“I think it’s BYOB”

“So I have to be my own friend in this connection with them?”

Some relationships are BYOB: Bring your own everything you will need to feel accommodated and connected: Your own initiative, entertainment, support, curiosity, effort, plans, vulnerability, care, and definitely your own evidence that your presence matters. “And yes, you’re here for me, and you should have leftovers for yourself.”

Relationships are not meant to exist through scorekeeping; however, a lot of people may - accidentally or intentionally- conflate someone recognizing the imbalance of a relationship with someone keeping score to maintain control, gain leverage, or maintain favor. Sometimes we can villainize a person’s awareness of our behavior to avoid admission of taking advantage of them in the first place. Pattern recognition invites you to ask: “Is this house made of straw, or is it actually strong? And who has been ‘Bob-the-building” the entire thing?”

Weaponized giving vs. disguised taking.

I like to call it the “pause”: You think about certain connections, and there becomes this lingering whisper: “Have I been inviting myself all this time, or have they made room for me? Have I been unknowingly asking for permission this entire time to exist in this connection? Have I been auditioning daily to be this person’s friend?” “Have I been bringing the friendship to the gathering?”

And while you are adding things up, you start to feel like you’re always a penny short.

And if people are willing to self-reflect on their end: “Do I keep this person around for what they offer and what they absolve me of?”

We talk ad nauseam about “attachment theory” when it comes to romantic relationships, but we don’t discuss it in friendships. Maybe that’s because there are behaviors we deem deplorable in romantic relationships that we normalize- and appropriate as part of friendship, often repackaging disregard and dismissiveness as independence, boundaries, or temperament. “I don’t have to talk to you.” “We don’t have to participate in each other's lives,” “I don’t owe you anything.” And no one wants to be labeled a bad friend, even if they have no desire to be a better one.

When it comes to labeling someone as “insecure,” some people feel insecure in certain relationships due to someone’s inconsistencies and incongruities in character- not because they’re paranoid, unstable, or chronically fearful. A lack of follow-through, fair-weather behavior, poor communication, and lack of accountability can all contribute to someone feeling insecure in a relationship with us. The foundation is weak and feels wobbly, so not knowing which plank to stand on is valid. “How grounded do I feel here?”

Labeling avoidant patterns around conflict, repair, consideration, and vulnerability as boundaries or “protecting peace” prevents inquiry and responsibility. It allows there to be a blatant disregard for the onus in terms of “How are my actions affecting this person’s emotional safety within our relationship?”

We’ve been conditioned to believe the world is full of people who exist to serve us while we remain self-serving.

“You can come if you want.”

Some connections feel low stakes, but they may actually be low-value. Sometimes “Low maintenance” is merely passivity, where a go-with-the-flow person only desires things flowing their way.

The only time someone seems to directly invite you into their life is when there’s a celebration of them or a catastrophe. Some people can see their own company as catastrophic.

There’s a stark difference between someone who’s made plans that you “overheard” or are expected to orchestrate and someone who plans their life with you in mind. We talk about energy, chemistry, and feelings all the time, so why would we be oblivious to the undercurrent of our platonic connections? The fact that friendships are not incentivized by romance, based on familial obligation, or guarantee social hierarchy or currency means that people will feel more relaxed in their approach to them. Which also means “my value system and how I value people will be on full display, sometimes without my knowing.”

As adults, we have a ton to consider daily. But when certain people remain outside of our consideration consistently, what began as an oversight can become a pattern of deprioritization - until it becomes rudimentary and second nature.

“How do you prioritize me?”

“How often does this person make plans for us versus facilitating their experience that I’m expected to be in attendance for?” Do they remain curious about what you want to experience?

Sometimes our desire for company clouds our judgment and awareness of us being filler.

Check the connection for yourself:

Who asks the questions?

Who is willing to travel?

Who follows up?

Who bids for connection?

Who initiates vulnerability?

Who plans future experiences?

When you connect, whose interests typically determine the activity?

Who supplies the initiative?

The Distance Is Only Too Far One Way

“Don’t cross oceans for puddle jumpers.”

“Is this relationship a round-trip connection or one-way?”

If you ever catch yourself willing to go the distance because a part of you feels guilty about asking or expecting them to reciprocate, or because you know the connection is maintained by you going the distance, that’s a tell. The distance is the same either way; if it’s too far of a trek for them, then by default it’s also too far for you.

Do they offer to come to you? Or do you fear hearing an excuse - or an underlying vitriol at the fact that you expected reciprocity at all- that you disrupt the “negative space” and just go the distance yourself?

By the way, resentment loves your work.

I want party favors and placeholders, not participation

Ask yourself, how eager am I to prioritize my connections? Who and why do I keep certain people in my life if I were being completely honest? We profess how important honesty is in our relationships, but I think what we mean is we desire people to confess their deceit or desire for us when it works in our favor. Otherwise, we demand the kind of relationships that don’t require us to stretch.

Never be so desperate for connection that you devote yourself to maintaining it solo, and never define someone’s consistency as desperation.

It’s Just Information

-Isaiah

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“I listen, I show up, I’m such an empath, big heart, I feed the pigeons in the park, I’m loyal, I’m fun, I’m dependable, I’m always there when people need me. I’m easy. I’m low- maintenance. Hell, I’m a go-with-the-flow friend." The list goes on.

It’s a CVS receipt in all the ways we can provide for others… sometimes “perform”.

But I didn’t ask what you’ve been or are willing to be for other people; I asked, “Would you be a good friend to yourself ?” “Yes…”

“So why are you still trying to be a friend to the people who keep you uncertain about your place in their life ?”

And on the other hand,

Some people would honestly answer “no,” and then the question becomes: “So what do you expect from others that you’d be unequipped to provide in return?”

“I desire communication I don’t provide; I desire consideration, care, and consistency I don’t practice; I’m big on reciprocity, just not from me. Grace and understanding are non-negotiables … to my diet.” “I need people who can accept me for who I am and meet my needs, and expect nothing in return. Because I have boundaries.” If it’s care that you’re not receptive to, or incapable of, what is your desire *from connections in comparison to what they can receive from you?

Sometimes we may be looking for emotional babysitters more than equals-“I don’t want to be with myself, so you take care of them for me”.

This isn’t an indictment; it’s insight.

In our adult lives, we spend an enormous amount of time discussing the kind of relationships we want with people and the qualifiers that are necessary for them to “sit with us”.

Standards and boundaries empower us to take back our identity and create exclusivity around access to us. And we impact each other deeply (emotionally, physically, financially, morally, socially, mentally), so choose your company wisely; but sometimes we are not the kind of person for ourselves, and we may be one of the same people we shield ourselves from.

Sometimes we are the friend that we don’t value, and the friend that doesn’t value us at the same time.

“How often have I gone the extra mile instead of just staying ‘home’?”

Sometimes you’re the friend who keeps making you go to that party, or that event, or that romantic relationship, where they leave you by yourself to get the attention and validation of other people who don’t treat you well. You force yourself into spaces where you are abandoned, mistreated, neglected, and taken for granted.

Self-abandonment can’t always be seen from the inside.

“Let’s just go, it’ll be fun.”

“Why do you keep *trying to hang with them?”

“Give them grace. Don’t be so harsh. They just have different needs. They communicate differently. Not always on their phone. And they’re busy. ”

“Yeah, but they don’t even treat you well, and when you’re around them, you treat me funny.”

“You’re too sensitive…”

“You want to be *seen with them, but they overlook you.”

"They keep you guessing. You’re always available for them on their terms, but they can’t be inconvenienced by you. They only hit you up when other things fall through, or they need something from you; they don’t really support anything you do, but you’re always showing up for them… You never speak up and pretend things are okay.”

“It seems like you force yourself around them and get upset later. And you take it out on me. You punish me for it. And then you keep me from being around people that actually want to spend time. "

“Not true.”

“Why don’t we spend time with your other friends? They seemed cool?”

“We just grew apart…”

“They’ve been hitting you up though, and they support you.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been busy, and we want different things… I can’t meet their expectations. They’re too needy. ”

Their need is accountability vs. my need is validation.

Sometimes you’re the friend who puts yourself in stressful situations.

That boy or girl you’re trying to win over keeps you on your toes. You think it’s fun and exciting; meanwhile, your nervous system is developing a new mode of operation - and an identity complex- that requires you to over-function. Conditioned behavior now creeps in: Don’t be too eager, wait for them to reach out, and when they do, always be available. You’re not a participant in the relationship as much as a placeholder. The relationship functions on their terms. You can apply this to friendships and family too.

People-pleasing is not a good indicator of a friend.

What about when it comes to your own life? Waiting until the last minute to complete tasks puts pressure on you to perform under stress. Overspending to keep up or cope, or budgeting poorly. Giving your future self a problem to figure out that they didn’t create. Harsh self-critiques that no one else can hear, or the ones that may slip out as a joke in other company.

Isolating when you’re in need, because other relationships didn’t pull through. Calling it protecting your peace but avoiding relationships that prevent you from controlling the dynamic emotionally or that require a level of care and presence that you aren’t actually ready for.

“Would you be a good friend to you?”

Cut it out

There are so many people only excited to declare their “cut-off” game and how many people they recently had to let go of. And yeah, again, sometimes it is genuinely necessary. But I’d bet money most of these people didn’t advocate for themselves prior. Conversations probably weren’t had, curiosity wasn’t present, and assumptions fueled the narrative. Our level of emotional maturity gets to hide in our declarations of self-advocacy. But sometimes we set the fire and only take credit for putting it out.

“Would cuts be that necessary (or frequent) if the company I kept didn’t reflect, to some degree, the company that I am ?”

Betrayal isn’t always another person’s actions first.

Sometimes we realize, “They don’t prioritize the relationship the way that I do.” But what do you do with that information after the realization? Communicate? Recalibrate? Reevaluate? Sometimes hoping or trying to force a different outcome is its own betrayal.

The goal is not to always reach your limit with people. That’s a lot of emotional stress on your body, and we don’t consider that. Rumination and resentment are the wrong kind of “R&R”. Waiting until you're fed up to address something because it allows you to say your peace and exit. Sometimes we leave before the other person has a turn to speak because we may not want to hear our part in it. Sometimes it’s the demand that people have changed before we did.

Not every conflict will be resolved with a conversation. Sometimes people will say everything and do nothing after. Sometimes it is a form of control for you to constantly bring a transgression to the relationship, only for them to decide if your feelings are valid or if they don’t have the capacity. Some people just like meetings. Some people don’t feel they need to change; others don’t have the emotional tools to do so, maturity for movement, or a healthy relationship with admission or integrity to be intentional. Some folks simply don’t value you or the relationship. And comprehension is a large part of all relationships. “Does this person (or do I) have the ability to understand what’s happening?” Do we understand one another? Not every relationship requires a debrief to exist, but how many relationships settle in the discomfort of resolve?

