Middle School (and Beyond) Friendships

The transition of our eldest child to middle school this year has not been gentle. We knew it would not be. Middle school is . . . middle school. It is the closest to purgatory a person can get during this life (for both the middle-schooler and the parents). The game plan is to brace for it, keep your head down, and keep truckin’. But, it’s hard. It’s even a little scary sometimes. (Girl will come home and be like, “Some kid scratched me in the hall today,” or, “My teachers have zero patience,” or, “Some kid called me a B---- today, and he doesn’t even know me,” or, “Some jerk boys tripped me on the bus and laughed.”)

Watching our only daughter go through this has revived many long-forgotten struggles of my middle school (and life ever after) experience. For awhile, I didn’t think she and I were that much alike. However, after seeing her navigate the strangeness that is middle school friendships, it occurred to me that she is so much more like me than I ever realized. The fascinating part of her revelations, though, is that she is self-aware enough to recognize her feelings and the reality of what is happening (and is aware of her own awkwardness—and owns it). I didn’t quite have that going for me (even though I thought, and was told sometimes, that I was pretty intuitive). One day (and this blew me away), she said, “I feel like I’m figuring out who I am all over again.”

She has made some comments that have stung me for her because I remember exactly how I felt when those things happened to me. She’ll say a lot of, “People just don’t see me,” or, “I’ll talk to girls at school, and they will just look at me with a blank stare and ignore me,” or, “I seem to make better friends with boys right now than girls,” and, the one that hit home the most because of freaking “twin day” in middle school (which I am still WTCing about), was the, “I am not anyone’s #1 friend.”

This whole thing woke up some deep, sad memories (some old and some new) for me, and somehow, it stings so much worse when it is happening to her than when it happened to me. For some reason, and I don’t know if this is a gender thing or not, we are predisposed to assume that everyone has or should have a best friend. Why is that? My husband and I were talking about this, and he did not have the same predisposition that I did. I think it is possible that I struggle with it for the same reason Nora does: it seemed to elude me (until about 7^th grade for me).

I have been thinking on this and praying about it, and here is the conclusion that has found me: perhaps it is better to not have a claim on a best friend and vice versa. Throughout life, I’ve made lots of friends. Some of these friends, I have felt more of an intense bond with than others, but most of the time, I have recognized that the same intensity isn’t returned (and, I am sure I have done the same to others). I’ll realize it when they don’t think of me when they tag something in a Facebook post (with a group of friends that I thought I was a part of), or I’ll realize it when I hear about an event that a group attended, and they just didn’t think of inviting me (because why would they think of inviting me? I’m just tangential). It’s happened with not only friends, but it’s also happened with family and coworkers. After seeing it and feeling it over and over again (and telling myself to just suck it up and get over it), I’ve realized that the best way to be is to be someone who loves and includes everyone with their affections and friendship. When a person talks about “their best friend(s),” or “their squad,” or “their crew,” or “their circle,” there are people on the outside looking in at that who are indirectly (and, usually, accidentally) hurt by not being included. (It always makes me cringe when I see a group friendship post on social media, and I see a person, clearly hurt, who says, “Where was my invite?” It hurts me, and it isn’t even about me! What the heck!?) I know how this feels because I have been that person so many times. (Although, I have never, ever posted on something like this and accused, “Where was my invite?”)

Incidentally, this is why we never host social parties. I’d have to invite everyone I know, and I just cannot. The thought of hurting anyone’s feelings by exclusion just tears me apart. Our wedding (nearly 15 years ago) about killed me. (To our church family, who loves them some small groups, this may help clear up any assumptions/confusion about why we’re so reluctant to do small groups, etc. It’s because we’re weird. There. I'm glad that's out, now.) This is also why I can’t ever send Christmas cards. I can design a card all day long, but when I look at the mailing list, it’s a “nope.” If I had a million dollars set aside for postage, sure. Game on.

Watching all this happen to my daughter, now, it is forcing me to verbalize that it is truly a better, healthier, happier way to live if you go through life with low expectations of friendships. Yes, be a good friend. Yes, be open to friendship. Have fun! Be welcoming to everyone. Be kind to everyone. Make that U instead of a circle—like Amy Weatherly said. Sometimes, you might feel close to people, and sometimes, good friendships fall apart (because maybe they got too close for healthy boundaries, or maybe you suck at calling people because you hate the phone). It’s best to not put that “best friend” label on it because that will hurt someone somewhere, and it puts a lot of pressure on the friendship. It also implies that there are no more invitations for new friendships available for distribution. You might find yourself part of a group, and that’s all well and good (I’ve tangentially been a part of several). Just make sure that it’s not exclusive, and try to keep your chin up if you’re not tagged in their social media posts (look at it as, “Hey. At least I’m not part of this incidental exclusion”).

What I will say, though, that a relationship that is definitely worth putting the “best” label on is your life partner. Choose that one wisely with your heart, your prayers, your gut, and your mind (I don’t know what order it needs to be, but they all need to be consulted). You have to smell that person’s morning breath the rest of your life together, so you’d better make sure that is a solid choice. 

But, keep on . . . keep truckin’. Good stuff.