I recently reached out to a close friend, J, and told her I was having a hard time. I asked if we could see each other more, even if that meant just folding myself into her routine: grocery runs, laundry, workouts— anything. I just needed to be around people.
I was shocked when my vulnerable appeal was met with a probably AI-generated “Hey!” Her message featured all the well-known classics, from “I don’t have the capacity” to claiming I’d “crossed a boundary.”
You see, she was really busy “enjoying newlywed life.” Seeing me monthly was already a lot for her, but she wanted me to know that she still “cared about our friendship.” She managed to use the right combination of sweet-sounding therapy-speak that amounted to a door quietly closing in my face, with her locking it from the inside and yelling “see you soon!”
J’s rejection especially stung because I was not only met with a “no” but also an accusation. It’s one thing to avoid accountability for being a good friend, but was I not even worth original, human-generated thought?
I find myself thinking about Orwell’s Politics and the English Language. (Stick with me, I know this is a bit off base.) He talks about how people overuse turns of speech and metaphors to avoid any precision in what they aim to communicate, meaning that:
“Prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house.”
I do believe this is a big issue with Chat GPT and AI-auto-finishing sentences. If AI writes my breakup text, how can I be sure I even know what our breakup was about?
To the untrained eye, J’s script reads nicely but avoids the reality: that she just doesn’t want to be there for me. What confused me was being told that my asking to spend time together was a boundary issue. I wasn’t asking for constant attention. I was asking to do grocery runs together and exist alongside someone I love during a hard month. I understand needing to protect your time. But if you constantly choose yourself over your friends in the name of “self-care” you’re self-ish.
I felt confused, because surely my friend of 15+ years would care that I was struggling, especially after I’d spent thousands of dollars flying across the world to celebrate her destination wedding. Now she couldn’t let me tag along while she did her meal prep? It’s not like I was asking her to be my caretaker; I just wanted her to be a bigger part of my life.
I understand how people are busy. I’ve worked 80-hour-a-week jobs that left me so exhausted that by the time I’d get home, all I could do was collapse onto the couch. But when my friends needed me, I was there, at least for a phone call. And I enjoyed doing it, too. If you prioritize your 15-step skincare routine over supporting your friend, I do have to wonder how much you really “care about our friendship” at all.
In movies and TV, I see tons of examples of close adult friendships. In Friends, it’s as if everyone lives at Monica’s apartment, and in Seinfeld, we see characters constantly eating, commuting, helping one another. Hell, Kramer essentially lives at Jerry’s. Were these depictions of friendship just as unrealistic as the fact Carrie could afford a 1-bedroom on the UES by writing one column a week?
I want to have slumber parties, do that return at Bloomingdales, and help pack up Amazon returns with my friends because being together is the fun part, not the activity.
I also want to escape the infinite friendship “catch-up loop.” I live in the same city as a bunch of my friends, yet our relationships feel long distance. I witness their lives on social media, and then we meet up in person monthly (if we’re lucky) to spend $60 on mediocre food and get the not-safe-for-social-media SparkNotes of what’s been going on.
Being in a long distance relationship with my friends puts the small amount of time we do have together on a pedestal. If I only see you for three hours a month, I feel a pressure to entertain you just so I can make the list for next month’s hang.
But this is not the type of friendship I want. I want to dilly dally, slowly, over time. Enjoy coffee when there isn’t much to say, just each others’ company to enjoy, or hang out at a friend’s apartment when she’s sick or hurt, make time even when we’re both busy. Caring about a friendship goes beyond just saying it… it’s about showing up. It’s a choice.
Somehow social media has turned into a virtue signaling ground for women to screech “if he wanted to he would,” dating icks, and reasons to dump that guy. But the same can go for friendship– if your friend wanted to show up for you… she would.
It hurts to find out I value my friendship with J more than she does. It never feels good to be rejected, even when it’s by a friend and not a romantic interest. It’s scary to be vulnerable about my needs because I can no longer turn a blind eye to the lopsidedness of our relationship. After all, “you begin to understand that admitting what you need is never a guarantee of receiving it.”
Admitting my needs is one thing, and standing my ground is another. It doesn’t mean we need to stop being friends, but I do believe I need to recalibrate. I’ve accidentally mistaken the duration of our friendship for depth. While it’s a painful realization to make, ultimately it is good to know who is around for a good time and who is around for you. Friendship means different things to different people.
