The Final Straw That’s Going to Cause Me to Cut Off My Best Friend

I brought this issue up with my therapist because I wanted help getting past my friend’s behavior, as well as some tools to let it roll off me and not affect me so negatively. I don’t like feeling repeatedly annoyed at my friend. My therapist asked, “Why don’t you take the best seat?” And I gasped. I rarely go for the best seat when I’m with others. I’d rather give it up to someone else so they’ll have a pleasant experience. And I’m happy to do it. But I’m not happy when there’s no reciprocation.

I like to give. But I don’t like to be taken from, and that’s what it feels like when my friend always puts her comfort above mine. I need some semblance of equity in a friendship or it starts to feel like an uneven, unsustainable relationship.

My therapist was pointing out that I can take the good seat sometimes, and in doing so enjoy the view and avoid feeling bothered by my friend’s unwillingness to pull the chair out for me. But taking it, rather than receiving it, makes me bristle. Author Anaïs Nin wrote, “I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.”

There’s a fine line between self-care and doing what makes you happy in life, and pursuing each to the detriment of others. I struggle with caring for myself and others at the same time, so I often choose others to disguise my fear of disappointing people. If the cost of ensuring someone else’s happiness is my own happiness, I’m not sure it’s worth it.

So once, I arrived early to the restaurant — but found my friend already sitting there, in the best seat. I arrived even earlier next time, and there she was. She’s calculating, and that makes it worse.

Recently, we met up with our husbands in tow to watch a game at a sports pub, and of course, we found them already seated when we arrived. The open seats at the table provided no view of any of the pub’s TVs. I noticed an empty booth nearby and asked our server if we could switch so all four of us could watch the game. Our server said, “Sure!”

My friend said, “I’d like to stay here.”

If it were just this one issue, maybe I could learn to overlook it and view her behavior as a verb. Lisa’s just gonna Lisa, you know? But she’s selfish in many other ways. When we make plans to go somewhere together, she often asks me to pick her up and drop her back home instead of driving separately. She lives 25 minutes out of my way, but asking me to drive an extra 50 minutes round-trip does not register as inappropriate to her.

If she wants an extra helping at dinner, she asks her husband to get up from the table and get it. If she wants another drink at a concert, she sends him off for that, too. She doesn’t work for a living, and not because they’re well off. Her husband has worked overtime for years. She doesn’t cook or grocery shop or volunteer. As far as I can tell, she does yoga and plays Sudoku. I’ve heard her son berate her over how she expects her family to dote on her.

I’ve chosen not to confront her about how her selfishness affects me. She behaves selfishly so often and in so many ways, I’ve come to learn that’s just who she is and how she operates. Not just with me but in her other relationships as well. I don’t have any confidence that a conversation about her lack of care for others would have a positive outcome. If she isn’t going to change for her family, I don’t think she’s going to change for me.

I wish I could overlook how her behavior makes me feel. I’d like to be able to focus on her good qualities instead. But I’m discovering I need a balance of give and take in a friendship, or resentment takes hold. And the hard truth is that I have so many friends who make me feel thought of, I find I’m gravitating toward them more and more while growing further apart from her.

I’m never going to be a taker — it’s not who I am nor who I want to be. But I am going to take the stance that I deserve to spend my precious time and energy on people who care about my life experience in addition to their own. That care feels nice. That care feels like friendship.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.