Am I Showing Up the Way I Should?
Navigating Friendship While in Survival Mode
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on my friendships—specifically, how I’m showing up in them—and I keep feeling like I’m falling short. A recent conversation with a friend, someone I used to be really close with, brought these feelings to the surface. Over time, we drifted apart, but during our talk, she said something that stuck with me: she didn’t trust me to show up for her in the ways she needed.
That hit hard. I was surprised and, honestly, a little hurt. I’ve always tried to show up in the best way I know how. But the truth is—two things can be true at once. I can give 100%, and it still might not be what someone else needs. That realization made me question whether I should fight harder for the friendship. But I’ve come to understand that the answer is no. It’s okay if she’s no longer “my person.” That doesn’t mean there’s no love—it just means we’ve grown in different directions. And that’s okay.
Still, I’m left with a deeper question: Why does the upkeep of friendships feel so exhausting?
I’ve been sitting with that question for a long time. There was a time when reaching out to friends, planning hangouts, or just vibing together came naturally. Somewhere along the way, that spark faded. The idea of maintaining appearances began to feel draining. I’ve tried to track down when that shift happened, but I can’t quite pin it down.
After the conversation with that friend, I reached out to a few of my closest friends. I asked them how I could be a better friend—how I could make them feel more loved. Their responses were consistent and kind: “We already do. We understand your need for space. Just be yourself—who you are is enough.”
But is it?
One friend told me, “Just be the friend you would want.” And that’s where I’m struggling. A long time ago, after a painful breakup with a close friend, I stopped expecting closeness. That experience taught me that some people will love you when you’re up, but hold your struggles against you when you’re down.
Since then, life has been...a lot. I’ve been in survival mode for years, and I’m starting to realize how much that’s impacted my relationships. It’s hard to pour into others when I’m barely holding myself together—mentally, emotionally, financially. I tend to isolate when I’m struggling because that’s what I was taught. I grew up believing that you deal with pain alone. I don’t want to bring my heavy energy into anyone else’s space. My misery does not like company.
But now, I’m being challenged to rethink that. To consider that maybe those are the moments I need my friends the most. And that idea feels foreign. I don’t want to be the friend who only shows up when it’s convenient, but I also don’t want to burden anyone. When I hear someone say, “You only come around when you feel like it,” it cuts deep. It reinforces this internal fear that I’m not enough. That I’m a bad person.
And yet—I crave closeness. I want mutual intimacy in my friendships. I just don’t know how to maintain that without feeling overwhelmed. So, where does that leave me? Does that make me a bad friend? Should I push through even when I feel depleted? That doesn’t feel authentic. I do hold space when I can, but inconsistency has become a pattern—and I’m tired of making excuses for it.
But I also don’t know what to do next.
Here’s a hard truth: It feels easier for me to do life alone. Not because I don’t value connection, but because I’m afraid of letting people down. I don’t want to be the friend who disappears—but I also don’t always have the capacity to be present. So now I’m asking: What does friendship look like for someone like me? Someone who wants to be seen and loved, but often struggles to show up?
I don’t have the answers yet. But I’m starting to ask the right questions. And maybe that’s a good place to begin. My only hope is that my friendships are solid enough to withstand this chapter of my life—where I’m still learning how to be a good friend to myself.
