I Miss You
When friendships take different paths
I miss you. I miss us.
I miss what we had and how we were.
When you announced your big news, I was simultaneously delighted for you and devastated for myself. Your future was on the path to your version of fulfillment and happiness. I feared it would change us.
I knew our lives were diverging, and we would walk in different directions. Yes, I was truly happy for you, but I felt sadness in the pit of my stomach. Things would never be the same again.
The Steady Creep
You said things wouldn’t change between us. But I knew differently. I have been here many times. I didn’t realize quite how different they would become, though. I guess I had more faith in our friendship than it merited.
Before long, your whole conversation circles around what is to come. I understand this; it was an exciting and nerve-wracking time for you. Despite my tokophobia, I showed an interest and listened. At the same time, my heart sank. It seemed you had lost all interest in me and my life. This disinterest became more established over time.
I felt myself fading in your presence.
Opposites Can Attract
Wonderful friendships can exist between dedicated parents and those who choose to be childfree. But it takes effort, understanding, and empathy from both sides.
I have little interest in babies, but I made an effort when he arrived. I understand he is the center of your universe. As your friend, I am interested in hearing how you are. I want to know what ignites your soul, and what piques your interest. I am curious to hear what keeps you awake at night with excitement and what both compels and drives you. I may not share your interests and passions, but I adore you.
As a show of my adoration, I ask about your life and listen intently to your words. I love seeing you blossom and bloom. But it works both ways. A sustainable friendship is reciprocal.
Identity Loss
I watch as you slip away, and in your place, there stands a stranger. But I also look forward to getting to know this stranger. Over the first few months and even years of motherhood, I hear you say you have lost your identity. I understand this is a common feeling for new mothers, it must be extremely difficult to adapt. I appreciate it takes time to settle into your new world.
It is a difficult stage in life, so I am always willing to make most of the effort. But I need something back.
Your world becomes child-centric. Old hobbies die away, and previous interests wain. Your child becomes both your way of life and your hobby.
You post pictures of your child daily on social media. Pictures of him turning one month, one month and one day, one month and two days... one year one month and one day.
I interact to show my support and love, but I feel conflicted. I know he is your pride and joy. I know he brings you deep happiness, and I am happy for your happiness.
But the reality is I am connected with you on social media to see you and hear your thoughts and views. Not to feel I am in an audience of your child’s upbringing and have a daily image commentary of your child’s life.
It seems your social media accounts are turning into child-theme platforms. Just as I start to process my feelings around this, recognizing you are at liberty to post whatever you like, I realize you don’t interact with my social media anymore. No likes or comments. Nothing. And yet, I see you interacting with all our mutual friends on social media. Granted, these posts are also of babies.
The penny drops. You are no longer interested in me and my life, as I don’t have a child. Whilst I understand this to an extent, you can’t even bring yourself to feign interest as a token of our love and friendship. This hurts. I feel pushed aside.
I am friends with you, not your child. Yet it seems my lack of a child, and lack of adoration for your child, has created a wedge in our friendship.
You remark that you have lost your identity. From an old friend looking in, you have handed your identity away. There are things you could still do, yet you choose not to. If you are happy, that’s ok; it’s your choice.
You don’t need my friendship anymore. You have your mum friends. We drift apart, and I miss you.
You Wouldn’t Understand
We still see each other, on rare occasions, on your terms. I get this, and it’s ok; I fit in where I’m needed. I never see you alone, though.
What I would give to spend one afternoon with my old friend. But it doesn’t seem like you need or want this.
Our old rusty friendship seems so disconnected these days.
The thing that penetrates me most is the way you dismiss me. You say
if it’s something about having children or being a mum.
Do you realize those words invalidate me? Are you trying to make me feel less of a person?
You don’t need to have or want children to understand the perils and joys of parenthood.
Don’t Resent Me
You used to be happy for me if I achieved a goal or ambition. We shared our dreams and ideas and encouraged and supported each other. Now, you often reply with a “that must be nice” or something equally resentful with a twist of bitterness.
We have chosen different paths; neither of us is wrong or right. Please do not try to induce my guilt for doing things that you say you now can not since you have a child. We all make choices in life, and we also make sacrifices with these choices.
You are pushing me away.
I Miss You
I am exhausted. Although you have told me many times, I can’t know the meaning of this since I don’t have children. But I am exhausted. I am exhausted from trying to be your friend. Our mixed energies used to be invigorating and rejuvenating. Now I feel drained.
Can we salvage this? Or have we become polar opposites?
Will You Come Back
Maybe in the future, our beautiful friendship will reignite. But as things stand, I need some space. This is exactly what I feared would happen. Some friendships survive and even thrive in this change, while others don’t.
I love you; I will always be here for you. But I can’t take all the responsibility for the survival and maintenance of our friendship.
Parents and Non-parents Can Be Friends
It is perfectly possible for parents and non-parents to be great friends. I have many fantastic friends who are mothers.
We thrive together by listening to each other and not comparing our lives. We do not compete in the suffering Olympics. We value and respect each other’s choices. We show an interest in each other’s lives. We invest time into our friendship.
We celebrate each other’s wins. Wins look different for each of us. A win can be a successful day of potty training or the founding of a small business. Neither is more or less important.
Ultimately, in a healthy friendship between parents and non-parents, neither is so blinded and consumed by their own life that they stop seeing the colors of the other person.
Read more stories from the childfree angle here:
🙏Thank you for reading my story Ali Hall
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