And vulnerability is not just about the ability to state a boundary; it’s also the ability to own up to how you navigate and cultivate relationships. Sometimes we expect people to accommodate a lot of our needs while we dismiss theirs entirely. Sometimes we use “boundaries” to avoid participating in relationships fully and vulnerably. Yeah, it can be uncomfortable to ask for what you need, but healthy relationship skills aren’t determined by how often you can say “No”. The sensitivity around telling someone how much they mean to you. Time with them matters to you. Considering them, apologizing, showing them in action how much they mean. Reminding them that you don’t want to lose the connection and that they do impact you. Vulnerability comes with potential rejection (literal or perceived) but also a layer of exposure, discomfort, and being seen that we expect others to always be willing to put on full display, while we keep it close to the chest.

Sometimes we avoid healthy relationships because they don’t give us anything to chase, run from, feel superior to or defend ourselves against; but instead a mirror to look at. We become nose-blind to connections that are always there, and we don’t have to look for, so the value decreases. Sometimes the healthy connections “demand” something we find very unattractive: consistency, not performance or preaching about it. “Who are you when no one is watching?”

There’s no deciphering

replaying conversations

waiting

performing

withholding

making yourself scarce

becoming desirable by becoming elusive

Healthy relationships become frustrating…

We can romanticize never being able to find healthy connections with people who are distant because their incongruences are a smokescreen for our own. And we can villainize when there’s a level of “in-to-me-see” that calls forward how we actually strategize in relationships. It’s not always a capacity issue; it’s relinquishing control, compromise, commitment, conviction, issue.

We say we desire healthy relationships, but we don’t realize the healthier the connections, the less “harmony (dysfunction)” can be relied upon.

Healthy relationships don’t require us to chase, so they seem boring. They aren’t impressed by status, so theirs or yours isn’t an incentive. They don’t necessarily make us defend ourselves, so the conflict becomes internal. They also have boundaries that sustain the connection rather than sever it. Repair is a part of it. They do desire connection, so “hot and cold” doesn’t work. Clarity over ambiguity, and they also desire consistency. You’re not the most emotionally self-aware-ish person in the room. They too have needs that they can and are willing to reciprocate, so earning love and care isn’t present or necessary. Hyper-vigilance, victimhood, and moral superiority don’t have a place to rest comfortably, because being ourselves is the requirement.

We may not be familiar with care that doesn’t have to be earned. We may desire status more than sustainability. We will choose the people who give us a level of clout, and chaos versus the people who actively participate in who we are. We support people in hopes that we are seen by them and look past everyone else who shows up. It’s about who makes us look good, even in terms of “See, I always show up, and they don’t,” versus who makes us feel good… and requires us to do better.

Who they’re connected to

What they have access to

Who gets to say they’re friends with them

The identity attached to the connection with them

And sometimes being a good friend to others requires us to be a crappy one to ourselves. The friend that’s always understanding, forgiving, always available, always showing up, accommodating, easygoing is being funded by someone- you.

Being a good friend to yourself isn’t always about rescuing you from other people; It’s relational awareness of the people you continue to choose. It’s honesty about how you move.

You don’t need to abandon yourself to sustain connection.

And people don’t need to abandon themselves to stay connected to you.

So, “Are we still friends?”

It’s just information

-Isaiah Frizzelle

I think there’s so much more to the concept of “consideration” than what we romanticize… and some of it may actually be pretty unattractive, for one, vulnerability may not be what you think it is.

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When personal preference becomes relational law

Are we actually honoring our differences, or are we using those differences to justify relationships that disproportionately accommodate us?

“Treat people how you want to be treated.”

It’s a golden rule that starts to rust.

It’s not terrible advice. It’s just incomplete.

Because treating someone exactly how you want to be treated assumes that your preferences, thresholds, needs, trauma responses, communication style, values, and expressions of care are universally transferable.

They’re not.

Maybe one person wants to be checked on while the other prefers space. Maybe gifts matter tremendously to you and mean very little to someone else. Maybe I interpret someone making time for me as consideration, while someone else experiences care through practical help.

Maturity eventually asks us to graduate from:

“How would I want to be treated?”

to:

“Who is this person, and what actually communicates care to them?”

But even that has layers.

Because “give me what I ask for, not what you want me to have” can become its own sneaky mode of operation when it turns into:

“But don’t expect me to give much at all.”

And that is an entirely different conversation.

Needing less is not the same as being willing to give less

Friendships, families, romantic relationships, and even professional connections all develop a rhythm.

But there is a difference between dancing with someone and deciding that only one person’s rhythm is allowed.

Autonomy isn’t the issue.

Selective autonomy is.

Some people are incredibly self-sufficient while also being thoughtful, self-aware, and considerate of others.

Others conveniently become independent whenever consideration requires something from them.

There is a lot of relationship advice directed toward the person who gives more, pursues more, or reaches more:

“Don’t pressure people.”

“Don’t make anyone feel obligated.”

“Give without expectations.”

“Be open.”

“Show up—but not like that.”

“Stop expecting you from people.”

And there is wisdom in much of that.

But there are also people who would prefer to take without the expectation of ever having to participate in return.

That deserves examination too.

Because balance exists on both sides.

Sometimes someone becomes frustrated because they have spent months or years trying to make another person feel loved.

“I show up.”

“I check in.”

“I remember important dates.”

“I make plans.”

“I help.”

“I’m always trying to do something that demonstrates care.”

But there is little feedback.

Little reciprocation.

Little appreciation.

Eventually, exhaustion replaces effort. Confusion becomes resentment. And the truth of the connection starts rising to the surface.

At some point, that person may need to ask:

Did they actually ask me for any of this?

Because sometimes the answer is no.

Sometimes we give people what we believe they should want and then become resentful when they don’t respond according to the script we wrote in our heads.

And sometimes there is an even more uncomfortable question:

Maybe they did say those things mattered.

But did they want them from you?

Who we value often influences what we value—and from whom we desire to receive it.

Someone can refuse what we keep forcing upon them, and continuing to give anyway does not make us more loving.

Sometimes acts of service become a way of gaining control, approval, importance, or likability.

Sometimes “Look at everything I’ve done for you” is less about generosity and more about building a case.

And being fully aware of how much you have poured into others in comparison does become necessary and communicated… with the intent to adjust moving forward.

People-pleasing is not necessarily consideration.

If I am doing things primarily so that you will like me, choose me, approve of me, or behave favorably toward me, I am still being self-referential.

You become a placeholder in a performance that is ultimately about me.

Over-functioning is not consideration.

Not of the other person. And certainly not of yourself.

There are layers to all of this.

But there is another side that deserves equal attention.

“I don’t need those things.”

Okay.

But watch what happens when the person saying that becomes the recipient. They don’t “need” someone to drive them anywhere. Until they need a ride. They don’t care much about people checking on them. Until they’re going through something.

Communication isn’t important. Until they need company.

Birthdays aren’t a big deal. Until theirs gets forgotten.

Friendships don’t require regular effort. Until they feel excluded or suddenly need support. They don’t need reassurance. Until they become uncertain about their importance to you. Now we are somewhere more interesting.

Because perhaps the issue isn’t:

“I don’t value consideration.”

Perhaps it is:

“I haven’t learned how to consistently participate in consideration when I’m the person responsible for providing it.”

When I have to consider somebody else.

When I have to care.

When I have to initiate.

When I have to anticipate.

When I have to make room.

Society praises “low-maintenance” as if needing very little from other people is automatically evidence of emotional maturity.

Listen a little more carefully, though, and sometimes what you hear is:

“I prefer low-maintenance people for me to tend to—but I still enjoy being maintained.”

Some people are absolutely getting their needs met. They may simply have more players on the board. Different people fulfilling different needs at different times can create the appearance of needing very little from any one person.

You can’t hit a moving target.

And elusiveness can create the illusion of emotional maturity.

Sometimes “I don’t need much from anybody” really means:

“I don’t need much from any one person at any given time, so nobody should need much from me.”

Until, suddenly, they do.

You are not the template

This is where personal preference begins quietly transforming into relational law.

“I don’t need to talk every day.”

Cool.

That’s information.

But:

“So we shouldn’t talk every day.”

Now your preference has become the standard.

“I prefer low-maintenance friendships.”

Fine.

But:

“If you expect more from friendship, you’re needy.”

Now your threshold has become a judgment of someone else’s.

“I need a lot of independence.”

Reasonable.

But:

“Any request for consideration threatens my autonomy.”

Different issue entirely.

There is a distinction between:

“This is what works for me.”

and:

“This is what should work for you.”

The first is information.

The second can become control.

Personal preference becomes relational law when we start demanding that the people around us organize their emotional lives according to our preferred level of responsibility.

And sometimes therapy language helps us disguise it.

“My boundary.”

“My capacity.”

“My autonomy.”

“My peace.”

“My independence.”

None of those things are inherently unhealthy.

But healthy language does not magically make every behavior healthy.

Sometimes a “boundary” is really a double standard. Sometimes it is an attempt to emotionally control the terms of a relationship. Sometimes what we call protecting our peace is actually protecting ourselves from accountability.

Sometimes “low-maintenance” isn’t describing what someone needs. It’s describing what they are willing to provide.

Low-maintenance:

“I don’t need much upkeep to feel secure with you.”

Low-responsibility:

“I want the benefits of being important to you without assuming much responsibility for making you feel important to me.”

Those are not the same thing.

If we only want to participate in relationships in ways that are comfortable—not necessarily healthy—then perhaps we are not looking for relationships at all.

We want reward systems with organs.

“I don’t owe anyone anything.”

But who exactly are we talking about? You don’t owe strangers intimacy. You don’t owe people unlimited access. You don’t owe everyone an explanation.

You don’t have to remain in relationships you no longer want.

Fine.

But a principle designed to protect autonomy has increasingly been stretched into a philosophy that absolves people of responsibility.

Once I voluntarily build a relationship with you, my choices affect you.

That doesn’t mean you own me. It means relationships have consequences. Friendship creates responsibility. Partnership creates responsibility. Family creates responsibility.

Community creates responsibility. Not unlimited responsibility. But some responsibility.

Otherwise, there is no meaningful distinction between:

“I don’t belong to you.”

and:

“How I treat you is none of your business.”

Relationships do not create debts.

They create responsibilities.

Responsibility for communication.

Honesty.

Consideration.

Repair.

Reciprocity.

Learning another person.

Noticing the impact you have.

Occasionally inconveniencing yourself.

Not because someone owns you.

Because that is participation.

And there is an important distinction between scorekeeping and pattern recognition.

“I drove you somewhere, therefore you owe me.”

That’s scorekeeping.

But:

“I’ve noticed that I repeatedly show up for you while this relationship seems to function primarily around your convenience.”

That is pattern recognition.

Some people will accuse you of “keeping score” because acknowledging the pattern would require them to confront how unevenly the relationship has been structured.

