soul deserves connections that cheer the heart and call forth your best. Keep the keepers—and know the difference. 

If you're a SoulCircle Member, there's a final episode waiting for you. In this we go deeper. We get practical as we walk through simple steps to audit your current friend circle, set gentle boundaries, and build new, uplifting connections that honor your integrity and growth. Not a SoulCircle member? Use the link in the show notes and for just $5/month you'll get bonus episodes, meditations and other perks available only to SoulCircle members. Your membership helps me continue to run to the show ad-free. 

Thank you for being here with me. If this series stirred something, share it with a friend who might be feeling that same pull.