The Weight We Give to Friendship
I seem to write about friendships a lot I think, because this has been an area in my life that has been quite difficult, especially in my younger years. Being severely bullied definitely marked me with wounds that, as an adult, I have come to learn, I still very much have. This is likely why I have a preoccupation with friendships and why it seems to be a consistent topic that I have grappled with for most of my life. The same qualities that make me feel safe, seen, and secure in a romantic relationship are the ones I also need in a friendship.
Trust, honesty, and the willingness to move through challenging moments together—these aren’t extras, they’re essentials.
I’ve always felt delicate when it comes to friendships—about who I call a friend and who I allow into that space. I need very specific things from the people I hold close, and I have very high expectations. Now, moving through my forties, I’ve stopped negotiating those needs. Instead, I’m refining them, honoring them, and letting go of the dynamics that can’t rise to meet them. The qualities I seek in friendship aren’t just preferences—they’re what my nervous system requires to feel safe and at ease. Without them, my whole system simply says, “No thank you.”
I’ve been struck by how frequently the topic of friendships arises in sessions.
It’s become clear to me that I’m not the only one who carries a lot of feelings and expectations around them. I often sit across from people in my office who share how unsatisfied they feel in their friendships—how one-sided the dynamic can be, how rarely others take accountability when they’re in the wrong, how difficult it seems for some to show up truly, and how often avoidant individuals shut down at the first sign of conflict or anything hard to move through. I hear the ache in their words, the disappointment of wanting more, and sometimes I see them settling for less simply because they can’t even imagine that something more fulfilling could exist.
What I often name—for others and for myself—is that most of us were never really taught how to be a good friend, or what that even means.
What does it look like to truly show up for someone?
To take accountability when we’ve caused harm?
To stay present when it would be easier to retreat?
And beyond that, each of us has our own unique needs when it comes to friendship. I’ve come to understand that mine are very specific.
While I have acquaintances, what I long for are friendships that feel deep, intimate, and meaningful—ones grounded in reciprocity. I want to be in close contact with someone who knows the small details of my daily life, just as I know theirs. I want to be asked how I’m doing and be checked in on regularly. I want to feel like a priority—like I’m someone’s first choice for connection, not their third or fourth. I want transparency, a willingness to cherish the depth of our bond. And most of all, I want to be with someone I can go through hard things with—because every meaningful relationship, no matter how strong, will face its challenges.
I’ve realized I’d rather have a few close friends who truly nourish me than a crowd who barely know what’s going on in my life. Even one person like this is enough for me. I’ve come to accept that this is the kind of friendship my nervous system needs—and that there’s no shame in desiring that level of closeness and loyalty. It may not be for everyone, but it’s right for me.
In sessions when the topic of friendship comes up, I often use the analogy of the “friendship shelf.”
I describe this as a way for people to reorganize who they want on their shelves, where those people belong on their shelves and maybe even some who need to be removed completely.
Each shelf has different expectations for the relationship. Top shelf friends are the most important people in your life whereas the very bottom shelf friends, might be people you love and care about and have no hard feelings towards, but just aren’t the type of friends you want to invest in deeply- either because they don’t invest in you in that way or because they just aren’t your “type of people.”
A defining quality of my closest, “top-shelf” friends comes down to this question:
If something happens between us—if I upset them, make a mistake, or if they simply need something from me—do I trust that they will come and talk to me about it?
If my answer to those questions is no, that friend gets moved to the bottom shelf. Why? Because for me, trust means knowing that when conflict or discomfort arises, the other person won’t retreat, gossip, or disappear, but will choose to face it with me. If I can’t trust someone to do that, I can’t feel safe with them.
At the core of my relationships is a foundational pillar: I need to trust that we can navigate difficult times together. In this sense, this realization also helped me to realize that I do not mesh well with high to moderate avoidant personality types. Romantically or as friends.
Who Are Your Top-Shelf Friends?
Take a moment and ask yourself:
Which individuals currently occupy my “top shelf”?
What qualities does each one bring — in terms of trust, honesty, willingness to sit through discomfort, and accountability?
If someone I once considered “top shelf” fails to meet those qualities, do I need to reposition them (or shift my expectations)?
You might jot down names, qualities, or even reimagine your “shelves” afresh — not as fixed boxes, but as an evolving structure based on your growing needs.
What I often remind both myself and the people I sit with in therapy is that it’s not unreasonable to want this kind of trust and closeness—it’s human. We are wired for connection, and safety in relationships is built on honesty, accountability, and the willingness to stay present when things get hard. This isn’t just true for romantic relationships—it’s just as important in our friendships. And yet, I notice so many people struggling in their friendships, uncertain if they’re even allowed to hold the same expectations. But we are. Friendship, like any relationship, doesn’t need to be perfect, but it does need to feel safe. And if it doesn’t, it’s okay to step back.
