Why Every Friendship Feels Like Work Now (And Where Casual Connection Went)
Fourteen unread texts. Six DMs you haven't opened because once you open them, they know you saw. Three "we should catch up soon!" messages from people you haven't actually spoken to in two years.
Modern friendship became exhausting when platforms turned connection into performance. You now curate relationships instead of living them. Schedule hangouts three weeks out instead of just showing up. Maintain hundreds of surface connections while having no one you can actually exist with. Social media didn't enhance friendship—it replaced casual presence with constant maintenance.
the inbox
Fourteen unread texts. Six DMs you haven't opened because once you open them, they know you saw. Three "we should catch up soon!" messages from people you haven't actually spoken to in two years.
Before you even unlock your phone, something tightens in your chest.
Another person to manage. Another relationship to maintain. Another update you owe someone who's basically a stranger.
Sarah's birthday is tomorrow and you have no idea what's happening in her life but you'll text "happy birthday babe! hope it's amazing!" like you weren't just wondering if you're even still friends.
You used to have friends. Now you have a contact list you're failing.
Not because you're failing. Because that's not what friendship is.
what happened
Industrial culture needed everything to be measurable. Productivity. Output. Growth. Connection was next.
Platforms promised to enhance friendship. What they actually did: turn presence into production. Now you don't just have friends—you maintain a network.
Every hangout needs documentation. Every conversation needs to justify the three-week calendar gap. Every friendship needs proof—photos, texts, public engagement—or did it even happen?
You're at dinner with someone you used to be close with. Both on your phones. You take a photo together. Both post it. Caption: "finally catching up with this one 💕"
Neither of you posts the part where you spent an hour talking about nothing because you don't actually know each other anymore. You just know each other's feed.
This didn't happen by accident. Platforms profit when connection becomes content. When friendship becomes labor. When you're too busy maintaining to notice you're not actually close to anyone.
Casual friendship died when showing up unannounced became unthinkable. When sitting in silence became awkward. When being together required a reason, a plan, a purpose.
You can't call someone just because. Can't just exist beside them. Can't be bored together, tired together, quiet together.
the shift nobody talks about
Your grandmother had three close friends her whole life. That was normal. Expected, even.
You're supposed to maintain hundreds. And feel guilty about the ones you're "losing."
She could just show up at someone's house. No text first. No scheduling. Just knock on the door and exist together for a while.
You can't do that anymore. Not because of manners or phones. Because everyone's home became their content studio. Private space disappeared. Casual space disappeared. The ability to just be with someone—no agenda, no production—disappeared.
First you shared your life with friends. Then you shared your life with followers. Then you stopped living your life and started producing content about living it.
Your friendships became engagement metrics. Who likes your posts. Who views your stories. Who responds fast enough to keep the streak alive. Who you need to comment on so they remember you exist.
The platform taught you: connection requires constant output. Relationships need maintenance or they die. Silence means something's wrong.
So you keep going. Keep liking, commenting, responding, maintaining. Keep proving you care by curating care for an audience.
You have five hundred people who know your highlight reel. Zero who've seen you ugly cry without needing to make it mean something or look like something first.
what's gone
Remember comfortable silence? When you could sit beside someone without needing to fill every second with conversation or depth or purpose.
Remember boring afternoons doing nothing with people? No photos. No plans. No reason except you liked being in the same room.
Remember the friend you could call at 2am? Not for a crisis—just because you were awake and wanted to hear their voice. Who you didn't need to explain yourself to or update or justify anything with.
That's gone.
Now every friendship requires scheduling three weeks out. Every hangout needs a purpose. Every silence feels like failure. Every canceled plan lives in your chest as guilt.
That friend you could just call? They require something modern friendship can't allow: the ability to exist together without producing anything.
the hollow
Two hundred "friends" wished you happy birthday. You felt lonelier than if no one had said anything.
Your group chat has 43 unread messages. Opening it makes your shoulders tense. They're planning drinks. You're already thinking about showing up ready to be "on" for three hours, smiling through exhaustion.
Someone you haven't talked to in six months likes your post. You feel obligated to like their next three. This is friendship now. Mutual surveillance with heart emojis.
Your calendar is full of hangouts. You're surrounded by people and completely alone.
Because nobody actually knows you. They know your aesthetic. Your personality in captions. The version of you that fits in stories.
The real you—the one who's tired, confused, boring most days—has no place in curated connection. That version doesn't photograph well. Doesn't get engagement. Doesn't justify the effort of scheduling three weeks out.
So you keep that part hidden. And the loneliness grows even as your follower count does.
the cost
You're not maintaining friendships. You're maintaining the appearance of friendship.
There's a difference. One feeds you. One depletes you. Guess which one you're spending hours on every week.
The birthday texts to people you don't actually care about. The comments on posts you don't actually care about. The plans you make that you dread before they even happen. The group chats you can't leave because it would be "weird." The DMs you owe. The updates you haven't given.
This is why friendship feels like work. Because it became work. Connection became content. Presence became production. Intimacy became a metric you're failing to meet.
And your body knows the difference. That clench when you open the group chat. That relief—actual physical relief—when plans get canceled. That exhaustion after hanging out with people who don't actually drain you but the maintaining does.
You're not bad at friendship. Modern friendship is designed to exhaust you. The platforms profit from that exhaustion. From your guilt. From your constant effort to prove you're a good friend to people who are basically strangers.
the way back
Stop texting happy birthday to people you haven't spoken to in years. Let those connections fade. Not because you're mean. Because it's honest.
Stop accepting every follow request like it's a relationship contract. Unfollow people whose posts make you feel worse. Delete apps if you need to. Let the group chats go quiet. You're allowed to stop.
When plans get canceled and you feel relief? Believe that. That's your body telling you this isn't real connection.
Find one person—maybe two—who you can just exist with. Who you can call without scheduling. Who you can sit beside in silence. Who doesn't need your curated self, your updates, your engagement.
Someone who knows when you're lying about being fine. Who you can be boring with. Who doesn't need you to produce or prove anything.
That's actual friendship. Everything else is networking with heart emojis.
You're allowed to want less. You can let most of these "connections" die. Stop maintaining a network and start having friends.
the truth
These aren't your friendships.
They're the friendships you were told to have. The network you were supposed to build. The 500 connections that prove you're likable, successful, good at relationships.
But your body knows. Every time you open that DM and your chest tightens. Every time plans get canceled and you breathe easier. Every time you're surrounded by people and feel completely alone.
You're not failing at friendship. You're succeeding at something that was never supposed to be friendship in the first place.
Real friendship still exists. But you have to stop managing a network to find it. You have to let the hollow connections die to make space for the real ones.
The friendships worth having don't require maintenance. They require presence. And presence doesn't perform well on platforms designed to keep you producing.
Stop producing. Start being present. Watch who's still there.
Signs It's Maintenance, Not Connection
〰 You rehearse texts before sending them
〰 Plans three weeks out already feel draining
〰 You feel guilty for not engaging with people you barely know
〰 Scrolling through birthdays fills you with dread, not joy
〰 You have hundreds of connections and no one to just sit with
〰 The best part of your day is when your phone is off
〰 You're lonely even when your calendar is full
〰 Someone canceling plans feels like freedom
〰 You know their aesthetic but not their actual life
〰 Silence with them feels awkward instead of comfortable
Read our Journal.
The collection explores, the journal transforms. Get sanctuary in your inbox. Every other Sunday.
