“I started to notice that certain people would get talked about when they weren’t present, and not in a positive way. I realized that there were group text chains that didn’t include everyone, which led to cliques forming within the larger group. And after the third or fourth time of seeing social media photos of everyone else at a hangout that I didn’t get invited to, it felt like I wasn’t really part of the group after all,” she wrote.
This clique allegedly contained luminaries such as Hilary Duff and Meghan Trainor (unrelatable!), but the core message resonated: Who among us hasn’t felt a pang of FOMO? One photo of a group clinking martinis at Mr. H can take even the most enlightened 40-year-old right back to junior high. You’re home scrolling in an LED face mask while the cool kids are having fun without you. We all want to belong. We’re all afraid that we don’t.
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I remember eighth grade, when a girl a rung-and-a-half up the social ladder tried to turn me against my best friend. The thrill of being chosen by someone presumably cooler than me was overpowering; the pull was enough to make me temporarily shun my friend, so eager to be picked. I’m no longer a spineless tween social climber, but that rush, and that fear of being overlooked, still lingers somewhere deep inside of me.
Having just written a book about midlife, “Everything to Everybody,” I can say this without hesitation: That fear lives in nearly all of us. After talking with dozens of psychologists, academics, and everyday adults about friendship, I’ve come to believe that this is the most baffling, most desired — and most elusive — relationship of adulthood.
One in three Americans feels lonely every week. About two-thirds of parents feel the demands of parenthood sometimes or frequently are isolating and lonely. About half or more adults say they often or sometimes feel isolated, left out, or lacking companionship.
I think the reason is clear: We’re steeped in a culture that frames other people as an assault on our time. “Boundaries” is now a catch phrase. There’s a reason why Mel Robbins’s “Let Them” theory is so popular: We’re urged to protect our space; prune our social circles; streamline our calendars.
And there’s definitely a time and a place to let bad things go, which is exactly why Tisdale’s story resonates. So many of us are afraid we might be her someday: Where do I fit in? Who are my people? What if I’m discarded, too?
We live in a frictionless world of instant gratification where we can mute someone’s Instagram story, order food from a bot, and let ChatGPT write a difficult email. But friendship also takes work; vulnerable and sometimes inconvenient work. It requires investment: showing up, remembering, checking in, and extending ourselves. It demands something of us; any worthwhile endeavor does. And friendship — social connection — is mentally and physically worthwhile. It girds against heart disease, loneliness, depression.
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But it’s also such a risk. This work involves rawness and rejection. After all, there is no script for adult friendship breakups. You can get a divorce. You can quit a job. But what grown adult wants to say to another: “You know, this friendship just isn’t working for me anymore. Let’s stop hanging out.”
Because this honesty is socially unacceptable, most of us do the slow, hurtful fade instead: unreturned texts, less outreach. You know the pattern. This might seem polite, but it has a chilling effect across friendships. Be honest: How often have you wondered if someone’s dwindling DMs meant that you were being diplomatically demoted? It makes us scan for threat: Are we about to be dumped?
And so we compensate: overextending ourselves to stay valuable; pulling away to avoid the first hurt; posting with another group of friends to prove that we have a place, too. We engage in compensatory behavior to keep ourselves safe.
In writing my book, I learned that it really doesn’t have to be this complicated or dramatic, if we act with authenticity, honesty, and courage.
Here are some Cliffs notes:
If you’re doing all the outreach, this isn’t the friendship for you. You could be the head of a company or training for a triathlon. Doesn’t matter how mature or accomplished you are: Doing social CPR to keep a one-sided friendship alive is humiliating. If you’re always the one initiating, bring it up once to the friend. Sometimes, relationships fall into patterns where one person naturally becomes the instigator, and there’s nothing nefarious afoot — your friendship just needs a recalibration. Explain that you feel like you’re the one doing the asking. Awkward? Maybe. But better than resentfully clinging to a sideways relationship.
If nothing changes? Ask yourself why you’re hanging on. What does this person represent for you? Why are you allowing them precious real estate in your life? Then, let go of the rope. If they ask, tell them why.
