OH Dear: What if no one wants a friend like me?
Letter 01: On (un)likability and filling an empty nest with new friends
Welcome to the first edition of the Outsourced Help column, Dear Tami (‘OH Dear…’ for short) where I’ll provide real advice for a fictional character you probably know and (maybe) love. While I’ll admit that my input is unsolicited, my advice is prompted by something the character says in the course of their story and then generously elaborated on using my imagination (and years of actor training in character development and embodiment).
Please note: All advice is meant for fun and entertainment purposes only. I am not a therapist…but I (could) play one on TV.
Dear Tami,
I am a 50ish year old wife and mom. My entire adult life has revolved around raising my three kids and going to their boring baseball games and doing their laundry and checking their homework and shuttling them around and feeding the garbage disposal that is a teenage boy’s appetite (x 3). I’m not the sentimental type, but between you and me, I’ve loved it.
Last year, my youngest son graduated and now all of my boys are out of the house. Except my husband who is about to retire and will no longer be anywhere but the house. Which means the universe where I have reigned supreme will soon be shared with someone who is undoubtedly going to spend his newfound freedom following me around all day asking me stupid questions about how things in the house work.
Don’t get me wrong- I love my husband. But I can only love him for about an hour and forty five minutes a day. Which means I need to get out of the house. The problem is…I don’t have any friends.
I have acquaintances, but I don’t like them very much and we don’t really have anything in common- most of all, our personalities. The one close friend I did have just moved to Australia. She’s bad at phone calls and I’m bad at math. The other day I called her in the middle of her night and gave her a full blown panic attack because she thought it was an emergency. So, I’m calling that time of death for our friendship…9:36 AM…Pacific Time.
I’ve never had many friends and I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. Not to mix metaphors, but my husband calls me a strong cup of coffee. I’m opinionated and nosey. I can be blunt and sarcastic. I’m not comfortable with girly things, like emotions or hugs or vulnerability stuff. I also do things like classify emotions and vulnerability as “girly things,” which my sons constantly remind me is outdated and unevolved.
The things is, I think I’m super cool. I’m helpful and I always show up, even when I’m not asked. But even that seems to rub people the wrong way these days. Maybe that’s why I enjoy tumbling rocks so much. I’m like the grit that polishes things. Which, if you’ve ever tumbled, you know has some pretty beautiful results, but does not seem to be what people are looking for in a friend.
I used to think I didn’t have friends because I was too selective and I didn’t really try because my life was full and busy. But now I’m here and I’m not busy and it’s a bigger gap than I expected, which kind of leaves me at a loss.
I am really, truly fine not being for everyone, but I am starting to wonder if I might not be for anyone.
What if no one wants a friend like me?
-Strong Cup of Coffee
Dear Strong Cup of Coffee,
It sounds like you’re going through your own graduation of sorts. The kind that deserves celebration and honor and a very large cake. And one that rarely gets recognized, though it is no less impressive or significant…or disruptive to life as you once knew it.
I am not a mom, so I can’t speak to the empty nest of it all, but it sounds like you’re in a transition. And I do know a lot about transitions. Especially the kind that leave us feeling empty-handed. Abruptly and unexpectedly confronted with the remains of an ill-fitting identity, whether it’s one we’ve simply outgrown or one that was always a bit stretched at the seams and we just never noticed because our attention was invested elsewhere.
Maybe it was all the two-piece BFF necklaces we exchanged in elementary school or the “when I grow up I want to be (insert career here)” forms we filled out, but somewhere along the way we got the idea that “when we grow up” our lives, and everything and everyone in them, become fixed. I don’t even know when this supposedly happens- probably sometime after college? maybe around 30?- but the idea that our homes, our jobs, and our friends continue to change for, well, as long as we’re alive, still seems like a relatively new revelation for most of us.
