relationships | Eyerollingmom

For the past few years ― without apology ― I’ve taken stock of the people in my orbit and have treated myself to a cleanse; I’ve coined it De-friend December. I take a thoughtful assessment of my friends and decide if, well, we are. There’s no complicated algorithm or formula. It’s actually pretty basic and focuses on one extremely humble question: Are we really friends?

I drop the dead weight and the posers and the pretenders and all the other friends who literally have not bothered with me for the better part of the year. Then I flip the calendar and start fresh. The act is both refreshing and reaffirming: Friendships do not have to be transactional, but they should absolutely be reciprocal.

This notion has become my middle-age mantra. My friends are hugely important to me and it’s not a stretch to understand why my reliance on and affection for my circle is fierce: My parents are gone. My kids are getting older and leaving to explore new places. My extended family is a day’s drive away.

I may be getting old and cranky (cue my kids nodding) but I’m finding the older I get, the more important my circle is becoming. Also, perhaps ironically, how much smaller it’s becoming.

This is weirdly satisfying and a bit surprising because I’ve always had large groups of friends. In high school, I smoked enough to spend time with the bad kids, cartwheeled enough to hang with the cheerleaders, and drank enough beer to fit in with every other unsupervised stereotype of the ’80s (Most Popular 1984: Never forget).

I then went on to find a great group of gals in college; 40+ years later, we just spent a weekend together. (Pro tip: Hold on to your female friends. They tend to outlast some of the spouses.) My point is, I have always loved having large groups of interesting, fun folks around me.

What I’m finding now is I no longer crave the crowd, especially the crowd that missed the memo about friendships being a give-and-take. My circle of friends is shrinking because I’m surrounding myself with only the best ones.

Middle-age friendships are a curious mix, especially for those of us who are parents. Unlike our chosen high school or college connections, adult friends aren’t always rooted in common experiences or memorable hijinks, but rather kid connections. Most of the friends we scoop up while in parenthood come from our ties to the community. And they’re great ― a significant and appreciated support system bound by shared involvements.

But eventually kids move on or kids move away and more often than not it becomes clear that Friday night lights were holding everything together. The camaraderie may be unmatched but when it comes to latter-day friendships, the foundation is unsteady ― built on happy events and traveling teams instead of years of true grit.

Plus, shit gets real in later life. Everyone’s happily posting on social media about their kids getting into shiny colleges, but no one’s announcing when they flunk out. Or overdose. Or get arrested. Who’s sharing that with 400 friends on social media? I guess I’ve whittled my number down to a size I’m comfortable sharing my shit with, warts and all.

Aiding and abetting in the Great Yearly Whittle was the pandemic.

When a contagion dictates how communal your community can be, relationships can get a bit murky. From the onset, friends were forced to retreat to their own little nuclear spaces.

By the time socialization began to return to normal it was harder to get the band back together. Some friendships strengthened, yet, alas, some severed.

I lost (what I’d believed to have been) a close friend over the past year and nothing particularly explosive happened to end things. The flame just flickered out between us and I suppose neither of us cared enough to question why. Not to say I didn’t go through the typical stages of grief that come with a loss; I wondered about it for quite a while, but eventually I accepted that people change and it’s simply OK. I also accepted that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and that’s OK, too.

Around that same time I sat on a plane and read the following …

As we grow older we weed out our friendship circles the way we do our closets. Most women have a story about the friend that truly wasn’t.

— Anna Quindlen, “Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake”

… and thought, welp, there you go. No other validation needed. With a toast to good times had, I let that friendship go.

So now, as De-friend December is upon me, I edit my friends to a more intimate number and do so without regret or reservation. I am way too old to give a rat’s ass about who’s angry or who feels slighted.

While not exactly over the hill, maybe from my vantage point atop the hill I’ve seen the proverbial light. I’ve certainly seen a lot of friends. Maybe I’ve developed a Spidey sense about spotting the keepers. Maybe a pandemic forced me to see the value of my time and the importance of the quality of people I share it with. Maybe I’m brilliantly pre-planning ― with four adult kids, it might be best to start whittling before any weddings hit the horizon, no?

Whatever the reason, I know I’m in a good place.

The secret sauce of friendship is that there doesn’t have to be a lot of them ― just strong ones. If 1984 wants her crown back, she can have it; I’m good.

