Friendship is Hard (Even When You’re A Grown-up)

I’m hoping that this post ends up making sense, and that it applied to people other than me. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately because…well, because life.

I’m in a weird place with friends. Sometimes I attribute it to being a writer, but I essentially think everyone experiences variants of this in their life. And probably repeatedly.

I’m twenty-seven, I’ll be twenty-eight in a couple months. This year it’s been ten years since I’ve graduated from high school, and in so many ways I feel like I’m still floundering with relationships as much now as I ever was. Unlike high school nothing is manifesting in giant breaks of relationships, where no one ever speaks to each other again. But it’s…hard.

I often see other people live tweeting girl’s nights out, and it occurred to me: I don’t really have anyone I could call up and do that with. And that’s a sobering realization, let me tell you.

Some of my issues are, I’m sure, that I have something of a disconnect with the majority of my age group. I’ve been married for eight years, I have three kids and a demanding career. I’m in a different place than a lot of my peers.

I think some of this is brought on by the fact I work at home. I think some of it is because my mom was sick for a while, and people naturally distanced themselves because of their own discomfort. And I naturally distanced MYSELF because of mine. Because keeping my head down focusing on family was easier than giving status updates.

But we’ve come out of that, and I find myself struggling to deal with the non-family people in my life.

I have a friend I’ve known since we were babies, and she’s amazing. But we both have kids. She has a big family. We live within walking distance of each other and so rarely manage to see each other it’s…well it’s sad. She is supportive of my accomplishments, and I really hope I am of hers. But life has definitely gotten in the way of the kind of friendship we used to have.

Then there are the lovely new friends I’ve met since becoming a writer. Friendships forged online and at conferences, people I have tons in common with…but who live states, continents…oceans away.

And (this is where I hope no one RL is reading this, if so hi, *waves* I probably should have talked to you instead of blogged about it…but then, that’s an indicator of how hard it all is, isn’t it?) I have a segment of friends who I realized the other day never ask me about my writing career. Ever. I can spend six hours with them, talking about their work and careers and kids, and no one asks.

I was pondering it last time we were together (read getting broodier and broodier as the gathering went on) that maybe the problem is that our lives have moved in directions that are just way too different. Maybe they’ve changed. Or maybe it’s me.

Early on in my career there were some comments made that has made me feel like the topic of my writing isn’t welcome. I don’t feel like I can share my success with them and that feels like having to leave a large portion of my life, a part I’m passionate about, hidden. Sometimes I think that’s okay. That we can share other things and I don’t HAVE to talk writing with them.

Other times it really needles me. In fact, sometimes it feels pretty devastating. Like you want those people you care about, people you’ve been friends with for fifteen years, to be proud of you. To be interested in you. I’ve been at war with myself on how to address it. I don’t think I’ve worried so much about friends since I was sixteen. Heck, it outstrips even the boy drama I had back then.

I’m in a point where I feel adrift with friendships. Unable to connect with the people I want to connect with, either because of schedules, distance or change.

There’s every chance I need to be direct and ask for the changes I want. Which…is what I’m afraid of because ruminating and stewing costs less in terms of commitment to potentially rattling cages. I don’t like to rattle cages.

It’s hard to know how to conclude a post like this. Because I like to have some answers. I like to pretend I know what I’m talking about. I prefer to be funny. But in this instance, I really don’t have them. I’m just throwing up my hand to say: I’m Maisey, and I struggle with people.