They spell team with an “I” and place heavy emphasis on me.

They expect others to see them clearly enough to anticipate their needs while remaining conveniently oblivious to the needs they are neglecting.

If every request for reciprocity is interpreted as debt, demand, control, obligation, breached autonomy, or an attack on someone’s boundaries, reassess what kind of relationship is actually being offered.

Because people who primarily experience relationships as rewards for themselves will often experience another person’s needs as an imposition.

Feeling love is not the same as practicing it

Ask yourself:

If neither person could verbally say “I love you,” would their actions communicate it?

Someone can absolutely love you and still be poor at participating in a relationship with you.

That is where things become confusing.

“But I care about you.”

I believe you.

But how much emotional and mental labor is required from me before that care becomes something I can actually experience?

What does your care cause you to do?

Someone may think about you constantly.

Love you tremendously.

Feel deeply attached to you.

Feel secure because you exist in their life.

And nevertheless fail to:

notice you,

move toward you,

check on you,

consider your experience,

make accommodations,

or anticipate obvious needs.

The internal experience may be completely real.

But relationships are experienced externally.

Feeling love and practicing love are not the same thing.

And love and value are not always synonymous in practice.

We can feel tremendous love for something while repeatedly behaving in ways that place it at risk.

Value becomes visible in what we protect, prioritize, tend to, repair, and make room for.

Consideration requires forethought

Consideration is not only acts of service.

It is action, maturity, initiative, accountability, and a willingness to put the connection itself somewhere near the center.

A great deal of consideration happens before anyone asks.

“Did they get there okay?”

“Are they hungry?”

“Am I regulating properly?”

“Do they have somewhere to stay?”

“Would handling this make their day easier?”

“I’m going to be nearby. Maybe I should go see them.”

Not because everyone should anticipate every need.

Nobody is a mind reader.

Communication still matters.

But consideration involves occasionally asking:

How will my decisions affect somebody besides me?

People who are not practiced in consideration can experience being asked about something afterward as unreasonable because the thought never occurred to them beforehand.

And that distinction matters.

The absence of malicious intent does not automatically equal the presence of consideration.

“You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Okay.

But did you think about me at all?

Those are different questions.

“But I was busy.”

We frequently explain relational misses through circumstances.

I was busy.

I had work.

I was tired.

I had other obligations.

All of those things can be completely legitimate.

But sometimes the more revealing question is:

What were you still willing to make room for while you were busy?

Because if someone says:

“I couldn’t possibly make time for that because I had work,”

but also made multiple discretionary choices during the same period, the issue may not have been the complete absence of time.

It may have been what entered consideration.

Priorities don’t reveal themselves only through what we say matters.

They often reveal themselves through what still gets included when time is limited.

That doesn’t mean every relational disappointment is proof that someone does not care about you.

But repeated patterns are information.

Pay attention to them.

Consideration goes both ways

None of this means:

“Good relationships require anticipating my every need.”

No.

The person receiving care also has responsibility.

You do not get to withhold your needs and then punish people for failing to know them.

You do not get to decide that your preferred style of relating is objectively superior.

You do not get to reject every unfamiliar expression of care simply because it didn’t arrive in the packaging you would have chosen.

And you do not get to turn a relationship into a constant performance review.

The giver has to become curious about what actually lands.

The recipient has to communicate clearly enough to be known.

The giver has to learn.

The recipient has to recognize.

Both people have to adjust.

Consideration requires curiosity from the giver and clarity from the recipient.

And both people have to be willing to account for someone besides themselves.

That is interdependence.

I am capable of caring for myself.

And because I love you, sometimes I care for you too.

You are responsible for communicating your needs.

And because I love you, I want to learn them.

You are not required to become me.

I do not have to become you.

But neither one of us gets to make ourselves the template.

Your independence isn’t the standard for how independent everyone else should be.

Your communication needs aren’t the standard.

Your love language isn’t the standard.

Your tolerance isn’t the standard.

Your definition of low-maintenance isn’t the standard.

Neither are mine.

The work of relationship is not finding people who require absolutely no adjustment from us.

It is learning how to remain ourselves while becoming considerate enough to account for somebody else.

So maybe the question isn’t only:

“Do I love this person?”

Maybe it is also:

“Have I learned how to participate in loving them?”

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Everyone asks: Does this friendship make me feel secure?

Far fewer people ask: Have I behaved in ways that make my friend feel secure with me?

Have I returned? Have I initiated? Have I kept my word? Have I listened? Have I repaired? Have I remained curious about their life when I didn’t need anything?

Have I made this person feel like they exist beyond their usefulness to me?

People want secure attachment to insecure participation. We want friendships that make us feel safe without becoming safe people to be friends with.

And sometimes, before the relationship has even had time to form, we begin negotiating the terms of our eventual neglect.

We prepay disappointment.

The unofficial friendship agreement reads:

By agreeing to be my friend, you acknowledge that I may disappear for extended periods of time, prioritize everything else, rarely initiate, and return whenever I need you. Your continued understanding is appreciated (*expected).

Sometimes people announce very early:

“I’m terrible at texting.”

“I’m a low-maintenance friend.”

“I disappear sometimes.”

“We don’t have to talk all the time.”

And some of that can absolutely be honest self-awareness.

But sometimes what we are really saying is:

I am informing you now of how I intend to neglect this relationship so that when it eventually hurts you, I can remind you that you agreed to the terms.

Disclosure becomes absolution.

“I told you I was like this.”

As though warning someone that you will consistently fail to participate means they are no longer allowed to experience the consequences of your lack of participation.

As though the disclaimer creates the relationship.

It doesn’t.

We cannot have friends without becoming one.

Low Maintenance Was Never Low Effort

Some people walk into friendship backwards.

They want all the things that come from years of input without offering their input or their years.

They want the security of a friendship they have never been security in.

They want to be able to disappear for months without question before establishing a history that tells the other person what their disappearance means.

There is a difference between:

“I disappear whenever my life gets busy, but I’ve decided you shouldn’t interpret my absence negatively because that would be inconvenient for me.”

And:

“Our relationship can withstand silence because our history has taught us what the silence means.”

One is an expectation.

The other is established trust.

One asks the relationship to absorb whatever you do. The other is the result of two people repeatedly demonstrating that they return. A moment of distance does not become the mold the relationship permanently exists in because the relationship underneath it has already been built.

That is what people often miss about “low-maintenance” friendships.

Low-maintenance friendship was never low-maintained. Low effort was never part of the practice. Trust, presence, action, curiosity, repair, and consideration compound over time.

That is what eventually creates the kind of friendship that can bend without immediately breaking.

It’s a group project.

Security is often treated like the factory setting when it is actually the result of investment.

You don’t get to walk into a friendship and immediately cash in on benefits that are usually created through years of care.

You cannot withdraw from an account you never deposited into and then become offended when the relationship has insufficient funds.

We expect relationships to absorb the cost of our absence without asking whether we have invested enough to cover it.

Capacity is currency, and sometimes we are relationally cheap while expecting other people to pick up the tab.

Utility in Friendship vs. Friendship as Utility

There is nothing inherently wrong with a relationship having utility.

In fact, healthy friendships often have tremendous utility.

My friends help me.

I help my friends.

We advise each other.

We support each other.

We connect one another to opportunities.

We listen when someone is hurting.

We celebrate.

We protect.

We challenge.

We carry things together.

The healthiest friendships can feel almost like a Swiss Army knife—not because the people are transactional, but because two well-rounded individuals are actively participating in one another’s lives in ways that enrich, protect, and grow both people.

That is community.

The problem is when utility becomes the relationship.

When I don’t actually want to participate in your life.

I simply want access to whatever function you perform in mine.

You’re my therapist friend. My fun friend. My networking friend. My emergency friend. My friend who always listens. My friend who gives great advice. My friend with the connections. My friend with the house I can stay at. My friend I call after every breakup.

My friend I know will pick up when everyone else has stopped answering.

And the uncomfortable question becomes:

If this person stopped performing the function I associate with them, would I still know how to be their friend?

Because some people are not maintaining friendships.

They are maintaining access.

Access to emotional labor.

Access to companionship when they are lonely.

Access to support during crisis.

Access to someone’s home.

Access to someone’s network.

Access to someone’s resources.

Access to someone’s knowledge.

Access to someone’s audience.

Access to someone’s attention.

And because they are friendly when they access it, they call that friendship.

But friendliness is not necessarily friendship.

Sometimes we are simply being friendly long before we have ever demonstrated that we know how to be a friend.

There is a difference between utility existing inside a connection and seeking connection primarily because of someone’s utility to you.

That difference matters.

Aristotle famously wrote about friendships rooted in utility, pleasure, and virtue. But I sometimes wonder whether our conversations about friendship would become clearer if we stopped calling every meaningful or recurring connection a friendship in the first place.

Some people are acquaintances.

Some are associates.

Some are friends.

Acquaintance is not an insult.

Associate is not an insult.

Sometimes those distinctions are protection.

Not everyone who enters your life needs unlimited access to it.

Not every enjoyable person needs to become intimate.

Not every collaborator needs to become family.

And not everyone who wants the title of “friend” has demonstrated the practice required to hold it.

Break Glass When Needed

Some friendships exist almost entirely behind glass.

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.

You leave the relationship sitting there.

You don’t touch it when things are good.

You don’t check whether it still works.

You don’t maintain it.

You don’t participate in the life attached to it.

But the moment everything catches fire:

Hey stranger.

I know we haven’t talked in forever.

Can I ask you something?

I really need someone right now.

Of course friends should be able to turn toward one another in an emergency.

That isn’t the problem.

The problem is building an entire relationship around your assumed right to access someone’s care while refusing to participate in the life of the person providing it.

We talk about wanting community far more than we talk about our willingness to develop it.

We love the idea of having people.

How often do we ask ourselves what it means to be someone’s person?

Some people don’t want more people to solely be a friend to. They are not looking for another person looking to be a recipient more than to reciprocate.

They want more friendship.

Some people simply want More support. More access. More invitations.

More resources. More people who will answer. But friendship requires mutual participants. You cannot continuously position yourself as the beneficiary of community while treating participation as optional.

The Trojan Horse of Friendship

Then there is another version of this.

The connection that arrives disguised as friendship.

Someone may initially be distant or uninterested. You reach out, and there isn’t much response.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, something changes.

Suddenly they are warm.

Curious.

Engaged.

They send messages.

They want to talk.

They become unusually interested in getting closer.

And because you are approaching the relationship sincerely, you assume they are too.

So you open the door.

Then, slowly, something else emerges from inside the horse.

The conversation becomes about your work.

Your business.

Your income.

Your connections.

Your opportunities.

Your access.

Eventually, the ask appears.

Maybe they want to collaborate.

Maybe they want an introduction.

Maybe they want you to promote something.

Maybe they want access to your audience.

Maybe they want to work under you.