(copied/pasted from its original publication in HuffPost, Dec. 2021)

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Boston Globe & Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook, Instagram & Threads. Her fave collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)

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When I was in high school I remember doing whatever I could to get my boyfriend’s mother to like me. I tried everything. But despite my always cheerful and ever valiant attempts she always remained, I’ll say, cool towards me. When I finally reached the brink of my adolescent insecurities I unloaded on my beau with a frustrated, what the hell?

He just shrugged. “She likes you,” he offered lamely, “but she knows it’s not like we’re gonna get married or anything.”

Um, say what? You can imagine: at seventeen, that stung. She knew. Heck, deep down we both probably knew, too. But she put it out there and there it stayed. And I’ve never forgotten.

I can’t be certain, but maybe because of my early experience, I’ve grown into a mom lacking enthusiasm for adolescent romance. For me, it’s always been a great source of curiosity when anyone else did.

Like my sister, for instance. I’ve forever marveled at her unaffected exuberance of really, truly basking in teenage love. She’d fawn over her kids’ boyfriends and girlfriends, buy them super nice presents at Christmas, happily accept their friend requests and exude genuine excitement over anything about them. Every high school relationship was treated as The One and it was utterly fascinating to me. Consequently (and alas, one by one), every high school break-up consumed her with incredible sadness — for a really long time. It all seemed crazy to me.

I guess I never bought into the hype because well, adolescence is (pick one) silly, volatile, melodramatic and (most of all) fickle. Let’s be real. Is there a more ridiculous time in any life cycle? When my daughter was in middle school (before it was the norm for third graders to carry cell phones) a young boy called our house and left a very detailed message on our home answering machine asking her to go on a date to the movies. I listened to it, rolled my eyes towards the heavens, promptly deleted it and told my daughter about it – many, many years later at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Why? Because it made for a great family laugh and — like Carrie Bradshaw being broken up via Post-it note — there are some dating behaviors that are beyond reproach. Rest assured: no daughter of mine was ever going to the movies with any kid without a clue.

That was all well and good (and, okay, somewhat controllable) in middle school, but it seems before I could throw in another load of laundry – and despite my inclination to ignore them — I’ve acquired a slew of significant others in my life. And it’s become harder to remain, I’ll say, cool towards them.

My eldest son, a young adult so unsharing of information I couldn’t tell you his favorite color, suddenly started showing up with a stunning girlfriend. Turns out they’ve been together for months. She is well-spoken and personable and bright and — dayum! — pre-med. She possesses such exceptional attributes it is impossible not to enjoy her. She’s a darling. Dang.

My high school senior has been with his girlfriend for quite some time, too. As much as I tried to remain aloof and indifferent towards them, her ability to get him to do homework and come in before his curfew has broken down my tough demeanor. She is an absolute delight to be around and I completely adore them together so of course it worries me. Again, 17. Double dang.

My youngest, teetering on 16, might trouble me the most. He’s been spending his time with such a sweet and charming young lady I find myself lamenting, this – they — would be perfect …. in about ten years….

Good grief, what is happening here? Of late I’ve been wondering which is worse: that these kids’ impeccable choices are turning me soft, or that maybe my sister was onto something.

It’s a tough seat to sit in for sure. And because moms were once teenagers too, we know with assured wisdom that as much as young love blossoms with ferocity, it will also (more often than not) fade with some sadness. Being invested in our kids’ relationships carries weighty fallout when a happily ever after doesn’t happen.

My little girl, now an extraordinary and beautiful young woman, is experiencing her first real break-up and – I have to be honest – my whole family is feeling the strain of her sorrow. (Truth: her grace and reflection while deep within heartache far surpasses her mother’s 1980s coping method of Diet Coke and cigarettes. Geeze. I thank God those DNA strands didn’t swim too strongly.)

We liked him. We Sally-Field-really-REALLY liked him. They shared a lengthy time together and we were all a part of it in some small way. But it just wasn’t meant to be. So now we’re all sad.

And my heart is hurting having to watch her go through this tough time.

I knew I shouldn’t have gotten him that bathrobe for Christmas.

I should’ve known better than to think my sister was smarter than me.

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and recently was featured in Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone.” Her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series yet she places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements. (Next would be the home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as @Eyerollingmom on Twitter and Eyerollingmom on Facebook & @Eyerollingmom on Instagram. Her collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)