I Moved to a Brand-New City—Here’s the One Thing I Did to Make Friends

How to Make Friends as Adults, Gals That Brunch Group Image Describing when moving to a new city, starting over and tips on how to make friends

I moved across the country with a one-way ticket, one suitcase, and a pair of flip-flops that made way more sense in San Diego than they ever would in Colorado.

It was April in Denver. Spring in name, sure—but not in temperature. The second I stepped off the plane, I was met with a full-blown snowstorm. I had arrived in cutoffs and open-toed shoes... straight into a frozen tundra.

Back in Southern California, “spring” still feels like summer. A light jacket is more of a fashion choice than a necessity. So naturally, my bag was packed for sunshine: breezy clothes, sandals, and a wildly misplaced sense of optimism.

My other belongings wouldn’t arrive until the following month.
And I hadn’t even made it to my apartment yet.

So there I was—layering on every piece of clothing I had, trying to survive the sudden shift in climate, and climbing into a shared airport shuttle like Sanka from Cool Runnings, fully expecting to be downtown in ten minutes.

Spoiler: I was wrong. And this was just the start….

Spoiler: Denver’s airport is not in Denver.
It’s 30 minutes out. On the edge of what felt like the literal prairie.

And it was somewhere in that quiet van ride, as frost glazed the window and my oversized sunglasses slid down my nose, that the first tears slipped down my cheeks.

Not sobbing. Just… quiet unraveling. A whisper of a cry that says, I think I just did something really big. And I have no idea what happens next.

It was a sight-unseen move. Two weeks earlier, I’d been in a different city, a different life, saying yes to a new job and a new season because it felt like the right thing to do.

And now here I was—shivering, unsure, and realizing that “new season” also meant “starting over in every single way.”

When I finally arrived at the downtown high rise my company was putting me in temporarily, it looked like a dream. 360 Views. Walkable streets. The kind of place that whispers you made it.

But inside? It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like full-blown panic.

I had a job. I had a city. But I didn’t have people.
And suddenly, that felt like the only thing that mattered.

No One Prepares You for the Loneliness That Comes with Starting Over

There’s no RA to greet you in adulthood.
No freshman orientation.
No camp counselor to introduce you to your new best friends and hand you a map.

It’s just you.
And your courage.
And maybe a glass of wine as you scroll through Instagram wondering, Does anyone else feel this lonely?

You try the things.
You “put yourself out there.”
You say yes to volleyball three nights a week in Wash Park.
You sign up for softball in Ruby Hill.
You go to church. You even volunteer.

And then?

You hang around an extra fifteen minutes after the service just to see if someone—anyone—will say hi.
And when they don’t, you walk back to your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and cry.
Because you are trying.
And still—nothing’s sticking.

I remember thinking, What is wrong with me?
Why doesn’t anyone want to be my friend?

The Ache No One Talks About

We don’t talk enough about the grief of being an adult without a people.
The deep, quiet pain of eating dinner alone again.
Of hearing laughter at another table and wondering if you’ll ever be part of something like that again.
Of feeling like a grown woman stuck in a “pick me” spiral.

Pick me. Talk to me. Invite me. See me.

It’s more than lonely.
It messes with your identity.

You start to wonder who you are without your old rhythms.
Without the group texts.
Without the familiarity.
Without the friends who used to fill in all the blank spaces of your life.

And here’s the hardest part:
You can be doing everything “right” and still feel invisible.

I know.
Because I did it all.
And it still took me two years in Denver to find my people.

But eventually—I did.

Dinner parties.
Brunches.
The kind of soul-deep community that makes you feel like you can exhale.

I finally had my circle.
And then—two years in—I found out my job was moving me to Virginia Beach.

I Knew I Couldn’t Do That Again

I couldn’t do another two years of trying.
Of putting myself out there and coming home feeling like I still hadn’t broken through.
Of wondering if I was the problem.

So I tried something different.

One week before I moved, I posted online—just a simple little message filled with hope and a hint of desperation:

“Help. I’m moving to Virginia Beach next week. I don’t know anyone. I’m moving from Denver. I’m a young professional. I have a chocolate lab named Milo. I love brunch. Anyone else love brunch? Want to try a spot? If it works, maybe we can keep doing it?”