Maybe they simply want information that helps them better position themselves.

And suddenly you find yourself wondering:

Wait. I thought we were getting to know each other.

Was this a friendship forming?

Or was friendship simply the easiest barrier of entry?

That distinction can be difficult to confront because most people will not say:

“I wanted to get closer to you because I saw something in your life that I wanted access to.”

They may not even fully understand that this is what they are doing.

Instead, the desire for proximity gets dressed up as connection.

Friendship becomes the Trojan horse.

Sometimes people move toward others because they admire them.

Sometimes because they envy them.

Sometimes because they are competing with them.

Sometimes because they want to study them.

Sometimes because proximity to that person makes them feel important.

Sometimes because they believe there is something to gain.

And sometimes the person doing it has not developed enough self-awareness to distinguish genuine interest from incentivized interest.

But insincerity often becomes much more visible when it encounters sincerity.

When one person is actually trying to know you, they eventually notice that you are mostly trying to know what they can do for you.

They notice the pocket-watching.

The subtle comparisons.

The strange jabs.

The competitiveness disguised as curiosity.

The questions that always seem to orbit status, money, relationships, access, or opportunity.

They notice that you are deeply interested in certain parts of their life and strangely uninterested in the human being living it.

Your intentions may not be as hidden as you think they are.

This is why discernment matters.

Someone being eager to enter your life does not automatically make them qualified to occupy an intimate position within it.

Someone calling you a friend does not make them one.

Someone wanting friendship with you does not create an obligation for you to accept the invitation.

Friendship is invite only.

Not because friendship should be elitist.

Because friendship is consequential.

Who we allow close to us matters.

Who has access to our vulnerability matters.

Who has access to our resources matters.

Who gets to hear our dreams before they are fully formed matters.

Who gets to witness our fears matters.

Who gets to occupy space in our lives matters.

You are allowed to notice when someone’s interest in you appears to increase alongside their perception of your usefulness.

You are allowed to question a sudden burst of curiosity from someone who previously showed very little.

You are allowed to decide that someone’s definition of friendship is incompatible with yours.

You are allowed to recognize:

This person may want a friend, but they may not know how to be one.

And you do not have to volunteer yourself as the training ground.

Our culture often dilutes friendship by applying the word to almost everyone.

People we know.

People we work with.

People we network with.

People we occasionally talk to.

People in group chats.

People who have our phone number.

People who follow us.

People we once had a meaningful conversation with.

Friend.

Friend.

Friend.

But when everyone is a friend, it becomes harder to recognize what friendship actually requires.

I have been in spaces where people barely know anything about your life, do not check in, and do not meaningfully engage, yet somehow know they have enough access to include someone when resources are needed.

Your phone number is remembered when money is being collected.

Your expertise is remembered when advice is needed.

Your platform is remembered when visibility is useful.

Your generosity is remembered when someone needs support.

But are you remembered?

That is the question.

There is nothing wrong with asking for help.

There is nothing wrong with networking.

There is nothing wrong with wanting opportunities.

There is nothing wrong with an acquaintance remaining an acquaintance or an associate remaining an associate.

The problem begins when we misrepresent the relationship in order to lower the barrier to someone’s resources.

When friendliness becomes strategy.

When intimacy becomes leverage.

When “friendship” becomes the password we use to gain access.

Sometimes people become upset when someone does not want friendship with them because the other person has already recognized what they are looking for.

Opportunity.

Information.

Access.

Association.

A resource.

And the refusal feels personal because the person seeking entry believed their friendliness should have been enough to unlock the door.

But friendship is not owed because someone knocks.

Friendship is not a reward for showing interest.

Friendship is not an all-access pass handed out to anyone who decides they would like one.

The real question is not simply:

Do I want friends?

It is:

Do I know how to be one?

Am I seeking relationship, or am I seeking access?

Am I interested in this person, or am I interested in what proximity to them provides?

Would I still choose them if the resource disappeared?

Would I still call if they had nothing to give me?

Would I still be curious if their life could not advance mine?

Would I still show up if there were nothing in it for me except the privilege of knowing them?

Because sometimes friendship has utility.

And sometimes utility puts on a friendship costume.

Discernment is learning to know the difference.

They lose them by creating narratives that make their own inaction feel acceptable.

“We just drifted apart.”

“Life got busy.”

“We’ve both been meaning to reach out.”

“They know I care.”

These explanations sound harmless. Sometimes they’re even true.

But they’re often stories that soften a much more uncomfortable reality:

Relationships rarely disappear all at once. They disappear one justified decision at a time.

Drifting relationships aren’t always confusing. They’re confronting. Because they force us to ask a question most people spend years avoiding:

How often have I chosen comfort over connection? How often have I chosen convenience over maintenance? How often have I chosen avoidance over repair? How often have I protected my image as a good friend instead of becoming one?

Many people don’t actually want relationships. They want reward systems.A relationship asks something of you. It asks for honesty.

Initiative. Repair. Consistency. It asks you to confront your ego, your insecurity, your selfishness, and the ways you’ve quietly stopped participating while expecting the relationship to remain exactly as it was.

We choose over people who choose us because they don’t come in the package we value, while chasing things and people who don’t cherish us at all because of how we think they’ll make us look.

A reward system asks almost nothing. It waits patiently until you’re lonely.

Until you’re heartbroken. Until you’re nostalgic. Until you need advice. Until you need support. Then you return expecting the relationship to be exactly where you left it—not because you’ve maintained it, but because you expect it to maintain itself.

Many people don’t want participation. They want access. They don’t want responsibility. They want availability.

They don’t want to build a current of connection. They simply want to know they can turn on the faucet whenever they’re thirsty. We say we value connection.

But our behavior often reveals that what we really value is control over when connection is required of us.

That’s why phrases like,

“I love friendships where we don’t have to talk all the time.”

have become so popular.

Sometimes that’s a reflection of genuine security. *Healthy friendships absolutely can survive long stretches apart. Trust allows people to move through seasons of life without questioning the relationship. But security isn’t the absence of maintenance.

It’s the presence of trust built through maintenance.

The real question isn’t whether you went months without talking.

The question is why.

Did life genuinely become demanding? Or did the friendship simply stop feeling important enough to tend to? Because we don’t usually apply this standard anywhere else.

We don’t proudly neglect our romantic relationships to prove they’re secure. We don’t disappear from work for months to demonstrate commitment. We don’t ignore our children to test the strength of the bond.

Yet friendships are constantly expected to survive conditions we’d never ask our other important relationships to endure. Somewhere along the way, we’ve confused low-maintenance with no maintenance.

They’re not the same thing.

Relationships aren’t impressive because they survive neglect.

They’re impressive because people continue choosing one another despite the demands of life.

The friendship didn’t become low-maintenance. Someone simply stopped maintaining it. And eventually, that became the culture of the relationship. But what often ends relationships isn’t the neglect itself.

It’s what happens when someone finally asks about it.

“Hey... I feel like we’ve become distant.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I miss you.”

“What happened to us?”

“I don’t think you value this connection.”

That moment asks for honesty.

It asks someone to examine their own participation. And that’s exactly where many relationships fracture. Not because the question is unreasonable. But because the question threatens the story someone has been telling themselves.

Instead of reflecting, they deflect. They ghost.

“You’re asking for too much.”

“My other friends don’t expect this.”

“You’re needy.”

“Life gets busy.”

Notice how quickly the conversation changes.

It stops being,

“How have I contributed to this relationship?”

and becomes,

“Why are you making me uncomfortable by asking?”

Sometimes people don’t avoid accountability because they don’t know they’ve neglected someone. They avoid the person who reminds them. Because it’s easier to distance yourself from the mirror than to confront what it’s reflecting.

And that’s why awareness isn’t the same as responsibility.

Knowing you’ve become distant isn’t care. Missing someone isn’t maintenance. Acknowledging the problem isn’t the same as participating in the solution.

This is especially visible in the way many men have learned to talk about friendship. There is a particular story men tell each other that receives endless applause online.

Two friends haven’t spoken in a year.

A video goes viral.

The caption says:

“Real brothers. We never talk, but whenever we do, it’s like nothing changed.”

Thousands of comments celebrate it.

What almost nobody asks is: Why did nothing change?

Or perhaps more importantly...Why did no one try to change it?

Awareness has somehow become a substitute for responsibility.

Men publicly acknowledge the distance...

without *privately repairing it.

“This is real brotherhood.”

“Real friends don’t need constant contact.”

“This is what male friendship looks like.”

But almost nobody asks the uncomfortable question.

Why did neither of you repair the distance?

Not every friendship requires daily conversation. But they don’t deserve daily neglect.

The point is that we’ve started applauding awareness while asking almost nothing of responsibility.

Men publicly acknowledge the distance.

They publicly admit they miss each other.

They recognize something has changed.

And then...

Nothing.

The vulnerability ends where the effort begins.

Somehow, we’ve confused nostalgia with maintenance.

We praise men for saying, “I miss my boys.” Far less often do we praise them for calling them. For apologizing. For asking, “Did I do something?” For saying, “I don’t want us to lose this.” For risking rejection in order to protect the relationship instead of protecting their pride.

The internet rewards the appearance of care. Relationships reward the practice of it. The truth is, neglect isn’t passive. Neglect requires consistency. Every conversation avoided. Every repair delayed. Every invitation never sent. Every “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Every story that made inaction feel reasonable. That’s how relationships slowly disappear.

And perhaps the hardest truth of all is this: We aren’t always grieving the loss of a relationship. Sometimes we’re grieving the loss of unrestricted access to someone who no longer accepts our version of one.

We say we miss them. But if we’re honest, sometimes what we miss is knowing they’d always be there whenever we were finally ready.

That’s not connection. That’s control. Relationships aren’t sustained by dramatic moments. They’re sustained by ordinary maintenance. By small conversations. By an inconvenient effort.

By repair.

By choosing one another long before there’s an emergency.

Neglect is practiced.

So is love.

-It’s Just Information

Isaiah Frizzelle

The 7day Relationship Integrity Challenge

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Many people don’t match energy; they match excuses.

“Match energy.”

It’s one of the most common pieces of relationship advice on the internet.

If someone doesn’t text back, match energy.

If they stop showing up, match energy.

If they become inconsistent, match energy.

If they don’t prioritize you, match energy.

The phrase sounds empowering. But it’s not emotional maturity.

The problem is that many people only believe in matching energy when it gives them permission to become someone they otherwise wouldn’t want to be or be in a relationship with.

Someone less intentional.

Less communicative.

Less accountable.

Less considerate.

Less consistent.

We rarely talk about matching energy when it comes to effort.

If someone consistently checks in on us, are we eager to match that energy?

If someone makes time for us, do we match that energy?

If someone communicates directly, takes accountability, follows through on their word, and shows up with consistency, do we match that energy too?

Often, we don’t.

Because many people aren’t matching energy at all.

They’re matching neglect.

