I’m sorry if I’m a terrible friend.

It’s not that I don’t love and value you. It’s just that I’m running on empty.

By the time everyone who needs me every day has taken a slice of me, there is just… none left over.

I can’t give any more, or do any more, or be any more, for anyone else.

If it helps, please know you’re not the bottom of my to do list.

I am.

I think friendship in middle age does just have to look a bit different, sometimes.

Sometimes it’s not about the nights out you have, the deep and meaningful conversations – putting the world to rights, the laughs, the drinks, or the coffees. Sometimes it’s not about the hours put in. Sometimes it’s just a periodic text to check the other person is still alive. A fleeting catch-up on the fly to report the latest updates on crazy kids, ailing parents, and stalling careers.

Sometimes, friendship in middle age is an act of faith – object permanence for adults. You have to believe the other person is there even when you don’t see them.

I think I am here when people need me. When you’re not looking, I still exist – a tree in a wood when there’s no one to hear it slowly collapse in exhaustion. And I’m far better at holding your structural integrity than my own. I don’t think I’m mean, or using you, or taking more than I’m willing to give? I know in theory friendships aren’t transactional – but at the same time I feel so guilty, so much of the time. Like I’m not enough for you, or me – or anyone.

I wish I was better at object permanence, myself. I wish I could rest in friendships without feeling the need to make people like me all over again whenever I next see them. I wish I was better at remembering birthdays. I wish I was better at reaching out after a gap instead of being weird and awkward about it. I wish I was more organised. I wish I had more energy – more get up and go. I wish I didn’t find correspondence and diary management so terrifying and overwhelming. I wish I had more free time. I wish the smalls were easier, and easier to blend. I wish I was capable of peopling better and more often. I wish I believed, deep down, I was worth the wait, your time and patience.

So if you’re still my friend despite the scattiness, gaucheness, random silences interspersed with over-familiarity, the rampant poor time management and even more rampant self-doubt and self-pity – thank you.

I’m sorry if I’m a terrible friend.

If you bear with me I’ll bear with you.

And I’ll make it my new Summer’s resolution to do a bit better.

xxx