Why are adult friendships so hard?

Being an adult is texting your friends back and forth, trying to make a plan to meet until one of you dies… or, at least, that’s how it feels to me sometimes. 

Yes, you can decide your own bedtime and eat ice cream for breakfast if you so please, but the responsibilities that come with being a grown-up mean that the fun things you looked forward to as a child, usually aren’t part of your reality. Sadly, I don’t own my Barbie Dreamhouse, nor does my current abode have a pool with a water slide as anticipated, which is weird… No one tells you how lonely adulthood can be. Despite the illusion of connection, many of us are quietly drifting apart from the people we love, not because we’ve stopped caring, but because friendship often feels like just another task on an already overloaded to-do list.

There have been times in the not-so-recent past, when all life seems to be is an endless cycle of working, doing laundry and sleeping. Most days, I’m lucky if I have enough energy to cook a meal and go to the gym. I almost always need to go to the shop to pick something up and the speed at which bill payments fly out of my account is truly something to behold. As for socialising? Well, that’s usually bottom of the pile, the least important on my list of priorities and more often than not, the first to go if I’m feeling tired, rundown or emotionally spent. 

Recently I came across a Substack by a writer called Rosie Spinks. Titled The Friendship Problem, the piece delves into the complexities of adult relationships and how, sadly, maintaining close bonds with those we love can often feel “strikingly similar to admin”. It struck a chord with me because it’s a topic I’ve oft thought about. In the interest of full transparency, I’ve lamented my distinct lack of close friendships to my boyfriend quite often, usually through thick-falling tears interspersed with sobs about feeling lonely. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that—especially on the internet where I avoid earnestness at all costs—but Spinks’ article made me realise this isn’t just a me problem; it’s a modern affliction. Despite how it looks online, I—like so many others—am lonelier than ever.

Esther Perel, a woman many would consider the authority on relationships (of all kinds), sums it up better than I ever could: “Modern loneliness masks itself as hyper-connectivity. And so people have easily 1,000 virtual friends, but no one they can ask to feed their cat. That loneliness, which is really a depletion of the social capital, is extremely powerful.” This speaks to that feeling of burnout, one which I initially put down to my job but have since learned is actually a byproduct of scroll culture and my being online, all! the! bloody! time! Our bodies were not built for this. We were not meant to consume so much content, see so many people, or watch so many things at once and yes, that is undeniably taking its toll on our relationships. My online presence would suggest that I have a thriving social life (which is mostly down to my job), but I lack the kind of real-life intimate connections I so desperately crave. 

In her article, Spinks ponders her situation, musing that it’s entirely possible her own lack of friendships is a result of her life choices; she moved from London (where she made most of her friends) to a smaller place outside the city, is in a long-term relationship and has a toddler… it’s not exactly a recipe for a bustling social life as she’s “strictly beholden” to bedtime and other such routines. I’m not quite 30 yet and don’t have children, but like Rosie, I moved from Dublin back home to Longford where, intentionally or not, I’ve sort of isolated myself from the outside world. I still traverse to the “big city” almost weekly to see my boyfriend but most of my friends have emigrated and the few people I do know up there face the same persistent issue of unrelenting busyness – plans making it out of the group chat is genuine cause for celebration because unfortunately, it so rarely happens anymore. 

Unlike when I was in college and socialising kind of happened by default (i.e. when we all had a break between lectures and would congregate at the same table in the university canteen), meeting up requires much more effort these days. Organising a coffee catch-up entails at least five to 10 follow-up messages, with both parties suggesting dates that ultimately don’t suit, and so the meeting falls through because an alternative was never found. Going for dinner requires pre-booking a table weeks in advance and between end-of-month money woes and commuting time, generally ends up sapping energy rather than restoring it. Even lifelong friends, the ones I know will be around until we’re all old and grey, have been relegated to intermittent voice notes. As Rosie puts it, “The friendship fizzles into WhatsApp volleys back and forth, and then someone doesn’t answer the last message, and then it’s a year before you ever talk again.” It’s jarring to realise that you’ve only spoken once in the past 12 months and despite having an immense amount of love for one another, don’t really have that much in common anymore. When did it all become so difficult?