They’re matching inconsistency.

They’re matching avoidance.

They’re matching excuses.

And there is a difference between protecting your energy and abandoning your standards.

Climate Control

We enjoy warmth in our connections, but we don’t enjoy heat. We often desire the path of least resistance. Why? Because there’s less to risk, less to lose, less of ourselves to expose. Friendship is no exception. For many people—especially men—it’s often easier to say, “I know we’ve been distant,” than it is to ask, “What happened to us?”

It’s more uncomfortable to say: “This hurt my feelings.” “Sometimes I don’t feel like our bond is a priority.” “The things we used to prioritize seem to be on the back burner.”

Why?

Because we have to hear a response and sit with the experience.

Maybe it’s deflection:

“It’s not that deep.”

Maybe it’s deception:

“I’ve just been busy.”

Maybe it’s admission:

“You’re right.”

Sometimes we may even get the outcome we desire: someone willing to acknowledge the rupture, take accountability, or do better.

But can we stand the heat long enough to get there?

As much as we say we desire clarity and closure, we often choose the dynamic that allows us to build a case, require more effort from the other person, opt out of participation altogether, and ruminate.

When we ruminate, we get to decide the script, narrative, and dialogue without anyone else’s participation.

We also get to be neglectful with bravado.

Participation Optional

These days, it’s become popular and acceptable to glorify being a bit of a flake. We love the friends who cancel plans because we don’t have to show up. We love the friends who are okay with us constantly canceling and flaking at the last minute because they also don’t require us to show up. We love the friends who are comfortable with large gaps between conversations and long periods of distance because they don’t ask much of us.

We’ve taken pride in poor form while simultaneously wondering why everyone is lonely.

We can blame it on something larger than ourselves. The system. Technology. Adulthood. Work. Trauma. Burnout.

And while those things absolutely influence us, our day-to-day, moment-to-moment choices are still ours to make. After all, “we’re all adults.”

Micro moments become macro realities.

Sometimes we love relationships with dirty shoes because we wear the same size and can simply walk in their tracks without revealing our own.

There’s a cover embedded in inconsistent relationships:

We both have dirt we’re tracking through the house, so neither of us should be expected to clean.

The people who require more from us, who have questions about our patterns and our presence (or lack thereof), we’ve often demonized.

Needy.

Too much.

Too sensitive.

Too many expectations.

“I need low-maintenance friends.”

But sometimes what we call low-maintenance is simply a relationship that asks very little of us.

How Much Does This Cost?

We like free things. Especially the things and people that free us from accountability. They say it costs nothing to be kind. Our egos may beg to differ. Kindness is character, and character has value. That’s why everyone loves kind people until those kind people are kind to themselves.

Until they establish boundaries.

Until they speak up.

Until they stop allowing others to determine the rhythm of the relationship.

It costs less—or so we think—to be neglectful.

I never have to buy in.

I never have to risk rejection.

I never have to show up because I know they probably won’t be there anyway.

Sometimes, we subconsciously choose relationships that are dysfunctional because the requirement for us to improve how we function is not there.

Opting out can feel like relief.

Growth rarely does.

May I Be Excused?

There’s a difference between making an emotional decision in the moment and making a permanent decision because of the moments that led up to it.

“They took three days to respond, so I’ll take three days.”

Versus:

“I’ve noticed our pattern of communication and I desire more consistency. What’s your perspective?”

And if the pattern continues:

“I’ve noticed things tend to ebb and flow, and I’m looking for more consistency in my connections. Maybe this simply isn’t available here.”

The difference is vulnerability.

It takes courage to ask for what you desire when doing so risks being perceived as needy.

It takes courage to say:

“I don’t feel supported in this connection.”

“This feels one-sided.”

“I’m going to leave this here.”

As much as we may want consistent relationships, we may not always create consistency ourselves.

Consistency requires inconvenience.

Intentional effort that exposes us.

Inconvenient truths that expose dynamics.

Inconvenient choices that may paint us in an undesirable light.

Chaos, however, is often easier to perpetuate.

What some people have declared to be “matching energy” is simply abandoning standards they realize require more of them.

Because consistency requires inconvenience.

Communication requires vulnerability.

Accountability requires self-examination.

And participation requires effort.

The irony is that many people claim to want emotionally mature, available, thoughtful, self-aware relationships. But when those relationships require the same qualities from them, they suddenly become optional.

Matching energy removes the moment of discomfort that might say: “I have the exact relationships I’m willing to sustain”.

No one should have that much agency over who you are.

Not their inconsistency.

Not their avoidance.

Not their neglect.

Not their inability to show up.

Change your access, not your alchemy.

Maybe we aren’t matching energy.

Maybe we’re matching excuses.

It’s Just Information.

— Isaiah Frizzelle

“Come healed” vs. “I’m going to do my best to make sure I’m not another person someone else has to heal from.”

Whether in dating or friendship, many people want the benefits of deep connection without the devotion that sustains it. We want intimacy without inconvenience. Care without responsibility. Community without participation.

And then we wonder why everything feels lukewarm.

We want warmth and consistency from others while reserving the right to leave people in the cold at our leisure.

There is often a double standard around needs.

Some people are permitted to ask for space, remain autonomous, cancel plans, disappear for periods of time, or downgrade relationships without question. Their independence is seen as healthy and self-respecting.

But when someone else expresses needs, asks for reassurance, desires consistency, seeks closeness, establishes boundaries, or downgrades the connection, they risk being labeled needy, demanding, dependent, rigid, or unjust.

“It’s okay when I desire.”

“It’s an impediment when you do.”

At times, this isn’t even about the magnitude of the request itself. It’s about timing and preference. When I want connection, it’s reasonable. When you want connection, it’s pressure.

Everyone seems frustrated.

“Dating sucks.”

“It’s hard to make friends as adults.”

“People don’t know how to communicate.”

We talk about these things collectively and constantly.

Yet beneath these complaints exists something uncomfortable:

There is both a universal longing for connection and a growing discipline to distance from one another. We want to seem entirely too important for the people that are supposed to be important to us and who treat us like we are to them.

No one really wants to volunteer as tribute for truth-telling or effort-sharing.

Because truth-telling requires vulnerability.

And vulnerability carries risk.

Many people are hanging from a proverbial cliff, waiting to see who lets go first.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Don’t have expectations of others—but know your worth.”

The contradiction is subtle. We romanticize being loved far more than we romanticize loving. We romanticize being understood more than understanding. Being supported more than supporting. Being chosen more than choosing.

We declare our independence loudly while quietly demanding unwavering dependability from others.

And often what we call love is simply our ego moonlighting as empathy.

We often blame confusion for what is actually avoidance.

We hang in the “gray” and ambiguity because honesty would allow someone else to make a choice that doesn’t benefit us. Clarity costs us access.

A direct conversation may end a relationship, remove an option, or force us to participate more fully than we intended.

Admission of our intent and mode of operation would dissolve the illusion that we are doing our best and instead doing what’s best for us.

Ambiguity allows us to preserve comfort while borrowing connection from another person.

Social media is often blamed for the deterioration of relationships.

But saying social media ruined relationships is like saying we never had a choice in the food we eat.

Tools shape us. But we still decide how we cook. This was never solely a social media problem. It is also a social responsibility problem. A values problem.

One of the most honest questions a person can ask themselves is this: Do I want to participate in my relationships, or do I simply enjoy being taken care of by them?

Because participation is costly. Participation requires repair. Consistency. Reciprocity. Patience. Presence. Maturity. Integrity.

Thinking about other people not only when you need something from them, but also because they matter to you.

Intimacy grants access. But access has obligations.

And perhaps what many people call independence is not independence at all. Sometimes it is simply connection on our own terms. We want people available without being accountable. Close without obligation.

Present without claims.

But relationships are not subscriptions. They are not emotional vending machines. They are living systems that require upkeep from everyone involved. Perhaps this is why deep relationships feel increasingly rare.

Not because people no longer desire connection. But because connection asks something of us. It asks us to initiate when we would rather wait.

To repair when our ego wants distance. To speak clearly when ambiguity benefits us. To be honest when honesty may cost us access. To care for others not only when it is convenient, but when it is inconvenient.

Because love was never simply a feeling.

Friendship was never simply proximity.

Connection was never merely access.

They are practices.

And practices require participation.

The people we trust most are rarely the most impressive. They are often the most consistent. The people who remember. The people who repair. The people who show up. The people who allow relationships to place demands on them because they understand that intimacy has always required mutual stewardship.

Romantic partnerships would shift.

Friendships would function differently by design and definition.

And fewer people would feel emotionally hostage to inconsistency, breadcrumbing, or emotional control disguised as boundaries.

Because boundaries were never meant to eliminate responsibility.

Only to define it.

The irony is that most people do not suffer from a lack of connection.

They suffer from a lack of mutual participation.

Warmth alone does not sustain a relationship.

Participation does.

And no amount of reheating a relationship can substitute for actually learning how to cook.

Do I check the “weather” of my life first?

When it’s sunny, I keep it in the back of the closet. When everything is fun and light, there’s no need for it. But when it rains? When it storms? Do I suddenly reach for it?

When I have guests (other friends, romantic interests, habits), do I place it somewhere out of sight because I don’t need it? Or do I wear it because it makes me look good? It complements my image. And when someone asks where I got it, I act as though I built it myself.

The problem with treating friendship like an accessory is that accessories exist to serve us. People don’t ask what a jacket needs. They don’t wonder how an umbrella is doing. They don’t consider the cost of constantly using something while never maintaining it.

And sometimes we approach friendships the same way.

Not as relationships to participate in, but as resources to access. We reach for them when life becomes difficult. We disappear when life becomes comfortable. We expect them to be available because they always have been.

That’s where support quietly becomes utility. A friend stops being someone whose life we care about and becomes someone who helps us manage our own.

Support, Seasons, and Systems

People often describe friends as being there for each other.

And that’s true. But being there for someone and becoming responsible for what they refuse to correct are not the same.

A healthy friendship can survive difficult seasons:

A death

Break up

Jop displacement

loss

hardship

burnout

But a healthy friendship should also include:

celebration of both people

participation of both parties

intentional inclusion in one another’s lives outside of emotional discharge.

Building a strong foundation with one another where it’s clear that “this relationship serves as a standard of the life I desire to sustain,” Not “what I stand on to keep from sinking”.

There are *moments in life where a person simply may have an emotional flat tire. And they need more support than they can give.

That’s normal. That’s friendship. That’s family. That’s the squad.

The problem isn’t that some people have “seasons,” it’s that they have systems. The crisis never changes. The relationship never changes. The patterns never change. Boundaries are never set. The names and circumstances may change, but the emotional burden remains the same.

And over time, friendship becomes less about knowing each other and more about managing recurring emergencies.

Friendship as an Emotional Storage Unit

Many people use friendship as a place to process life, not participate in it.

