On exhaustion, introversion, and loving people from the couch
I once had my favorite expression custom stitched into a decorative sign: “I just want to be invited. I don’t actually want to come.” And honestly? That pretty much sums up my feelings on friendship lately (Also, please invite me. Even if I probably won’t show up. It’s a conundrum. Welcome to my brain.)
The truth is: I’ve been sucking at friendship lately.
Not because I don’t have friends — I do.
Not because I don’t like them — I love them.
But because I’ve been juggling too much for too long, and when the balls start to drop, friendship is often the one that falls.
I’m trying to balance my kids, my husband, a full-time job, a house, a family, finances, hobbies, my health… and my friends. And lately, I’m tired. Really tired. I love my friends. I’d do anything for them. But sometimes I barely have enough left in me to do the basics — let alone the extra effort that friendship sometimes requires.
It’s easy to go home after work and just… stay there. It’s easy to park myself on the couch and decide not to leave the house for the rest of the evening, or the weekend, or maybe the month. It’s easy to let things — people, relationships — fall to the wayside when life feels like a hamster wheel that never slows down.
I know I should text more. I should show up more. I want to. My friends are truly the best.
But here’s what I’ve realized:
I’m Exhausted
Like, bone-deep, soul-level tired. Some of it’s mental health, but most of it’s just my lifestyle.
I’m a mom of little ones. That alone is exhausting. But I also work full-time. And honestly? That’s like having three jobs: work, kids, and managing the house.
My morning routine feels like an entire day crammed into two hours. I try to squeeze in a workout. Then I get the kids dressed (sometimes — let’s be real, pajamas happen). Then I get myself ready, pack bags, manage moods, and wrangle everyone into the car.
Then I go to work — with people — and use up the rest of my social battery before noon.
Then I come home… and begin job #2: parenting, cleaning, cooking, refereeing sibling fights, and maybe squeezing in an episode of something or ten minutes of a book if I’m lucky.
Then I crash into bed. Exhausted. And lie awake for two hours thinking.
I’m Overwhelmed
Everything feels like too much lately. Too many things to do. Too many demands. Too many tabs open in my brain.
I’m constantly sprinting through life: take this kid to the doctor, finish this book before book club, run this errand, prep this meal, schedule this appointment. I’m always behind. Always rushing. Always trying to do more with less.
And when I finally have a break in the chaos? I want to do absolutely nothing.
I’m Introverted
My introversion doesn’t mean I don’t love people — it means I need time away from them to function.
I talk to people all day long at work. By 5 p.m., I’ve exceeded my daily social limit. I recharge in solitude, not in social events. So the thought of more people, more plans, more energy out the door… it’s just too much sometimes.
I’m Awkward
To those who know me well, I’m charmingly weird and allegedly hilarious. But to everyone else? Just weird.
I say awkward things. I don’t know where to put my hands. I overthink everything. I laugh at the wrong times. I don’t know how to jump into conversations, so I either stay silent or blurt out something regrettable.
Being awkward in public is stressful. Sometimes, it’s just easier to stay home where no one expects me to know what to do with my shoes.
It’s Logistically Challenging
It’s not all emotional — some of it’s just hard, practically speaking.
Getting two kids out of the house takes military-level coordination. Diapers, snacks, backup clothes, meltdowns — you name it. And it doesn’t feel fair to leave Jerry with both of them after he’s worked all day too. So when I do make plans, I often try to bring one kid and leave one home. But not all events are kid-friendly.
So sometimes… I just don’t go.
What This Means for My Friendships
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down… until I bail on our plans.
But seriously: my friendships mean the world to me. I know I’m not always present. I know I disappear. But I see you. I love you. I need you.
And I’m sorry.
I always leave our time together feeling better. Happier. More human. Sometimes I regret making the plans when the day comes, but I never regret following through. That tells me everything I need to know.
So thank you — truly — for sticking around. For laughing at my awkwardness. For being patient with my exhaustion. For loving me anyway.
I’ll keep trying to be a better friend. A more present one. A less flaky one.
But also… please don’t call me. Just text.
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