That post turned into one brunch.
Thirty-two women came that first brunch.
By the end of the year, we were 1,200 strong.

And that moment, as many of you now know, became Gals That Brunch.

We started on June 6, 2015, at a little spot called Citrus in Virginia Beach.
And now (soon to be) ten years later—we’re in over 175 cities and growing every single month.

What began as a lifeline has become a lifestyle. A movement. A global invitation to belong.

The Transitions No One Prepares Us For

You don’t always have to move across the country to feel like everything inside you is shifting. Transition wears a thousand different faces—and most of us walk through them without ever being handed the language or tools to understand what’s really happening. Leaving for college. Leaving college. Starting a new job. Becoming a mom. Watching all your friends get married while you’re still navigating first dates and second guesses. Losing someone. Losing a dream. Getting divorced. Getting promoted. Getting left behind. Even the good transitions—moving into a new apartment, getting engaged, adopting a dog—can quietly disrupt your social dynamics and your sense of identity. And when those seasons collide? It can feel like you’ve forgotten how to belong anywhere at all.

No one tells you how hard it is to hold space for the person you were while becoming someone new. But every transition invites that question: Who am I now? And the answer isn’t always immediate. You might be in the same city you’ve always lived in, but something happened—COVID, a breakup, a career shift—and now everything feels different. Your interests have changed. Your capacity has changed. Your community might not fit anymore. That’s not failure. That’s growth. We don’t stay static—thank God. But every identity evolution demands courage, grace, and often... new friends. The kind who meet you where you are, not just where you used to be. The kind who can hold space for who you’re becoming. And that’s exactly what we’re here for.

Why Is It So Hard to Make Friends as an Adult?

Let’s be honest:

Adulting does not come with built-in friendship infrastructure.

No more shared dorm rooms.
No roommate you meet in line for pizza who becomes your emergency contact.

Now we’ve got:

A demanding job
A new zip code
An empty fridge
A calendar that’s full but a heart that still feels strangely hollow

And somewhere in there, we’re supposed to “just make friends”?
No manual. No blueprint. No map?

Friendship takes time. Intimacy takes risk.
And most of us are already maxed out, burned out, and wondering if we’re just not the kind of girl who gets picked anymore.

But What If You’re Not Alone?

What if this ache isn’t just yours?

What if there are thousands of women in cities around the world whispering the exact same things you are:

Why is it so hard to break in?
Where do I belong now?
How do I make new friends without feeling like a total loser?

Spoiler: there are.

And they’re showing up to brunch.
Terrified.
Tender.
Alone.

And walking out with group chats, dinner plans, and—finally—someone who gets them.

Five Things That Actually Help

Ten years into running this community, here’s what we’ve learned works better than any app, strategy, or forced icebreaker:

1. Say Yes Before You Feel Ready

You will never feel “ready.” Show up anyway. Most women walk into GTB events solo. They walk out with people.

2. Go Where Connection Is the Point

Not networking. Not cliques. Not forced fun. Look for spaces where belonging is baked in.

3. Let It Be Awkward

You might forget someone’s name. You might overshare. You might sit at the wrong table. It’s okay. Do it anyway.

4. Follow Up

Send the text. Say, “I’d love to grab coffee sometime.” Go first. It matters.

5. Keep Showing Up

Don’t give up after one brunch. Real friendship takes reps. Consistency builds safety.

What Is Gals That Brunch?

We’re not a networking group.
We’re not a curated Instagram club.
We’re not here to make you feel “cool.”

We’re a community for the woman who’s done being lonely.
Who’s ready to show up real, scared, and open.
Who wants more than a pretty table—she wants a place to belong.

We host monthly brunches, book clubs, sunset walks, supper clubs, and soul-nourishing events that turn strangers into sisters—in over 175 cities around the world.

And yes, baby girl, we saved you a seat.

What to Do Next (No Pressure, Just Your Future Besties)

✅ Find your Local Chapter | https://www.galsthatbrunch.com/brunch-with-us
✅ Find your chapter and join the Facebook group
✅ Follow your city on Instagram

✅ RSVP to your first brunch (yes, solo is fine!)

✅ Come to a GTB Retreat with us | https://www.galsthatbrunch.com/brunches2024/september-italy-retreat-dates-sneak-peak-calabriasouthern-italy
✅ Show up exactly as you are