Every difficult conversation gets brought to a friend.

Every unhealthy dynamic gets discussed.

Every recurring problem gets analyzed, but nothing changes.

That friend becomes the emotional processing center for a life someone has no intentions of changing.

The friend becomes a utility, something expected to be available whenever needed.

Like electricity.

Like running water.

Always on.

Always accessible.

Always there.

The shift is subtle.

The friend is no longer appreciated for their care.

They are relied upon for it.

Then expected to provide it.

Then they’re resented when they can’t.

Society doesn’t talk enough about the exploitation of friendship; what we sometimes label as someone’s “affection” is potentially an abuse of their presence, capacity, and loyalty. And somewhat of a betrayal in its own right. You rely on and exhaust someone else’s capacity to sustain your own comfort in dysfunction.

They keep going back to the dysfunctional relationship or patterns because they know their friend will listen.

They keep returning to the same dysfunctional relationship because they know someone else will help them carry the emotional weight of it.

Sometimes the healthiest relationship becomes the safest place to disappoint.

The boundaries they refuse to set elsewhere.

Deprioritized for validation and attention elsewhere.

The conversations they refuse to have.

The accountability they avoid.

Eventually gets transferred onto the person who has been the most patient.

The safest relationship becomes the one carrying the consequences of every unhealthy one.

The problem isn’t needing support.

The problem is having no intention of changing the thing that creates the need for it.

Many people use friendship to survive problems they have no intention of addressing. That’s not healing. That’s emotionally hoarding.

Where are you when you don’t need me? Where do you keep me? How do you maintain our connection when life isn’t on fire?

So what’s support and what’s relief?

Support helps someone move through a problem.

Relief helps someone temporarily escape one.

Support asks:

“What are you going to do about this?”

Relief asks:

“Can you make me feel better until the next time this happens?”

One creates change. The other creates and demands dependency.

Friendships become strained when someone mistakes relief for support and begins expecting the relationship to provide endless emotional regulation without personal responsibility.

The truth about reciprocity

Not every friendship will be equal all the time.

That’s unrealistic.

That’s actually the beauty of connection because trust is built. Curiosity is deepened. You learn more about one another.

But healthy friendships eventually rebalance.

After enough receiving comes giving.

After enough talking comes listening.

After enough being carried comes learning how to walk again.

Reciprocity isn’t measured in a single conversation.

It’s measured over time.

The question isn’t:

“Who needed more this week?”

The question is:

“Over the course of this friendship, are we both carrying something?”

Reciprocity isn’t paying someone back. It’s demonstrating that their investment in you mattered. The greatest way to honor someone’s support isn’t endless gratitude.

It’s growth.

The healthiest friendships aren’t built on unlimited access.

They’re built on mutual awareness.

An understanding that the person across from you is not a therapist, crisis line, emotional landfill, or coping mechanism.

They are a human being.

With needs.

With limits.

With burdens of their own.

The moment we stop seeing that, friendship stops being a relationship and starts becoming a utility.

And no relationship survives long when one person is treated like a resource instead of someone to be loved.

Let’s Fix this

Friendship isn’t as hard as people make it out to be.

It just requires people to take a hard look at what kind of friend they show up as and what kind of friend they want. Oftentimes, there’s an incongruence.

It requires people to take an adult look at if their definition of friendship is infantilized.

It requires people to take a “heart look” at, “What do I value about this person?”

Am I willing to compromise my own comfort, do better for myself, and by design take care of this connection because of how much I value this individual?

There’s a difference between treating people like someone you can’t wait to see versus treating them like someone you can’t wait to show all of your wounds to clean up.

Friendship isn’t measured by how much someone can carry.

It’s measured by whether both people are building something worth carrying together.

Because every friendship eventually tells the truth.

Not about who needed support.

But about whether that support was used to create change or simply make dysfunction more comfortable.

And it will show.

It’s just information - Isaiah Frizzelle

Some people have the ability to understand inconsistency, lack of upkeep, and selective care, effort, and priority.

And the qualities we love in people often become threatening once those qualities begin to accurately perceive us.

We love a good listener - until they are listening to what our actions and choices say about us and how we value them.

We love people who take the time to remember details, both big and small, until they notice and remember incongruences in our consideration for them in return, and what we continue to forget.

We love emotionally attentive people, solid people, convicted people, people with high standards, until they apply to us.

We love people who make time for us-until they recognize that what was once an intentional effort has become an expectation without reciprocation.

You listen long enough, and you begin to hear what matters. You pay attention long enough, and you begin to notice where you don’t.

Society’s love for understanding without participation

Society has done a wonderful job teaching people to prioritize unapologetically.

It has done a terrible job teaching people that priorities have consequences.

Society constantly demands that people understand.

Understand they’re busy.

Understand they’re growing.

Understand they’re in a relationship.

Understand they’re overwhelmed.

Understand they’re focused on their career.

Understand they’re healing.

Understand they’re changing.

And understanding is important.

People should be allowed to grow.

People should be allowed to evolve.

People should be allowed to choose what matters to them.

But at some point, understanding becomes a one-way responsibility.

One person is constantly being asked to understand.

The other person is never asked to participate.

And that changes the relationship.

Not because the reasons aren’t valid.

But because the burden becomes uneven.

The Optical Illusion

The more gracefully you handle something, the less serious people think it is.

Which is why we have an unfortunate slogan, “check on your strong friends.”

People assume strength eliminates need. It doesn’t. It simply hides it.

If someone is angry every time they’re inconvenienced, everyone notices the inconvenience.

If someone quietly adjusts, adapts, accommodates, and absorbs, people assume no issue at all. Sometimes, out of a genuine lack of awareness.

Other times, people notice and choose not to because admission of awareness is clarity, is character, is choice.

That’s why understanding can become dangerous because it’s permission (to some) to undervalue the person without consequence.

Vs.

“Let me make sure I’m not another thing you have to heal from.”

We all want to be held in safe containers while exposing people to improper conditions.

The Hidden Cost

The unfortunate truth is that we become nose-blind to consistency. We become accustomed to reliability.

We overlook effort when it becomes predictable.

The people who show up the most often receive the least curiosity because we begin expecting what they once intentionally gave. Healthy things rarely create urgency. Reliable people rarely create panic.

And because of that, we often spend more time chasing what is inconsistent than maintaining what is already present.

In an ideal world, we would sustain what we hope to keep.

The people who continuously show up would inspire more consideration, not less.

We’d stop and ask:

“You probably carry a lot. How are you doing?”

“What does this cost you?”

“Am I contributing to your well-being or only benefiting from it?”

We want patience without accountability. Grace without awareness. Loyalty without upkeep. Understanding without responsibility.

The Cost of Being Understanding

The difficult part is that understanding disguises the cost.

The more gracefully someone absorbs disappointment, inconsistency, neglect, or imbalance, the less visible the burden becomes.

People assume they’re okay because they continue showing up.

People assume they’re unaffected because they remain kind.

People assume there is no consequence because there is no confrontation. But understanding doesn’t mean something didn’t cost them.

It simply means they were willing to carry the cost longer than most. Until one day they aren’t. Not because they became bitter.

Not because they stopped caring. But because they finally understood something, too.

Relationships are not maintained by understanding alone. They are maintained by participation.

Relationships require currency, and sometimes we bank on other people’s forgiveness to foot the bill.

Everyone appreciates understanding. Few people consider what it costs the person providing it.

It’s just information - Isaiah Frizzelle

It doesn’t get to take credit for that.

And honestly, I think that’s why I exist the way that I do.

And honestly, as a man, I’ve realized talking about friendship this deeply is almost seen as an anomaly.

A lot of men are taught to value loyalty in theory, but not emotional presence in practice. “It’s not worth choosing if it’s not what you chase.”

There’s often this quiet fear around openly loving your friends: being perceived as soft, dependent, emotional, or “too much.”

But I think that fear is exactly why so many people feel deeply disconnected while pretending they’re fine.

I’ve never been ashamed to openly, consistently, and intentionally love the people important to me. Questions, yes. Yield, no. That’s what I’m equipped for.

And honestly, I think that’s part of why my internal world feels as grounded as it does.

When most people think about love, the first thought is usually romance. When people think about heartbreak, it’s usually the same.

Movies. Music. Books. Culture.

Most of it revolves around the same idea:
status, pursuit, desire, being chosen, abandoned.

Romance taught people how to be chosen.

Friendship taught me how to stay connected.

Romance teaches desire.

Friendship taught me consideration.

And that changed everything for me.

I’ve dated. I’ve had relationships. Loved deeply. But funny enough, my friendships never suffered. They didn’t disappear, and neither did I.

Oftentimes, my people didn’t even know I was in a relationship until I mentioned it.

Not because I was hiding it.

But because nothing changed.

“Everyone eats.”

I never believed in shortchanging one relationship to pour excessively into another. I wasn’t banking on someone’s forgiveness for being neglected, so I could prioritize someone else.

I understood my capacity and commitment to the people whose lives I chose to occupy.

But the secret is that connections are built differently when you learn how to build your own foundation.

You’re not looking for people to “change your life.”

You’re observing what kind of guests they are in it.

Growing up, I was raised on this practice of loyalty. And because of that, I also learned what betrayal looked like, too.

“If y’all go together, y’all leave together.”

“If that’s your friend, don’t let them feel like an outsider around you.”

“Check on your people and show up for them.”

“Wait until they get in the house before you drive off.” - favorite of mine.

“Don’t be acting funny with your friends because someone new came along.”

“Watch how people move with you when other people come around.”

“Don’t only reach out when you need something.”

“Sometimes you’re their friend, they aren’t yours.”

“They will show in their labor before the label.”

“Envy doesn’t live in you, so don’t let it live around you.”

And most importantly:

“Pay attention to how people treat you when they don’t need anything, or think you can’t do anything for them.”

“Don’t stay anywhere you’re not valued.”

“Bring your own ‘car’.”

Because not everyone was raised the same.

And neither were their values.

Those were my commandments.

And while it didn’t always lead to other people showing up with that same kind of consistency or intentionality, it allowed seasonal people to pass through without completely uprooting me.

I learned dynamics quicker because how I moved wasn’t incentivized.

Being kind isn’t being unaware, unable, weak, or unintelligent.

I never made being loved my identity, but I made how I love my truth.

I’ve always loved my friends like they were people I planned to keep for the rest of my life.

Not in a fantastical way.
Not in a placeholder fashion.

But in practical ways too:
literal planning, incorporation, consideration, life choices.

Society tells people that if they have a friendship that lasts a lifetime, they’re lucky.

No.

If you have a friendship that lasts a lifetime, labor was involved.

Time.
Consistency.
Effort.
Repair.
Participation… Sacrifice.

One thing that has always fascinated me is how proudly people talk about neglect within friendship.

“We can go months without talking and pick up where we left off.”

