I’m not great at many things, and honestly, I’m okay with that. Peeling a hardboiled egg? Forget it—I always end up taking half the egg white with it. Sports? Not my forte. Math? My high school algebra teacher would probably faint if she saw how little I remember. And fashion? I need Pinterest or a mannequin just to put together an outfit. While I’m not too bothered by these shortcomings, there’s one area where I do feel a twinge of guilt—friendship.
I admit I’m a bit of a slacker when it comes to maintaining friendships. Sometimes I fail to reply to texts, snaps, or Facebook messages promptly. I’ll miss phone calls and then promise to return them, only to let it slip my mind. Weeks can pass with little to no real conversation between me and my friends. If they don’t drag me out of my house—or just show up at my door—I might not be seen for ages. I’ll send a meme or comment on their Instagram post to let them know I’m still breathing, but my involvement is minimal. I keep a watchful eye on their lives through my social media feeds, and as long as they seem okay without me, I don’t prioritize reaching out.
Let me clarify: I genuinely love my friends. I think about them regularly, often multiple times a day. If there’s ever a crisis, I’m there, no matter the time—ready to offer support. However, regarding the everyday interactions—the simple act of saying “hi”—I’m pretty terrible at actually expressing that they’re on my mind. Something may remind me of a dear friend, and I’ll think, “I should tell her this,” but then… I don’t. Life gets chaotic, and I feel overwhelmed, as if my plate is already overflowing. The thought of squeezing in a phone call, which could easily take half an hour, feels impossible when I’m trying to catch up on everything else.
When I was younger, I was a better friend—full of energy and time to spare for chats, pedicures, and girls’ nights. Now, I barely have the energy to tackle my laundry (hence the wrinkled pile sitting in the basket). Unfortunately, I’ve lost friends due to my tendency to “ghost” them, but I can’t blame them for moving on. Those who didn’t stick around were likely just acquaintances who didn’t understand my situation. My true friends, however, recognize that when I disappear into my own little world, it’s not personal. It’s just me trying to juggle too many responsibilities. During those times, maintaining friendships falls to the back burner, and I communicate only through quick snaps or Facebook “likes” sent while multitasking.
The silver lining is that my friends understand this about me. I know they won’t judge me when I flake out or when my anxiety makes me retreat. The fact that I feel comfortable enough to lose touch speaks volumes about our bond: I know they’re not going anywhere. When I finally resurface, it’s as if no time has passed. We pick right back up where we left off.
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In summary, while I may struggle to keep in touch with my friends, the relationships that truly matter are resilient. My true friends understand my challenges, and when I’m ready to reconnect, it’s like no time has passed at all.
Keyphrase: “friendship maintenance”
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