When Nobody Shows Up and Friendship Fails Us
A journal reflection on unreciprocated care and feeling unseen by those we love
Thank you for being here and spending time with my words. I can’t fully express how much it means to me that you take the time to read, reflect, and share your thoughts. Each of you makes my heart beam with gratitude. Thank you for holding space for my heart and allowing me to hold yours in return. You make writing an absolute joy. May life show you the same kindness and warmth you so generously give to me.
On Monday, I saw two different occasions of women posting and celebrating their friends throwing them surprise baby showers and bridal showers. And then, just a few days prior to that, a mutual shared her joy over planning a successful bridal shower for her best friend. When I saw that, I remember thinking to myself, Wow, when it comes to friendship, some people are really lucky. I cannot imagine having friends go such an extra mile for me.
It’s as if this last week has been dedicated to sore reminders of the discontent and letdown I’ve felt in my own friendships. A memory on Facebook brought it all back just a month or two ago—there I was, years younger, asking for advice on how to plan a baby shower for my best friend.
I was so new to adulthood and eager to make her feel special. I had no experience, no clue what I was doing, but all the determination in the world to make her feel celebrated. I wanted to show her how much her joy mattered to me, even if I stumbled through the process.
Seeing that memory again only intensified the aloneness I’ve carried. It was a stark reminder of how far I’ve been willing to travel for others, often down roads that they’d never care to walk for me.
Even now, a year after my baby was born, I still don’t know how to process the silence that surrounded one of the most transformative times of my life. My friends never threw a baby shower for me. Despite my baby’s father making an effort—pleading, even— and yet, nothing materialized.
And the memory doesn’t stand alone. I’m reminded of birthdays where the only celebrations I’ve ever had were because a romantic partner planned them. Had I been single on those days, I know they would have passed in silence too.
I carried my child through those months without so much as a gesture to mark the magnitude of what was about to change in my life. And I’ve never said a thing about it. I’ve never expressed discontent. I’ve simply moved forward, as though nothing had ever been missing.
And yet, something was missing. Something essential.
I don’t know what worries me more: the fact that my friends didn’t show up or the fact that I’ve grown so accustomed to this kind of neglect that I’ve come to expect it. Is this numbness a form of self-protection, or have I simply lowered my expectations to survive the disappointment?
It’s rarely ever about the baby shower itself, or the bridal showers we see so lovingly planned and executed. It’s about what they symbolize: care, effort, and the recognition of a milestone in your life by the people you hold close.
That’s what hurts the most—the absence of the care and effort that makes you feel like your moments matter to the people who matter to you. The silence during a season when your life is so loud with change and so full of unspoken need. It cuts in ways I’m still trying to process and articulate.
And often, we tell ourselves, This is just how things are, as though asking for reciprocity is selfish. We convince ourselves that people are simply too busy, that our needs are unreasonable or burdensome. But is it really too much to want the people we love to meet us where we desire? To want to be celebrated with the same enthusiasm we meet others with?
Can people ever be truly too busy to show up for those they love? I believe when people care, they make time. They create space in the middle of their chaos. Because showing up isn’t about the absence of tasks; it’s about the presence of intention. And if they don’t? I believe it's not that they couldn’t—it’s that they chose not to.
And yet, here I am, still unsure how to name this ache. Not because it isn’t real but because it feels so tangled with everything else—my quiet grief for friendships that seem one-sided, my resolve to keep showing up despite it, and my fear that speaking up might make it worse.
Because I know what happens when you name your hurt. When you ask for better from those who have let you down. You’re often met with defensiveness or accused of being selfish. And so, you stay quiet. Not because the hurt doesn’t matter, but because it feels like the safest way to survive the pain.
There’s a feeling of alienation that comes with being the one who always shows up for others, even when you’re not sure they’d do the same for you. It’s a loneliness I know too well, and I’m learning that silence over the things that hurt us, in its own way, is a kind of self-preservation. You stay quiet, not because you’re unbothered, but because you’re trying to shield yourself from the vulnerability of asking for what your heart yearns for.
And maybe that’s what I’m reckoning with now—the tension between accepting things as they are and still daring to hope for more. For the kind of friendships where showing up isn’t a question but a given. For the kind of love that’s as reciprocal as it is intentional. For the care and recognition that remind you that your moments matter, that your milestones are big deals, that you’re not navigating life alone.
I’m not sure how to get there. But I know it begins with saying what I’ve been too afraid to admit: I want to be surrounded by people who see me, celebrate me, and walk the distance for me, too.
And maybe, just maybe, part of this journey is making room in our lives for the kind of people who will show up with so much care, our hearts will feel tender in their rhythm. The kind of care that doesn’t just fill an empty space but plants something beautiful where the ache used to live.
Special mention to
, whose thoughtful engagement and candid reflections on her own friendship struggles helped me find the language to articulate my ache and trace the parts of me that still hurt. She has also written a reflection on friendship, which is a poignant exploration, brimming with questions we often overlook when trying to nurture and sustain meaningful connections:
If you’re new here, you might also want to read an earlier piece where I opened up about the fleeting nature of many of my friendships. It’s a letter that holds so much of my heart and also found so much resonance with readers:
If my reflections spoke to you, and you believe in writing that illuminates the unseen corners of our shared humanity, I invite you to support my work. Every contribution helps me nurture these vulnerable truths—the ones we often carry alone until we realize we never had to. Your generosity sustains my ability to continue writing in ways that make us feel seen.
Ugh, every woman should experience the power of a true sisterhood that shows up, celebrates, and puts in the effort. I felt your ache in this.
I believe we should speak up. After my friend of over a decade ghosted me after sending a long message of things she’d been feeling about me/our friendship and holding against me for months (despite me texting back being willing to work through things), I wish she would have came to me at the first sign of dissatisfaction . I wish she would have let me know, “I don’t feel as supported by you right now.” Or “I need this from you in order to feel seen in our friendship.” Even if it hurts, even if we’re scared of how the other will respond, we have to name the ache.
Whew. I-
I wasn’t expecting to get teary because of this letter, but I did. I felt your ache and your vulnerability right alongside you. I am so, so very sorry that this has been your experience Katz. As a sensitive heart, I can empathize with the pain that comes along with this for you. Recently my Momma and I were talking and she was saying that I’m the kind of friend that goes above and beyond, and we both agreed that I deserve to have friends that will do the same for me - so deeply thankful to have a Momma that sees me and reminds me of my worth and value like this 🙏🏾💜. Please hear me and my heart when I say I wholeheartedly agree with you when you say you want people who will see you and celebrate you.
You Katz, are so very deserving of them, too. One of my nicknames has also been “Katz”, so on some level, I feel connected to you with that but also with things I’ve read you shared from your heart. I pray that you are surrounded and enveloped in your extra mile people, and that they help to soothe the repeated aches you’ve experienced, and they help you continuously believe that wanting to be seen and celebrated is never asking for too much, and that people *want* to genuinely show up in those ways for you. Sending you warm hugs dear Katz. 🖤🖤🖤