And while I understand what people are trying to communicate—comfort, familiarity, security—I also think sometimes we confuse emotional distance with emotional maturity.

Especially when those same people are deeply dependent in romantic relationships. No matter how new or historical the relationship is.

Because autonomy isn’t the inability to maintain connection.

And friendship isn’t valuable because it survives neglect.

It’s valuable because people continue choosing it even when there’s no social incentive pushing them to.

“Friendship is an endurance sport”. My brother said that once, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Catching up is never really being caught up.

A lot of the connections people brag about having are, honestly, compiled flashbacks.

And sometimes, if we convince ourselves that something is normal or healthy, we never have to confront what’s missing. And that we don’t show up.

I never spent time bragging about how much time had passed since I last connected with someone important to me, because that time could’ve been spent connecting with them.

We spend so much time trying to seem important that we lose sight of what actually is.

I’ve always seen my friends as people I get to actively grow with.

And I’ve learned to pay attention to how people talk about what’s important to them.

If you listen carefully, a lot of people talk about relationships from the perspective of:
“What can this person do for me?”

Not:
“How am I willing to show up?”

And that distinction matters.

Friendship is not charity.

You are not obligated to extend friendship to someone simply because they desire access to you.

Especially if they don’t want to participate in the labor required to sustain that standard.

Some people like access.
Some people like association.
Some people like the idea of friendship more than the responsibility of it.

And in adult life, it’s important to recognize that what someone wants from you isn’t always what they want for you.

That relationship will impact you mentally, emotionally, and biologically.

So yes—you also get to choose.

The way love is talked about sometimes feels incredibly transactional.

People save effort in hopes of validation instead of loving consistently in spaces that don’t require performance to justify presence.

The closest people in my life were rarely proximity-based.

They were kept close through active choice.

Not happenstance.

I understand my work.

And I also recognize when I’m the only one doing it.

A person with a lot of friends is not necessarily friends with a lot of people.

Genuine friendship requires capacity, commitment, priority, and inconvenience.

I’ve always found ways to make sure the people I love understand clearly who they are and where they are kept in my life.

Not through:
“You should just know.”

But through:
“Let me show you.”

Friendship has allowed me to love well because it’s a space society doesn’t really pay much attention to.

There’s no applause there.
No status attached to doing it well.

Which means the people who consistently show up usually want to.

So I’ve been able to work quietly, diligently, and consistently there without much interference.

And honestly, I think that’s why friendship taught me the deepest lessons about love.

I didn’t learn love through fantasy.

I learned it through consistency.
Through consideration.
Through people choosing each other repeatedly without needing ownership, status, or possession to justify it.

That’s what friendship taught me.

And honestly, I think that’s why heartbreak was never able to fully destroy me.

Because love was never living in one place alone.

And it was always home in me first.

It’s just information - Isaiah Frizzelle

Awareness Will Change What You Tolerate

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There’s a genuine desire many people have to look good and feel good about themselves. But the deepest relationships — the healthiest relationships — require something people often find unattractive:

Effort.
Inconvenience.
Consistency.
Initiative.

And sometimes, it’s the lack of willingness for any of them.

“Let’s get coffee sometime.”

“Keep me posted.”

“We should hang soon.”

“I’m here if you need anything.”

They all sound supportive.

They sound caring.

They sound like bids for connection.

But the last one quietly places the responsibility onto someone who is already struggling.

Especially if it’s already obvious they have a hard time asking for help in the first place.

Sometimes support becomes less about showing up and more about preserving the feeling of being a good person.

“Well, I did my part.”

“I told them to reach out.”

“Thoughts and prayers.”

Care can become performative when it protects us from the inconvenience of participation.

A lot of people are nice.

Very few people are kind.

And we’ll distinguish the difference later.

Because real relationships eventually ask something from us:
time,
movement,
attention,
effort,
follow-through.

And that’s where many connections quietly begin to collapse.

Can You Hold This for Me?

Many relationships survive on what I like to call emotional placeholders:
phrases that maintain the appearance of connection without requiring the labor of it.

Friendships today are often expected to survive solely on these.

Because “life gets busy.”

Or more honestly:
Life gets busy with the things we decide are important enough to prioritize.

“Let’s definitely hang out soon.”

“I miss you.”

“We need to catch up.”

“Let’s get lunch sometime.”

And part of us may genuinely mean it in the moment.

But intention without movement creates emotional confusion.

Because eventually, people stop listening to what’s said and start recognizing patterns instead.

Consistency is communication.

Effort is communication.

Follow-through is communication.

And repeated inconsistency eventually becomes communication too.

Not always maliciously.
Not always consciously.
But clearly.

Heroism vs. Presence

One thing I’ve noticed is that some people love the idea of being emotionally heroic.

Why?

Because there’s a dopamine hit in being someone’s lifeline.
Someone’s emergency contact.
Someone’s “phone-a-friend.”

“Out of everyone, you called me.”

Sometimes the desire to support is not as strong as the desire to feel needed.

“I like being invited even though I know I’m not coming.”

Some phrases sound like they reinforce loyalty and dependability, but actually sustain emotional distance.

“We may not talk all the time, but if you called me at 2 a.m., I’d be there.”

But why would I call you at 2 a.m. if you’re unavailable the other 99% of the time?

And if we’re being honest, most of us know our audience.

We know who’s emotionally available.
We know who follows through.
We know who disappears.
We know whose phone is always on silent.
We know who responds a week later while calling it “protecting their peace.”

So would we really reach out in the middle of the night?

Sometimes people aren’t looking to be rescued.

They’re looking for reciprocity.

And that’s harder for some people to offer.

Because closeness is not built in emergencies alone.

It’s built-in maintenance.

In consistency.

In accumulated presence.

In the random Tuesday check-in.
The remembered detail.
The returned call.
The invitation.
The follow-up text.
The willingness to move toward someone before things become catastrophic.

Some people want hero credits.

They want the emotionally cinematic version of connection:
the rescue,
the emergency,
the dramatic moment where they finally get to prove they care.

But relationships are rarely built through grand gestures alone.

Most healthy relationships are built through ordinary maintenance:
small effort repeated consistently over time.

And honestly, that version of care is less glamorous.

Because it requires participation instead of performance.

“I’m here if you need anything… I just may not be there when you do.”

There’s a difference between being supportive and offering passive support.

Sometimes people don’t even know what they need.

Sometimes they don’t know how to say:
“Can we just hang out for a little?”
“You mind if I call?”
“Can we play video games for a bit?”

Sometimes care is subtle.

Sometimes being held is quiet.

And sometimes saying “I’m here if you need me” places the responsibility on others to reach out first, so we don’t have to.

Real support often requires movement.

Asking instead of assuming:

“Hey, what will help you feel the most supported right now?”

“I’ll check in x time every day.”

“Are you eating?”

Some relationships are long-distance and will require a little more creativity.

And yes, some people shut the world out and become upset when no one shows up. At some point, they will have to split the difference and also be supportive of their own support; they will have to allow people the opportunity to be present, versus being upset that no one does.

Because yes, some people won’t be there when they’re most needed, but they don’t represent everyone who hasn’t had the chance yet.

It’s helping a friend move.
Picking someone up from the airport.
Helping clean up before or after the party.
Doing the things that may not always be convenient or exciting.

That’s the part of the connection people don’t romanticize enough.

Everyone is different and will respond differently, but sometimes we have to ask ourselves honestly, are we genuinely giving our best?

The Inconvenience of Connection

Investment in your relationships requires bids for connection, but sometimes we gamble people’s presence.

There have been times I made plans in the present moment that my future self didn’t feel like showing up for later.

And honestly?

Sometimes I secretly hoped they’d get canceled.

But I had to ask myself why.

Sometimes it was nerves.
Sometimes social exhaustion.
Sometimes anxiety.
Sometimes temporary discomfort.

I’d wake up tired and immediately decide I didn’t want to go anymore.

But I realized something:

Just because a feeling is present doesn’t mean it should become permanent.

I learned not to let a moment become monumental.

Because many meaningful things in life require us to move through resistance first.

I’ve heard people laugh about constantly canceling plans with each other as proof of closeness.

“We do it all the time.”

“That’s just how we are.”

“There’s still love there.”

And maybe there is.

But relationships are strengthened through shared experiences, accumulated memories, repeated effort, and lived participation.

If we consistently opt out of the very moments that build connection, eventually the relationship becomes built more on history than ongoing intimacy.

And I think modern culture has confused avoidance with self-care sometimes.

“I’m protecting my peace.”

“No is a boundary.”

And yes, boundaries matter.

Rest matters.

Capacity matters.

But if avoidance becomes the default setting in every relationship, eventually loneliness becomes the consequence.

Because deep connections require repeated mutual participation.

Not just emotional intention.

Nice vs. Kind

A lot of people are nice.

Nice avoids discomfort.

Nice maintains image.

Nice says the socially correct thing.

Nice wants to be perceived well.

Kindness is different.

Kindness participates.

Kindness follows through.

Kindness notices.

Kindness inconveniences itself sometimes.

Kindness makes room.

And I think that’s the uncomfortable truth underneath many modern relationships:

A lot of people care.

But fewer people consistently practice care in ways that can actually be felt.

“I’m over here if you need me” sounds nice.

“I’m right here… what do you need?” is kind.

It’s just information.

— Isaiah Frizzelle

“Give me clarity. Give me peace.”

Clarity about the dynamic, what this is, what this isn’t, where I stand.

And peace, the boundaries, awareness, dignity, and self-respect
that allows me to move forward without confusion.

I ask for both.

And I’ve learned… I always get both.

So here’s a question I had to sit with:

Would you rather be liked—or valued?

Because those are not the same thing.

Some people don’t love you for who you are.

They love you for how you love them.

They’re loyal to the experience of being supported, understood, and poured into.

And it shows.

Being needed can feel like connection.

It feels like presence.
It feels like… something.

But what I didn’t realize was:

When their needs were met—
I wasn’t.

So I had to ask myself:

Do I want to feel needed…or do I want to be in a healthy connection?

Because those require different things.Boundaries.Reciprocity.
Support that flows both ways.

Not adapting to the lack of something, but adjusting the relationship itself.

So before anything else, I grounded myself in this:

Love isn’t confusing.

And neither are people who genuinely consider you outside of their own convenience.

They’re present.
They’re consistent.
They’re willing.

There’s no decoding required. People will say others are “incapable.” But capacity isn’t fixed. It expands based on what someone is willing to prioritize.

We see it everywhere—
in discipline, growth, ambition, and effort. It’s discomfort. It’s inconvenient. Vulnerability is inconvenient. Self-respect can also be a discipline, and honesty about who you are and what your motivation is.

So it’s not that people can’t show up.

It’s that they don’t always choose to, in every space.

A Doctor wasn’t born one. Your job required new skills, travel, time. You could have any job but, you chose this one.

I think we’ve blamed love for a lot of things
that are actually rooted in ego.

