One of my longest-standing friends, Alex, resides in Seattle, which is about three hours from my home. He’s one of those individuals whose introduction I can’t quite recall, but his presence has been a constant during many pivotal moments of my adolescence and young adulthood. Despite the proximity, we haven’t managed to see each other for years—possibly even a decade.
Sure, we exchange the occasional texts, have a phone call once a year, and I catch up with his life through social media. However, our connection isn’t what it used to be, and I’ll be the first to admit, it’s not his fault—it’s mine.
Now in our late 30s, my life is entirely different from his. I’m married with three kids, while he’s still single and child-free. Finding the time to be a good friend—let alone an adequate one—seems impossible. I often go weeks without replying to messages, cancel plans at the last minute, and sometimes return calls a month later.
This isn’t an isolated issue; it reflects my current life stage. If you’re a parent, you might be able to relate.
At present, I juggle two jobs, something I’ve done for years to stay afloat. Before that, I was a student with kids, a late bloomer who struggled to get organized. My days start before dawn and often stretch well into the night. Evenings are a whirlwind of soccer practices, gymnastics classes, homework, household chores, preparing meals, tidying up, laundry, and bath times.
My weekends are consumed with muddy soccer cleats and a spirited little gymnast. We dash from one soccer field to the next while my spouse tackles errands, only to return home to find our son has hidden a final project that now needs to be completed in just two days. We divide and conquer, and by the end of the day, we collapse into bed, utterly exhausted. Then we stare at the ceiling, strategizing for the next day.
I do find moments to relax, but I typically use that time to connect with my wife, enjoy one-on-one time with my kids, or squeeze in a workout.
It’s ironic; as a child, I longed for adulthood, thinking it would be liberating. Now, at 37, as I write this, I can’t remember the last time I did something just for myself. The closest I can recall is watching half a movie on Netflix a few months back.
I realize this may sound like another parent lamenting the challenges of raising kids, but it’s more than that. Yes, I’m tired and busy, but I’ve never felt more fulfilled. My children bring me joy, and my wife is amazing. Yet, right now, my entire focus is on them. I do have friends, and I care about their successes and challenges, but my current reality leaves me stretched thin. I often feel on the verge of burnout, and that impacts my ability to be a good friend.
It took me years to come to terms with this, but I’ve accepted it. I’ve set my priorities and recognized that, at this moment, nurturing friendships isn’t at the top of my list.
I know this might sound harsh, but it’s the reality I’m facing. I can’t alter the needs of my kids or the commitment I have to my wife and our family. Having been in this game long enough, I know that if I don’t devote myself to my family, everything could fall apart. I want this family to thrive more than anything else, so I’m all in.
To my friends who are parents, if you feel neglected, please understand it’s not personal. It’s simply the nature of our current lives. We’re overwhelmed and focused on our children, but once things settle down, we might be more responsive and available.
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In summary, while I recognize that my friendships may be suffering due to my family commitments, I know this is a temporary phase. Prioritizing my family is important to me, and I hope my friends can understand that.