Friends with kids – the 40s edition
On redefining friendships and articulating your own needs
Being able to write this piece is proof to me that ageing is great because in my thirties I would have been far too pre-occupied that it would have made me sound like a bad person.
At the age of 43, I am aware of my value as a human being, and that while I am fallible, overall I try my best to be a decent person. I also know that at the age of 43, that this doesn’t mean being a doormat, providing endless servitude or martyring my own mental wellbeing for goodness points, but also requires you to also manage your own tiredness levels, social battery and to prioritise yourself as a human being.
But I didn’t know this in my 30s. I was too concerned with being a good friend. Like a lot of women who measure their value in their female friendships in particular, it often meant holding onto people long after the friendship turned toxic.
It meant going along to things from nights out to holidays that I could ill afford but felt obligated to (and mea culpa - I also asked the same of them). And, it also involved being the friend that travelled far and wide, and shelved my own needs and expectations of friendship in order to accommodate and support other friends who were starting to have children.
At first, it was exciting. Getting to see this amazing ball of life and energy that my friend had created, to hold them in my arms and marvel at the feat of creation that the person I’d done tequila shots with at 1am in a grotty London bar had done something this incredible. But as more people started to have kids, there was a creeping resentment that started to set in, which you couldn’t really voice because – well, it wasn’t seen as fair.
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