Friendship in Adulthood: The Love Story We Don’t Talk About Enough

This is purely based on my experience, not a general sentiment - so please, no psychoanalysis after reading this.

I’ve always been a bit… closed off. The kind of person people assume doesn’t want to be bothered. I’ve been called a snob more than once, and my resting face? Let’s just say it didn’t exactly radiate “come talk to me.” That feedback came from both men and women. And yes, I cared - a little. But not enough to do much about it. Because the truth is, the people who actually got close to me never saw me that way. Sure, they might’ve thought I was standoffish at first, but once they got to know me, it was usually followed by something like, “Oh, she’s actually really nice.” (Which I am - if I do say so myself.)

It took therapy for me to realize that I’d been keeping people at arm’s length for years - unconsciously. My demeanor was doing all the work. I wasn’t trying to be distant; I just… was. It was my default setting. These days, though, I’m trying to do better. I check in on old friends. I reach out to new ones over shared interests. I share what I know - about work, random life lessons, or whatever deep-dive topic I’ve recently gone down a rabbit hole researching. I’m far from perfect at this friendship thing, but I’m trying. And I genuinely love that about me. Because let’s be honest: making and keeping friends as an adult is hard. Everyone’s busy juggling careers, relationships, responsibilities, and emotional baggage that’s been politely repackaged as “self-awareness.” But when you find people who get you - the ones built on empathy and grace - it’s magic.

A little story: a while ago, I was in a weird funk. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even my best friend. I’d text, but that was it. He noticed, called me out, and I hit him with the classic “Work’s just crazy right now.” (Lie. Total lie.) Eventually, when I snapped out of it, I came clean. I told him I’d been in a slump and just didn’t have the energy to talk. I took responsibility. And instead of guilt-tripping me, he just… understood. That’s empathy. That’s grace. And it’s gone both ways. He’s had his moments, and I’ve been the one to show up quietly, no judgment, just presence. Because friendship isn’t always equal - but it should always be mutual.

Here’s the part I’m still working on: for the longest time, I made my romantic relationships the core of my world. Partly because I didn’t have many close friendships - or rather, I didn’t nurture the ones I had. I poured everything into my partner, expecting one person to fill every role: best friend, confidant, therapist, hype squad. Spoiler alert - it doesn’t work that way. Now, I’m actively making peace with that realization-maybe a little too late. I’m unlearning the idea that love has to center around one person. I’m learning to spread it out - across friends, hobbies, passions, and myself. It’s a humbling but freeing process. Because friendships matter. Sometimes, even more than romantic relationships. Friends hold space for you in ways partners sometimes can’t. They see the unfiltered, unperformed you. They witness your evolution - not because they have to, but because they choose to. And that’s a bond worth watering. It doesn’t mean a romantic partner cannot hold space for these things too by the way.

So here’s to trying

To checking in, even when it feels awkward.

To saying “I miss you” without needing a reason. - I rarely do this but I will start trying!

To giving grace when your friend disappears for a bit (because, let’s be real, we all do).

And to remembering that friendships deserve the same effort, honesty, and heart we reserve for romantic love.

Because at the end of the day, love - in any form - only grows when we pour in.