'I thought I was the problem every time a friendship ended. Then I discovered the "train station theory".'

I've always been a bit of a hoarder. Not just the physical kind — you should see my house full of trinkets — but the emotional kind. I have this deep-seated, slightly irrational belief that if I share a few of my deepest secrets with someone, they should stay in my life forever. 

So, when a close friendship recently faded into the abyss of forced pleasantries, I didn't just feel sad; I felt like I'd failed some invisible test of loyalty.

We hadn't even fought. There was no dramatic blow-up or a forgotten birthday. We just... drifted. I spent months stuck in a loop of self-reflection, wondering if I hadn't reached out enough, or if I'd become too boring, or if they'd simply outgrown me. 

I was mid-spiral, looking for answers in the deep dark corners of the internet, when I stumbled across the Train Station Theory. And it gave me the closure I desperately needed. It made me realise that some relationships aren't meant to be the destination — they're just a part of the commute.

Watch: Research says you should be losing friends on Mamamia Out Loud. Article continues after video.

The theory, which has been doing the rounds on social media and in modern lifestyle discourse, posits that life is essentially a bustling metropolitan station. You are the passenger, and every person, relationship, or opportunity that enters your life is a train pulling into the platform. 

The catch is that trains operate on a schedule that you don't always control. You get to decide whether to board or stay on the platform, but the train isn't going to wait at the station forever just because you aren't quite ready to pack your bags.

When I applied this to my own relationships, it was a light-bulb moment. I realised we weren't "bad" friends. We were just two people standing on the same platform for a moment, but our trains were moving on completely different timetables. No matter how much we wanted to share a carriage, one of us was headed one way, and the other in the other. 

We're often sold this fairytale that "true" friendship is effortless and eternal, but the train station theory is the cold, hard splash of water to the face that reminds us friendship actually has to compete with geography, personal growth, and shifting priorities. 

Sometimes you meet a person who is perfectly compatible with your personality, but you're at different stations in life. You might be ready for a deep, vulnerable connection while they're still figuring out which track they're even on. 

It suggests that timing isn't just a factor — it's as vital as the bond itself. If you miss the chance to connect because your lives are moving at different speeds, the train moves on, and you don't jump onto the tracks to chase it. You simply wait for the next one.

Image: AAP.

There's another layer to this, too.

If your life is the train itself, the people you meet are the passengers. Some people hop on for one short stop, like the work bestie who disappeared after you resigned or the person you bonded with during a three-month pottery course. 

Others stay for years, through the scenic routes and the dark tunnels, and a rare few stay until the final station.

I used to treat every passenger who hopped off my train as a personal rejection.

The train station theory helped me realise that when people get off, it's not personal. It's usually because they've just reached their stop. 

Because I can't help but over-analyse, I thought about how this aligns with what experts tell us about transitional connections. Much like the bridge theory — the idea that some people are just meant to help you cross from one version of yourself to the next — the train station theory gives us permission to let go without resentment.

It shifts the narrative from the idea that I lost a friend to the understanding that our schedules aligned for exactly as long as they were supposed to.

Since embracing the station metaphor, I've noticed a few things change in my daily life. I've stopped the "what-if" torture and no longer wonder if that friendship would have survived if I'd just tried harder to bridge the gap. 

That train has left the station, and that's okay. Finally, I've started trusting the timetable. There is a weird comfort in knowing that a platform is never empty for long. Another train is coming. 

It might be an express or a slow local service, but it will arrive exactly when you're standing on the platform with your bags packed and your ticket ready. Honestly, I'm quite looking forward to seeing who gets on at the next stop.

Feature Image: Supplied.