The Most Overlooked Relationship

I love romance.

Writing about it, analyzing it, keeping it alive, wondering what kills it. But for too long, I rarely thought about one of the most important relationships in our lives: Friendship.

Confession: I am not a naturally good friend. It took my best friend from college texting me out of the blue — right when I had quietly decided maybe we’d just been seasonal friends — to wake me up. Her message wasn’t small talk. She told me she had cancer.

I called her immediately and cried. Then I booked a flight.

We reconnected. We healed. I told her I had been stupid. And I remembered all the things I loved about her. Why she had meant so much to me in the first place. We were different now. Very different. We had both changed a lot over twenty years. But our love for each other was exactly the same, and it trumped all the differences.

Here’s my problem, one that’s been discussed on Nina Badzin’s podcast and blog about friendship.

I’m a tester.

I test my friends’ loyalty and thoughtfulness… except they don’t know they’re being tested.

Which is pretty unfair. 

Also pretty awful.

Part of this, I suspect, is my Enneagram Two wiring. I love helping. Love, love, love it. It energizes me. It gives me meaning and purpose.

But the dark side of helping? Sometimes you start to expect others to show up the same way. To return the favor. To offer the heartfelt thank you for the thoughtful thing you did.

And when that doesn’t happen — forgotten birthdays, unanswered messages, long stretches without talking — the story writes itself: They don’t care about me. So why should I make the effort?

Here’s what I’ve learned.

I have REALLY GREAT FRIENDS. 

Some old. Some new. Some who drifted away and then found their way back again. I’ve never had a friend be cruel, hurtful, or petty — except in junior high, and honestly, that barely counts (or “middle school, Mom,” as my children like to correct me).

My friends don’t always remember my birthday. They don’t always initiate plans or send the first text. But I’ve stopped keeping score.

I wish them happy birthday. Sometimes I send a card or gift. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes they thank me. Sometimes they don’t.

What matters more is this: When I reach out, they respond. When I suggest getting together, they show up. When we’re together, they are funny, validating, and genuinely glad to see me.

They make me feel loved. Valued. Known.

And when we’re together, it’s easy. Effortless. My shoulders drop. My heart feels full. Because in the end, community and relationships are among the strongest protective factors of brain health and essential in a life well lived.

So I nurture these friendships. I listen when that quiet tug in my chest says, It’s time to check in. I send the text: I miss you. Let’s hang out.

It’s entirely possible — maybe even likely — that some of my friends take comfort, consciously or not, in knowing I’m the one who keeps the thread moving between us.

And honestly? I’m okay with that.

Because I also know this: when life gets hard (and it always does eventually), when I need comfort or connection or someone to sit beside me in the messy middle—they will be there.

Happily.

And really… what more could you ask for in a friend?

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