Confessions of A Hopefully Quite Good Friend-in-Training
More very obvious things it took me decades to learn.
Reader, I have to tell you: I was a bad friend. At least, I think I was. (Quite a lot of evidence comes immediately to mind.) I used to blame it on the accidentally-getting-drunk-all-the-time-thing. Hangovers made me flakey. Beer made me fickle. Etc, etc…
But eight years (nearly nine!) sober and I can still be flakey. I might still, sometimes be a bad friend. Perhaps even now, as I write this, I am unwittingly committing some kind of social atrocity - forgetting a birthday, leaving a WhatsApp message on read for an inexplicable amount of time, accidentally ghosting someone I genuinely love but who unfortunately texted me during one of my frequent descents into the neverending tasks of the domestic realm…
It makes me sad to remember, and I don’t know how many of my friends would agree with my self-assessment. (Perhaps it’s time for a friendship review.) Some of them have told me (with the kind exasperation of people who have seen the same pattern play out a lot) that I have a tendency to beat myself up. And it’s true! But I also know that I used to be quite hopeless when it came to friendship.
And not in a fun way, either. Not in the, “Oh, she’s a lovable mess who forgets things but always turns up with wine and a cake” way. More in the “Oh, I thought we had plans today, but I guess she’s in bed watching videos or had a better offer” way.
Did my dad’s hands off approach to parenting teach me to be quite casual and hands-off in my own most important relationships? Perhaps. All I know is that it has taken a long time for me to understand what being a good friend entails. I didn’t realise things that, looking back, seem painfully obvious.
Painfully Obvious Things I Didn’t Realise
1. Making and upholding plans matters, because people’s time is precious
Unless something was explicitly, formally agreed upon - signed in blood, carved into a stone tablet, witnessed by an ancient council - then to me it wasn’t really a plan. It was just a nice idea, a glittering possibility that might come to fruition.
Turns out, some (lots of?) other people don’t think that way. If you say, “We should definitely go for coffee on Saturday!” they think this is a real thing that is happening. Meanwhile, I assumed this was just a joyful expression of enthusiasm, a fun little notion that might one day take form, like an embryo frozen in the laboratory, waiting to become life.
2. Cancelling plans isn’t a relief for everyone
I thought when I cancelled last minute, people were finally able to relax. “Wahoo! Unscheduled time bonus windfall!” Everyone rejoice.
What I possibly did not consider was that other people are different to me. People look forward to doing things, rather than dreading them. And they prepare, mentally, physically, etc. They have to get dressed, leave their houses, they might even have added mascara for this plan. Still hard to believe this one, bu people might actually have been excited to see me and now suddenly weren’t.
More likely, they had sacrificed this time, and were unable to make plans now because of my impromptu cancellation.
I now understand that cancelling can make people feel like they are on the bottom tier of my priorities, just below watching a documentary about an obscure Foxy Knoxy. And while that’s never how I felt about them, that’s sometimes how it looked.
Personally, I still love it when plans are cancelled, but it does make me sad that I rarely get to see my other dearly beloved plan-cancelling friends. Such is the cost of the introvert way of life…
3. Not answering your phone (or returning calls) can feel like rejection.
The ringing, the pressure, the feeling of being summoned into a spontaneous social encounter - shudder. Phone calls are horrifying. (Not in reality, but I don’t largely live in reality.) My phone has mostly been on silent mode since about 2004 (having a baby has slightly changed this.) Though I adore my friends and family for some reason I am rarely ever able to manage calling them. Appointments for phone calls, even to the people I love, are kind of my worst thing.
I try to reason with myself. To remind myself that at the other end of the phone is one of my favourite people, but somehow there is still a huge obstacle around using the phone.
Turns out, not answering your phone when people call can feel dismissive, even if you don’t mean it that way. People get frustrated at not being able to reach you. It can even make people feel like they are standing outside your house in the rain, knocking on the door, only to hear you whispering to yourself inside, "If I close my eyes for long enough, I know they’ll go away.”
4. Being a good friend isn’t just about how much you care - it’s about how you show it.
I have always cared about my friends. Deeply. But I hoped they just knew that, even if I disappeared for long periods, or was erratic in my responses..
But love, if not demonstrated, can look a lot like indifference.
Trying to Be Better
I’m still not the greatest friend. I’m so tired so often and I am allergic to the phone. I definitely still have moments of forgetting, flaking, overthinking, under-responding, and generally not being as communicative and present as the very best, most loyal and devoted pal might be (Fiddy, I’m looking at you).
Am I being too hard on myself? I have no idea.
But I try a lot more now. And I get it a lot more. I try to show up, follow through, answer my phone (or at least text back). And when I can’t, I try to remember and explain.
Because friendship - relationships, generally - I’ve realised, aren’t built on grand gestures. They’re built on the little things: the texts, the replies, the moments where you show that you hear and see and care.
I have lots of friends who have modelled great friendship to me. They consistently call or text to see how I am. Or drive over to my house just to have a cup of tea or remember important dates or events and let me know they are thinking of me. Or suggest fun things we could do. We don’t all have the same bandwidth, and that’s just reality. We all have to find what works for us, what’s realistic, but I’m really glad I’ve come to understand how much the effort of friendship pays dividends.
And the good thing about friendships? They can be repaired. You can tell your beloveds that you want to be a better friend. You could even ask them how!
I’m pretty confident I was a bad friend for quite a long time. And I know that I’m trying to be a better one now. Send me tips, if you have them.
Book update
This week I’m beginning a draft of chapter 3 of my upcoming book exploring the connection between undiagnosed neurodiversity and substance (especially alcohol) use, in which I’m writing about dopamine-chasing and impulsivity; how undiagnosed ADHD can lead to alcohol and substance abuse with euphoric, hilarious and - yep - occasionally distressing consequences.
I’ve begun a fascinating conversation with Dr
Price on the subject, and he has suggested how a harm reduction lens can be helpful when considering the ways in which neurodivergent (diagnosed or not) people use substances.This goes against my AA training, and so I am educating myself on this approach, beginning with a couple of his posts on the subject. I’ll share one of them here.
Chelsey Flood is the author of award-winning novels Infinite Sky and Nightwanderers, and a senior lecturer in creative writing at UWE. She is currently working on a book about the connection between undiagnosed neurodiversity and addiction + her first domestic noir
Ahhh, I adore you too! And definitely better late than never re the understanding and healing that came with diagnosis! And we must have given enough/been good enough friends to get those great friends sticking with us, mustn't we?? xxx
Ditto, ditto, ditto... frustratingly.
I see/hear/feel myself so many times in you, your actions, behaviour. And usually it makes me laugh helplessly (we do this together a lot) but sometimes, as in this brilliant piece, frustratingly so.
I am also fortunate in that my true friends have always accepted my poor behaviour and continued to check up on me regardless of time, events or miles. I now value that more than ever and I try to take more responsibility and facilitate relationships by whatsapping or likeing/ forwarding things on facebook/Instagram (on which I don´t post but I do look at) as much as I can... when I remember or my diary tells me. (appalling!)
I have no idea where we´d be if you had not been diagnosed (turns out it´s better late than never). It has enriched our lives beyond expectations and, I believe, made us much better people to be around and helped us to be kinder to ourselves.
I adore you.
X