And it’s extra confusing because, as adults, our homes, jobs, kids, and friends are usually pretty interconnected, even interdependent. So, when one changes, the others change and we find ourselves with all these holes that we’re not prepared for, that no one really talks about. It’s no wonder our natural reaction is to pile them full of regrets or problem solve what went wrong. Or, more specifically, what we did wrong.
It doesn’t make it any less lonely, but I can tell you with one thousand percent certainty that you are not alone. It’s not just you.
Making friends is hard. Making friends as an adult is even harder. Making friends as an adult who has historically had a hard time making friends is like walking the tightrope of feeling like a total loser while simultaneously performing the acrobatic attempt of convincing others we are highly desirable.
When I was six, I moved to a new school. I was very shy and very scared of going somewhere I didn’t know anyone, especially where everyone else already knew each other. On my first day of first grade, during morning recess, I took my mom’s advice and bravely asked a girl to be my friend. She said yes. And then she ran away and played with another girl.
I have (clearly) never forgotten this. Across every chapter of my life, some chapters where I’ve had a lot of friends and others where I’ve had none, inside I am always that six year old girl who wasn’t good enough to be someone’s first choice friend.
Truth or not, proof or not, that’s the impression that set in the wet concrete of my childhood and in many ways, my personality adapted to compensate for this. I wonder if the same is true for you?
You described yourself as opinionated and nosey, blunt and sarcastic (am I also detecting subtle hints of abrasive and overbearing?). These are hard sounding words. I wonder if they are yours or someone else’s assignments? I wonder if any of these qualities began as something softer that had to become harder to protect you. We can strengthen anything into armor if we need to.
I’m not suggesting that deep down you’re really a meek little mouse or a pillowy soft snuggle person. But I do think we shape shift in favor of acceptance or to preempt rejection and those two things aren’t always compatible so we overcorrect in one direction or the other. Me? I went extra on the sweet side. Maybe you leaned toward salty?
What I love is that you also told us you’re cool and helpful and dependable. You prefaced it with “I think I am…” and that sounds to me like hopefulness. Like wanting to be seen the way you see yourself. I don’t mean to burst your bubble here, but that, my Strong Coffee friend, is vulnerability and I won’t give you a hug if you don’t want one, but I do want you to know that I see you.
Woven all through your letter are telltale signs of genuine loyalty and fierce protectiveness and generosity and honesty. Those are beautiful qualities. Those are desirable qualities. We would all be so lucky to find those in a friend.
I think it’s a good question to ask- what qualities make a good friend- but it’s not the only question worth answering.
You’ve spent a lot of time anticipating what others need and want, and that outward orientation puts all the decision-making in someone else’s hands, leaving you to make it work.
But this is not America’s Next Top Model (excuse the dated reference- that’s the last reality show I watched). You are not standing in front of a panel of judges, trying to be what they want just so you get picked. Does it feel that way sometimes? Sure. Part of that can be easily avoided by not searching for friends at reality show open calls. And the other part is remembering that you have a choice. You don’t have to take what you can get (or get whoever will take you). You get to decide. But first you need to know what you want.
You have changed. Your life has changed. What you want and need in a friendship has probably also changed. If you have approximately 14 hours a day to fill without your devoted husband, how would you like to fill them? And who would you like to fill them with?
My therapist once reminded me that some needs are relational and that’s ok. We need each other. But we are well served in all our relationships when we begin by being a good friend to ourselves.
Take very good care, Strong Coffee.
Heart,
Tami
Anything I missed? Anything to add? Insert your two cents below. And, if you know of a fictional character who could use some real advice, use this (anonymous) form and send them my way.
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Loved this! Such a great practice in empathy. Developing 3D characters is the hardest part of writing (IMO). I love what you’re doing and feel like it could also be a good exercise for other writers if you ever teach a class. Super thought-provoking. Great work! 💗
This is the perfect balance of endearing, funny, clever and poignant. TOD friendship got a real LOL from me. And the text might have gotten a bit fuzzy to read around the middle there when our friend was being seen.
Love.