The trials of adult friendships

I’ve thought a lot about friendship this year. Early on it was with laughter and joy, sitting out on the balcony with my bestie. We’d talk about connections we’d made, people we wanted to make time for, or people who demanded time we didn’t have and we joked “No friendship vacancies!” 

It’s an interesting phase of life to be in, being so fulfilled already,  or just so bloody busy, that the idea of new friends becomes draining.

It’s a positive thing, but also a self-protective thing. Friendships make us vulnerable, and for those of us who are ride-or-die friendships are a massive commitment. A new person to look out for, or to mourn if things go south. Not all people are going to be genuine; others will attack over one issue or another, trying to find a moral high ground; and then there are the odd people just looking to stand on the corpse of another human’s self-esteem to get ahead. 

As dumb as it might seem for a 30-something woman, I am often surprised by how other peoples’ world view and concepts can be so vastly different from my own. Friendship is one of these areas.

I’ve detected two main camps – or types – of friend-makers. Be my own bestie and ride-or-die. Okay, there are others, like always-at-arms-length, and you can feel free to volunteer more in the comments, but I’m working with just the two today.

Whilst I’m ride-or-die, most of the advice I give is “be your own best friend” “put yourself first” and “look out for #1.” Why is that?

If you make it to best friend status with me, consider us married. We’re lifers now. Short of eating one of my children, there isn’t anything you can do to make me wipe you. It’s fantastic and utterly stupid all at the same time. As I’m thinking about it now, perhaps these are two ends of a spectrum, and I wish I was a little less loyal. A little better at letting go.

As the year has progressed, my thoughts about friendships have taken a somewhat shadowy turn, as I lost my best friend at the beginning of the year and now I am going through the long process of mourning. 

Because she isn’t dead, I’ve held onto this hope that time heals and our relationship can be restored. It’s unfathomable to me how we could be as tight as siblings for years and then over the course of a single morning, suddenly become nothing. But as each day passes I come closer to accepting that this is how it is now. This hole in my heart, in my every day existence, is forever. I’m pretty sure my nearest and dearest are sick to fucking death of me talking about it. So here I am, processing my emotional garbage via my blog, and possibly being judged for it.

I’m going to keep telling myself that I don’t care. That I’m mostly a decent human and a worthy friend, and that my honesty is valued. 

I’ve made new friends this year too. Not the kind of friend I get up to message in the middle of the night, or the kind who knows intimate details about my next manuscript, but great people none the less.

But making friends as an adult is HARD. It’s awkward. Having an anxiety disorder doesn’t help either because my brain tortures me constantly. I relive my friendship breakup every day, multiple times. Stuck in a place between closure and disbelief. New friendships are like that too.

Oh they’re just being nice, they actually can’t wait to get away from me.

Why would they like me, I have nothing to offer. 

Did I offend them?

They’re probably embarrassed to me seen with me… On and on.

Truth is, no one is as sick of me as I am!

My new approach to friendships has been modelled off watching my kids make friends. Generally, they decide “we’re friends now” and they are. So they run off and play. They sit together, and it means something. They nag for playdates, and their energy is well-spent.

That’s been working, to a certain extent anyway.
I’ve joined a book club that meets monthly, and yes, I’m terrified. 

I’ll know one woman there, the lady who followed me home that time. She’d seen me out and about a lot, so felt comfortable talking to me about how she has no coffee mates because all the private school mums have to work, and she was still on maternity leave. So I said “I’ll have coffee with you” and promptly forgot her name.

We’ve hung out a bunch of times since then, partly because our kids met on the bus and decided they were besties, so playdates ensued.

Likely, I’ll recognise some of the other women from around the suburb at book club, and none of them will judge me too harshly when I pull my salad out of my bag instead of eating what’s on offer. I doubt I’ll meet the kind of friend that will fill the gaping emptiness I’m dealing with, but getting involved with the community around me is a worthwhile endeavour.

Perhaps I’ll work on an emotional healing spell at some point (when I find the strength) because being the kind of person to hang onto pain and let it poison them isn’t what I want out of life. Grudges are a thing of my past. In the meantime, if you have any experience with moving on from a friendship break-up, I would treasure your advice or a few kind words.

Miriam Cumming is honest to a fault, often speaking her mind without filter. She blogs about life and magick, and writes teen fantasy novels with a similar underlying theme: Coping with the twists and turns of adulthood can be messy, but should be done with integrity and kindness.

Never stop trying to be a better person than you were yesterday.