I’m not great at many things, and honestly, I’m okay with that. For instance, I can’t peel a hardboiled egg without taking half the white with it. Sports? Forget it. Math? My former algebra teacher would probably faint if she saw how little I remember. And when it comes to fashion, I need to consult Pinterest or a mannequin just to put together a decent outfit. Sure, I lack some essential skills, but most of the time, I brush them off. However, there is one area where my shortcomings weigh on me: friendship.
I’m a total slacker in the friendship department. I often don’t respond to texts, snaps, or Facebook messages promptly. I miss calls and sometimes forget to call back — or promise to return a call and then completely let it slip my mind. There are even times when a month might pass before I have an actual conversation with friends.
If my friends don’t manage to pull me out of my house, or show up unexpectedly, they could easily go weeks without seeing my reclusive self. Sure, I might send a funny meme or comment on their Instagram post to let them know I’m alive, but my level of engagement is pretty minimal. I keep a distant watch on their lives as I scroll through my Facebook feed, and as long as I know they’re doing okay without me, I don’t prioritize keeping in touch.
Don’t misunderstand me: I genuinely love my friends. I think about them daily—multiple times, in fact. When a crisis hits, I’m there for them, whether it’s the middle of the night or any time they’re struggling. However, when it comes to the routine, everyday communication — the simple act of checking in — I struggle to let my friends know they’re on my mind. A thought might pop up, like “I should tell Sarah about this,” but then…I just don’t. Life gets busy and overwhelming, filling my plate so much that I can’t take on one more task — not even a brief phone call. Because a phone call could easily last at least half an hour, and that’s thirty minutes I feel I need to catch up on everything else.
I was a better friend in my younger, less exhausted days, before I became stretched thin juggling work, my partner, household chores, and kids. Back then, I had the time and energy for chatting, pampering sessions, and girls’ nights. Nowadays, I can barely summon the energy to fold my laundry, which is why it currently sits wrinkled in the basket. Something has to give.
I’ve lost friends due to my tendency to go silent, and I can’t blame them for moving on. But those who left were more like acquaintances, the ones who didn’t understand my struggles. My true friends know not to take my absences personally. They understand that I sometimes bite off more than I can chew, which, unfortunately, happens quite frequently. During those busy times, the maintenance of friendships often takes a backseat, and my communication is limited to quick snaps and Facebook “likes” sent from the bathroom.
What I appreciate most about my friends is their understanding. I know I can flake out without being judged, even when anxiety and overwhelm pull me back into my shell. The fact that I feel safe enough to lose touch speaks volumes: I know they aren’t going anywhere, and when I finally resurface, it’ll seem like no time has passed. We’ll pick up right where we left off.
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In summary, while I might not excel at staying connected with friends, I deeply value their presence in my life. My tendency to disappear doesn’t reflect my affection for them, and I am grateful to have friends who understand and accept my shortcomings.