Not ego in a shallow sense—

But ego shaped by early experiences.
By what we were taught love looked like.
And what we had to become to receive it.

Because ego doesn’t just protect us.

It influences who we choose,
how we show up,
and what we tolerate.

We say we want honesty.
Vulnerability.
Emotional maturity.

But often, what we’re really looking for
is comfort within those things—
not confrontation.

We say we want depth—
but only when it feels good.

We say we want truth—but only when it doesn’t challenge us.

So love starts to feel transactional.

Not because love is transactional—but because the way we’ve learned to engage with it is.

We’ve been taught that deep love exists in certain categories:

Family.
Romance.

But if we’re honest, we treat labels like they transform people.

Like calling someone “family” or “partner.”
automatically means they’re capable of showing up in meaningful ways.

And there’s a hierarchy with those labels too: “I will bypass evidence of a lack of love just to sustain a connection that society tells me represents it. I’ll also do some unloving things to ensure it.”

Instead of recognizing:

A label doesn’t change someone’s character.

It reflects what we hope they’ll be.

That’s where I had to shift.

I didn’t need to earn better love.

I needed to recognize where I was over-giving
and calling it a connection.

Here’s what I’ve learned about love:

You can’t control it.

You can suppress it, deny it, misinterpret it, but genuine love has one job:

To connect.

And real love isn’t performance.

It’s presence.

It’s action with intention—not effort to earn something back.

I realized I had been showing up as two people:

One supporting others.
And one trying to support myself.

So they had two people looking out for them.

And I had… me. Sometimes you’re not exhausted because you love deeply.

You’re exhausted because you’re loving from an empty place.

Trying to find the one thing
that will finally make someone love you back.

So you keep giving.

Adjusting.
Entertaining.
Showing up.

And maybe they appreciate it.

But appreciation isn’t love.

I realized something:

I didn’t earn the love I deserved.

That’s the point.

Love doesn’t need to be earned.

But connection does reveal patterns.

There’s a difference between keeping score
and recognizing what’s consistent.

Was I the only one showing up?
Adjusting?
Accommodating?

That may have been love.

But it wasn’t mutual.

Love doesn’t mean sustaining a connection through neglect.

It doesn’t mean abandoning yourself to keep someone else.

Real love has weight to it.

Consideration.
Curiosity.
Consistency.
Care.

Not perfection—
but intention.

And honestly, a lot of what I’ve learned about genuine love
didn’t come from romance at all.

It came from the friendships that showed me
what consideration, consistency, and emotional safety actually look like.

You will never earn the love you deserve.

I didn’t.

That’s the point.

Then I started noticing something:

People weren’t always loyal to me…
they were loyal to their needs—
and how I complemented them.

There’s a different feeling between being patient as people learn up, versus being a placeholder.

And things don’t have to be malicious to have an impact.

Awareness of someone’s self-centeredness is not a degradation of their humanity.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a quiet realization:

I’ve been over-functioning in spaces
where I’ve been under-supported.

Not in a loud way.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing explosive.

Just small moments…
that started to add up.

I had a role

Being the one who:

Checks in
Shows up
Cheers
Supports
Holds space
Verbalizes appreciation
Notices
Adjusts
Accommodates

Buffet-style. All you can eat.

Everyone’s fed. But also the one who can hold his own. And slowly realizing…

I’m not being met in the same way.

What made it more confusing wasn’t the lack of support.

It was seeing that same support
given to other people.

Watching someone show up, affirm, pour into others, express excitement—

in ways I hadn’t experienced from them. And that’s a different kind of awareness.

Because now it’s not:

“They don’t know how.”

It becomes:

“They do… just not here.”

And that’s where it gets layered. Because I had to be honest with myself.

You eventually learn to hide in plain sight.

Minimize your needs.
Stop sharing your wins.
Stop sharing your feelings.
Analyze more.
Get quieter.
Stop expecting.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“What do you need?”

The beautiful thing about relationships—healthy ones—is how much is required to make them work. But a lot of connections aren’t that.

A lot of connections are people convincing themselves
that being alone is a punishment… So they choose a familiar hell to avoid it. I’ll abandon myself to keep you here, and you’ll stay here because there’s nothing you need to do here.

The truth is:

You cannot force people to value what they don’t.

Value systems are shaped by history, conditioning, environment, and consequence.

Heart posture matters.

And how you value yourself… is part of that. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

And sometimes…The things we should treasure,
we treat like trash.

That’s just who I am…

Sometimes you become so focused on your ability to love well—
deeply, consistently—

while operating on very little…

that you don’t even recognize the imbalance.

I take care of myself
before people even have the responsibility to.

Not trying to be a burden.

Making it easy for people to exist here. But that’s the problem.

Relationships feel easy when one person is doing all the work.

Healthy relationships are not the absence of effort.

Your threshold for negligence becomes high.

So high that low-effort and misalignment register…but you don’t change anything.

Because this is what you’re used to.

There is no prize at the end of life
for being hyper-independent.

For being the one everyone can count on…

while you only count on yourself.

Hyper-independence is a form of self-abandonment. You’ve told yourself, indirectly:

“You don’t deserve support like everyone else.”

And sometimes it hides as pride—but it’s really fear.

Fear of vulnerability.
Fear of losing control.

The idea that you’re so self-sufficient
no one gets the opportunity to love you well. They are incapable.

That’s not kindness.

Not to others.

And definitely not to yourself.

Hyper-independence will have you
in relationships by yourself…

while everyone else feels comfortable.

(Speaking from experience.)

It’s not that people have to guess everything you need.

It’s not that they have to anticipate everything.

But in real relationships…

There is awareness.

And that starts with self-awareness.

Maybe it’s an Aries thing.

(Lol—I’ve heard we’re selfish.)

But maybe selfishness sometimes looks like this:

Not allowing others to participate.

But it gets better.

Stop treating your needs like a nuisance.

Stop seeing yourself as one.

And let go of the need to control everything out of fear.

Because when you start putting things down…

people notice.

And not everyone likes it. We’re creatures of comfort.

When dynamics change—
when effort shifts—
when access is reduced—

People can feel disrupted.

Offended.

“Hey, you don’t reach out anymore…”, “You’ve changed.”

Instead of:

“I haven’t been showing up either.”

And the truth is:

It’s not always other people’s fault.

Sometimes we’ve trained people
that they don’t have to do much
to receive everything.

Because we were just happy to be included.

But included in what?

When your own life
has required you to carry everything alone.

You cannot be abandoned.

But you can become aware.

Sometimes it’s not the absence of people that hurts—it’s the fear of them leaving.

But eventually…you might realize:

“This person doesn’t show up…and actually never has.”

The planning.
The prioritizing.
The adjusting.
The willingness.

It’s been one-sided.

And the other person?

Comfortable.

A lot of the time, we get mad at others
for the way we’ve treated ourselves.

They’re just modeling their mentor.

Over-functioning leads to being undervalued. Because people become nose-blind.

The Shift

Be aware of your needs. Be accountable for them. Embrace that you are a human with them.

Really explore them.

Because if you’re used to not asking, everything will feel overwhelming when you do.

Sometimes you need to ask just to see how you *need to restructure your relationships.

Some people love how you love them, not the idea of loving you in return.

Set boundaries.

Not performative ones—real ones:

“I need time to process.”
“I can only give this much.”
“I can’t do that, but I can do this.”

“I need Blank to feel supported and seen.”

Stop giving people
what they didn’t ask for. This doesn’t mean you don’t care for folks and show up and love them well. Some people also aren’t versed in asking for their needs. But it’s a fine line. The less you waste, the less they overlook.

You might want to love people deeply…

But not everyone will value it.

And not everyone will receive it the same way.

Be vulnerable.

Say what matters.
Say what hurts.
Say what heals.

And ask others the same.

Because you’re not in a real connection
when you exclude yourself.

And you don’t need relationships
where people feel no need to care.

It’s Just Information —
Isaiah

In this episode, we unpack the pattern of self-exclusion—what it looks like to constantly show up for others while never creating space for yourself in your own relationships.

Because being “low maintenance” isn’t always strength.
Sometimes, it’s avoidance.

If you’ve ever felt overlooked, unsupported, or like relationships feel one-sided… this episode will challenge you to look at the role you’ve been playing in that dynamic.

Not to blame you—
but to give you your power back.

A lot of adult friendships are hard for people who struggle to tell themselves the truth:

They aren’t good friends.

They want connection…
But they don’t want the responsibility that comes with maintaining one.

There’s so much work/ thought pieces put into categorizing friendship(s) because there’s little effort put into the actual relationships. And people need to feel resolved about that.

We often believe that speaking about the things we desire makes us the person with those attributes.

You ask someone on a date: “What are you looking for in a partner?”

They say all the good things: Intentional, kind, caring, thoughtful, kisses babies, and kind to the waiter.

They said what they like, not who they like to be.

Make “acquaintance” a more comfortable word. Make it a relationship category.

Think about it.

There are no subcategories for a husband, wife, boyfriend, or girlfriend.

You don’t say:

• “This is my low-effort partner.”

• “This is my part-time relationship.”

• “This is my surface-level significant other.”

You either show up…
Or you don’t earn the title.

And that makes sense.

Those relationships have the potential to change your life.

But ask someone about a friendship?

They’ll tell you about betrayal.
About inconsistency.
About who wasn’t there when it mattered.

Or they’ll name one person who showed up…

because it stood out.

That’s impact. That’s influence.

We only really think about friendship when it comes to what we need from one…not the responsibility of being one.

Sometimes we give the title away, and sometimes people feel entitled to having the title that they give to themselves, in other people’s lives.

At some point, friendship got downgraded.

It became something casual.
Something optional.
Something we expect to work… without working on it.

Meanwhile, every other relationship in our lives has a standard.

The biggest confusion: We’ve confused friendship with community. We’ve made friend synonymous with community.

Just because someone is around you…

doesn’t mean they’re (willing to be) responsible for you.

Just because you see someone often…

doesn’t mean there’s depth there.

Some people aren’t even “bad” friends; they were just never meant to be one to begin with.

They were:

people you knew, people you were around, people you shared space with

And that’s not a bad thing.

It’s just a different kind of relationship.

The problem is…

We expect friendship-level care
from proximity-level connections.

Ask yourself:

Am I expecting more from this relationship than it was ever built to provide?

And take it deeper:

“Am I the kind of friend I say I want?”

Not in theory. But in practice.

Have you asked the people who consistently show up for you…

How can you show up better for them?

Or…

Are you still overextending in spaces
where you have to earn basic consideration?

Some people are a part of your life; very few are meant to hold weight in it.

And once you start calling people what they actually are…

You stop over-giving,
You stop over-expecting,
And you start seeing your relationships clearly.

Community=Acquaintances, associates, friendships.

But not everyone in your community is your friend.

It’s not an insult.

It’s information.

-Isaiah Frizzelle