But this experience makes me worry that many of the folks I see solely prioritize relationships with their partners, and unless I pair up, I’ll be nobody’s priority. It’s one thing to be romantically lonely, it’s another to live a life devoid of depth and connection.
I don’t want to date out of fear of being alone, and I don’t want to have shallow friendships. If my friend texted me “I’m not okay,” I would answer, at the latest, within three hours. If it takes you 36+ hours to check in on me when I am in a rough place, that’s a choice.
In the Liz Moody podcast, the hosts discuss a scene in Sex and the City where Carrie is on her way to a date when Charlotte calls with an “emergency.” Carrie still ends up going to her date, but on the way there, picks up Charlotte and the other two girls of the SATC squad for a quick taxi debrief before they each go on their merry ways.
I show up, communicate, and am present. It truly gives me joy to help out a friend. To show up, have them sleep over at my house if they’re feeling lonely. Call to check in when they’ve lost their job. Send flowers. And that’s what I expect in a friendship as well.
I was a bit hesitant to reach out to ask for help to begin with. A few years ago, I went through a particularly heinous breakup and health crisis and found out that many of the “friends” I had accrued over time were only good-time pals. These folks liked that I planned our social calendars, gave them access to job opportunities and friends, and always provided a free charcuterie board, but couldn’t be bothered to help me get my medication or stay over at my house when I was afraid to be alone. Embarrassed by the rejection, I chose to blame the problem on myself and how I was “too much” as opposed to realizing the painful truth that took years to see: I didn’t have good friends.
I’ve spent a lot of time being a good friend to people who did not reciprocate because I didn’t respect myself enough to know what I needed. I’ve learned since that “being your own friend doesn’t mean you stop needing people, it just means you stop abandoning yourself to keep them.”
While I could choose to hyper-fixate on the way that a particular friend is lacking, I’ve started to focus on the friends that have been there. When I mentioned I had been feeling lonely, my friend S immediately FaceTimed me, told me to start coming to run club (and made sure I did), and treated me to Thai food. My sister started texting and calling to check in on me. H asked me to grab wine, and it turns out, she too wanted to see friends more than once a month.
While I was surprised (and disappointed) at J’s response, I was surprised (and grateful) for those of others, who I hadn’t originally thought would care. I feel like I’ve gotten closer with a few of my friends in the past month or two that I’ve been honest with, and it’s been quite beautiful.
I’m grateful, and in making my needs known, I’ve been able to focus my time on friendships that are more in line with how I want to live. I’ve stopped looking for deep emotional support from friends who don’t show interest in breaking out of the catch-up loop.
The price of friendship is inconvenience. If you go to the gym every single day and your friend is in crisis, yep I think it’s time to skip the weights and pick up the phone (or show up in person– gasp!)
Obviously there are limits, but I’m seeing a trend of self-care language used as a form of avoidance: of friends, of the uncomfortable, of putting a struggling friend in front of yourself. Sometimes you need to show up for your friend even if it requires re-jiggering your schedule.
While it’s scary to be rejected when admitting my needs, it’s equally incredible when someone rises to meet me where I’m at. I’m still tender from the sharp switch up in my relationship with J, but I’ve also been overwhelmed with gratitude at those who have chosen to meet my vulnerability with kindness. Thank you to everyone who has made the time to check in on me and spend time with me these past few months.
P.S. Thank you to Holyn Thigpen for editing.
About the Writer
Olivia Barbulescu is a writer and comedian based in New York City, moving between sharp-witted observation and quiet emotional honesty with an ease that feels entirely her own. After years of working in comedy and performing for audiences who expect punchlines before vulnerability, she’s carving out a new space for herself through Feral Woman, her dedicated Substack for more personal, spirited, and unguarded writing.
This new project allows her to step outside the boundaries of her comedic persona and lean into the kind of storytelling that lingers, essays that hold both ferocity and softness, humour and ache, the inner voice that doesn’t need to perform to be heard. The Open Pen is deeply grateful for this submission and collaboration. Thank you, Olivia, for choosing this space to share your voice. Wishing you all the best in everything you continue to write and explore.
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I can relate. Sometimes we value people so deeply that we convince ourselves they feel the same way about us. It’s painful to realize they may not. Like you said, you weren’t asking her to drop everything. you were willing to work around her schedule. It hurts when you show up for others, support them, and care for them, yet they can’t be there for you during one of the hardest moments in your life.
As difficult as it is, this might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I hope you’re able to surround yourself with people who genuinely care for you and show up when you need them most.