Of course, it would be easy to blame everything on my being at home, but even when I lived in the heart of The Liberties, I still felt an almost ever-present sense of disconnection. While Dolly Alderton wrote about the significance of female friendship in her life, I sat alone in my bedroom wondering, what was wrong with me not to have that? If you haven’t read her memoir Everything I Know About Love, it’s a gorgeous reverie on our so-called “messy years” and the importance of platonic love in buoying us through. I absolutely adored it and still regard it as one of my favourite books ever, but Dolly’s raucous 20s, spent living in flatshares with friends (and Rod Stewart cutouts, IYKYK) were not reflective of my own in Dublin where I pinballed between rentals with groups of strangers, trying to find my people. Shows like Friends had me under the impression that you just accrued new friendships as you moved through life, adding new ones to the pool of existing ones until you had a core group you did everything with. I’ve since learned that’s not true, nor is it realistic.

It’s taken years for me to feel comfortable talking about this with other people, mostly because I thought mine was a singular experience but as both psychologist Dr Clodagh Campbell (whose new book, The Steps, is out now) and chartered clinical psychologist and author Dr Malie Coyne point out, we’re in the midst of a loneliness epidemic – one which isn’t just affecting older people. In fact, everyone is susceptible to it. 

“We don’t need to be alone to be lonely,” says Campbell. “We can feel very disconnected when we are doing, doing, doing. Loneliness presents itself in very different ways for people.” “There’s a shame in saying ‘I feel lonely’,” adds Coyne. “Nobody wants to admit that. People can feel lonely at different parts of their lives. But social connection doesn’t even have to be about having lots of friendships. It can literally be about going out to a bus stop, going out to the supermarket, chatting to somebody. We saw what happened during Covid. It was really difficult for people who weren’t having those little interactions with one another. That can boost your brain chemicals and let you feel a sense of belonging in your community.”

And then capitalism enters the chat. We’ve been conditioned to think that self-care—most of which revolves around solitary practices involving various accoutrements—is the answer but all that does is further isolate us from people. Why? Because doing so sells more things for big companies who actually don’t really care about our well-being at all. We’ve come to equate looking after ourselves with a sheetmask and a spice bag when we don’t feel like cooking but what if there’s more to it? Much has been written about the struggle to make friends as we get older but it’s a pervasive problem that, from my perspective, only seems to be getting worse. How do we fix it? 

Unfortunately, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Maintaining existing friendships and building new ones requires active effort and a lot of the time, risk. “It can be so hard to make friends because it can feel very risky to put yourself out there,” explains Campbell. “My advice is to think about what you really enjoy and how you can meet other people through that. Maybe it’s a book club or horseriding or playing trad music – it doesn’t matter what it is, just something that brings you joy. You have to take a risk too though. It’s one thing to go to a class, but you have to also take the risk of talking to someone, of inviting them for coffee. You have to take the risk of entering into small talk, engaging with the person, and then asking them out as friends. Unless you’re pushing yourself outside your comfort zone, you’re actually not going to make the connection.” 

When you’re juggling lots of balls, as so many of us are, it’s easy to drop the one labelled ‘friendship’ because it’s not as urgent as say, the ones labelled ‘work’ or ‘kids’ or ‘elderly parents’. But just because those balls can be put down for a moment doesn’t always mean that doing so is the best course of action. For example, cancelling plans might sound appealing but withdrawing and keeping to yourself might make you feel worse. Knowing when to protect your peace and when to push through takes time and practice but it’s important to remember that being around loved ones can be an act of self-care in and of itself. 

“Sometimes we forget that doing the thing we don’t want to will energise and bring us joy,” says Campbell. “Often when you’re out there with your friend, you forget that you’re tired because you’re feeling energised, you’re feeling love, you’re joyful. Sometimes, it’s about reminding yourself that you will get a lot out of going or doing something. Creating a note in your journal as a reminder to yourself that you didn’t want to go, it was hard to motivate yourself but actually you had a gorgeous time and you left feeling refreshed can be really helpful.”

Loneliness thrives in silence and shame… but once I started talking about it, I realised just how many others feel the same; disconnected, overwhelmed, craving something deeper. Friendship isn’t dead, it’s just waiting for us to show up again. Risk the small talk. Follow the joy. Send the message, even if it’s been a year. It might never be as easy as it was in childhood when you could literally ask someone to be your friend, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the effort. In fact, maybe now it matters more than ever.

Feature image via @emmajappleton