How Much Should I Expect From Friends?

Examining online communication’s tricky role in platonic and romantic relationships.

I love the satire site Reductress, and came across a post of theirs on Instagram entitled “‘Sorry, I’m So Bad at Texting,’ Says Friend Who Is Actually Bad at Friendship.” Clearly, that’s an over-generalized sentiment, but isn’t most satire exaggerated? In any case, I didn’t expect this level of controversy from a publication frequently addressing much touchier topics.

Nearly every top comment expressed some iteration of nobody being owed their time, friends being selfish for wanting regular texts, and mental illness impeding them from regular communication.

Some comments on both sides seemed needlessly aggressive, aligned with typical Internet discourse, but the general tune I’ve heard there and offline conveys that texting practices shouldn’t be reflective of a friendship’s strength.

I’m not arguing that delayed responses or a missed text are a big deal, or that one’s circumstances don’t have an impact on one’s relationships. And there’s no way I can pass judgment when each situation is personal and unique.

But as a general statement, I don’t think communication should be removed from friendship itself. Or at least, friends shouldn’t feel obligated to not take it into account.

I wish this weren’t the case. I wish I could see all of my friends without even trying. Modern technology is rife with issues: different expectations over texting frequency, an impersonal nature, technical issues.

But with COVID-19, friends living as far as 3,000 miles away, no co-workers, and no housemates beyond my parents, my only option is dependence on online communication, if only to facilitate FaceTime dates or socially-distanced hangouts.

And that still doesn’t mean I expect friends to constantly be available. I do like keeping in touch regularly with friends, but recognize that’s not always doable.

Still, when it’s been a while since a friend last replied to me, with no heads-up over a busy schedule or feeling down, I begin to wonder if something in the friendship has shifted and start emotionally detaching myself. Communication with a friend over feelings is usually a priority in navigating relationships, but given that I’m not hearing anything back in the first place, this is clearly made more difficult.

The most frequent, and I think most excusable rationale for ignoring texts is mental health—I’d say at least 75% of my friends have ghosted me for some period of time due to depression. And I don’t want my friends to feel obligated to step outside of their comfort zone.

But I also think this statement can co-exist with my own need to take care of myself, that maybe this behavior means we are not well-matched as close friends given my own mental health and past friendships.

Unluckily for me, I seem to crave the opposite of my friends’ isolation when I’m feeling sad — affirmation, comfort, a sense of belonging. Feeling lonely increases or creates depression. Wondering if a close friend of several years doesn’t want to be friends anymore makes me anxious.

Because these fears and insecurities are personally not unfounded. Having already lost three close friends for mostly unknown reasons without any warning — just a realization that my messages would forever go unanswered—I’m reticent to strengthen my friendships with similarly lopsided communication, worrying that their silences, especially when unexplained, are a harbinger of another lost friendship.

I recognize that this is an imperfect system, and I don’t like being cynical when it comes to people I care about. I know it’s a part of life to lose friends, and often isn’t personal, but someone ending a friendship weeks before you even realize it makes the loss particularly difficult to deal with.

So at the very least, I wish to know what the other person is thinking: if this is something temporary, or if I should just stop bothering to text. But again, in the case of mental health, I recognize that’s made more difficult, especially when talking about the subject is so stigmatized.

So I try not to pass along much judgment in such cases, but caring about them doesn’t mean I have to try to be their savior.

I’ve had a friend thank me for not giving up on her, being one of two friends to continually text her after she ghosted everybody for about a year. I worried over her desperately, and even recruited a mutual friend to text her too, which both friends later divulged they found a little weird, understandably so.

And while I felt elated by her gratitude in the moment, and while I’m glad that she felt loved by those messages, I truthfully wouldn’t dedicate so much time and energy in a situation like that again. Checking in a couple times is characteristic behavior of a good friend, but it becomes draining to perpetually feel overlooked by someone you love, no matter the reason why.

And it also seems a little strange to me that a pass is given for friends in a way that is not given for romantic attachments.

One of my friends who ghosted me, someone I considered my best friend for ten years, someone who called me her platonic soulmate, was more meaningful than anyone I’ve ever dated. But a guy who ghosted me after a mere three weeks of dating was enthusiastically cussed out by my other friends, a stronger response than what I got after bemoaning the loss of that friend.

The typical reply was usually just a “Oh, that sucks.” Only a couple friends really understood how meaningful this friendship had been to me, how its unexpected loss made me suspicious that any relationship could randomly fall apart.

Perhaps ironically, some of the same friends who have ghosted me in the past have also advised me to stop seeing someone I’m dating for less fickle behavior than weeks or more of being ignored. Something about expecting romantic partners to constantly be emotionally available while shrugging off months of silence from a close friend feels uncomfortable, reflective of a culture that constantly prioritizes romantic love no matter what.

Nevertheless, maybe the solution is not increased stringency in friendships, but rather more grace and flexibility given in romantic relationships. In a way generally not seen until the sixties, “people expect to pile emotional support, sexual satisfaction, shared hobbies, intellectual stimulation, and harmonious co-parenting all into the same cart” with their romantic partners. Perhaps not expecting a partner to fulfill every single need 24/7 would decrease pressure on the romantic front, while also opening up increased connection with friends and family members.

I do really love and value my friends. And I try to be sensitive to what’s going in their lives. But it’s also become increasingly important for me to evaluate how much I want to sacrifice for a friend as someone who puts a lot of emotional energy into friendships.

Because sometimes, it really is worth it to go to the moon and back for someone. Which I think makes it even more important to safeguard that energy for friends who I am even more compatible with.