Think before you post. Posting comes from a genuine place of need. We want to convey that we’re part of a community, that we’re rooted somewhere — that someone chose us. Belonging is a primal drive. Sharing that we belong is not. If you’re driven to post, ask yourself: Why? What’s this doing for my ego? Sometimes you just want to share a happy moment. But if you’re posting to cement your status and your place, ask yourself where that craving comes from.
Remember that not every friend meets every need. One perfect best friend is a Hallmark movie myth. Over the years, people will lift you up (and let you down) in various ways. A friendship is the average of many small moments; a pattern of showing up and being there over time. Sometimes, a friend won’t respond in the way you hoped. Some people remember birthdays. Others drag you out for a walk. You don’t eat the same thing for dinner every night, right? You don’t need 10 of the same friend, either.
Photo-ready squads, crews, and villages exist on social media; very rarely do they exist in real life. You do not know the backstory of what it took for 10 college besties to gather at a lake house. I’m not saying these people don’t like one another or that the scenario is staged. I am saying that this group is undoubtedly fluid, with ebbs and flows and resentments: The person who did none of the planning; the person who’s bossy; the one who wishes she were at home under a blanket. There is a backstory behind every group photo. People do not move seamlessly through adulthood in lockstep packs.
Parenthood is not a personality feature. Parenthood alone isn’t a basis for friendship. Friendship flourishes with repeated contact, and this often does happen in parenting settings: at drop-off, on the sidelines after a three-hour T-ball game. But the world is expansive: You can connect meaningfully and repeatedly in other areas, from yoga to art class to walking your dog. This openness broadens your perspective and challenges your viewpoints. The happiest people I interviewed maintain friends across ages, life circumstances, and demographics, and adjust their calendars accordingly.
Don’t enmesh your kids’ friendships with your own. Hinging a friendship on your kids’ connection is a terrible idea that will surely backfire. Preschool besties might become middle school frenemies, and this makes for an awkward happy hour, if your connection is predicated on social engineering. You might forge genuine, lifelong friendships with people you meet through your kids — I have! — but ensure those friendships can withstand the fact that kids are fickle. A good litmus test is: Would you hang out with these people if they didn’t have children?
Show up in your own way. This can look like checking in and remembering: How did your mom’s knee surgery go? Any fun plans this weekend? It can also look like driving someone to a colonoscopy, researching a great therapist, offering up baby-sitting, or recommending a juicy book. Figure out the investment pattern that works for your personality, and stick to it.
Forgiveness matters. We are old. We are busy. We are all so deeply flawed. Sometimes, a friend is going to mess up, say the wrong thing, overlook a big day. Give loyal friends the same allowance for foibles and quirks that you’d give your parents, spouse, kids, or yourself.
Lastly, ask: What are you missing? Who do you need? I heard this constantly: You can’t forge true friendships until you have the courage to actually know yourself. If you’re constantly a chameleon, trying to mold yourself into groups for optics and to avoid being alone, you’ll never feel truly seen. In adulthood, being seen for who we truly are is fuel. And some people will never truly see you, not because they’re evil or shallow, but because you’re trying to reverse-engineer yourself into a group that doesn’t fit. If the vibes are off, it’s OK to leave. In fact, it’s better.
Yes, sometimes grown adults really are catty. Maybe they were unpopular in high school and compensate by exclusion now. Maybe someone hurt them somewhere along life’s highway; maybe they’re just plain broken. And, yes, some friend groups really are toxic — often because they were built on a prior commonality but now nobody knows how to pull the plug. Resentful legacy friend groups, where folks stay due to inertia or habit or fear of being alone, can be breeding grounds for misery.
But, in most cases, misunderstandings happen because well-meaning adults don’t have blueprints for friendship. It is amorphous. It’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter how old you are: We never outgrow fear of vulnerability and rejection.
But this shouldn’t stop us from saying: “Hey! I like you. Want to hang out sometime?” Or, “I’ve noticed we haven’t talked in a while. Is everything good?” and answering truthfully.
Maybe you’d rather stand naked at pickup than be vulnerable, but when we’re authentic and honest, we can build a true community that reflects who we are. When we take the guesswork out of friendship to forge connections, we’ll relax into them and enjoy them more, with nothing to prove … and, maybe, nothing to post.
Kara Baskin can be reached at [email protected]. Follow her @kcbaskin.
