The “strong” friends are breaking too

Where do we go from here?

Credit: Des Récits on Unsplash

Let me preface this by saying: I’m not a fan of the term “strong friend.” To me, “strong” friend implies other people are not strong, or are weak. That’s gross on multiple levels. I also don’t particularly like being called strong in general. While I know it’s meant to be supportive, and is sometimes all someone knows to say in the moment, it makes my eye twitch. 

That said, I don’t particularly love some of the similar-ish terms out there though. “Eldest daughter friend,” “mom friend,” and so on — not only do they heavily rely on gender-based assumptions about who gives care, they are also widely pathologized on social media. I haven’t come up with a better term though, so we’re going to move ahead with “strong” in this essay. Just know I’m cringing every time I write it. And if you know or use an alternate option, please let me know! 

In what is probably no surprise to anyone reading this: We’re in a mental health crisis here in the states, and the new administration continues to create chaos at all levels of government with dramatic/substantial/endless impacts to our daily lives. Whether it’s uncertainty about the future of health care, disability and veterans benefits, food costs, housing, immigration, safety, or any number of other issues — signs point to a worsening mental health crisis. 

There are a lot of conversations happening right now about canaries in the coal mine. And there are a lot of early indicators we can look at for all sorts of things. Just like the Waffle House Index is a good indicator of storm severity, and strip clubs (not just the stock market) are a good indicator of how the economy is affecting people — when it comes to mental health, an early indicator I often use is: How are my “strong” friends doing?

What the heck is a “strong” friend?

To my understanding, strong friends are the ones who everyone turns to for support, validation, cheering up, and getting things done. They either have an answer, or will find one. In short, they’re the go-to person… for everyone. And there’s often a perception that their lives are pretty pulled together. This perception can further isolate the strong friend and can contribute to them feeling like they have no one to turn to. This can also lead to self-recrimination that “I can do X for someone else, but not myself” and, ultimately, to burnout, when they’ve given everything they’ve got, spiraled themselves to the bottom, and don’t have anyone to reach out to for support in return.

As with most anything, there are healthy and unhealthy ways of being the “strong” friend, but that’s not the point of discussion today. 

My friend group consists almost entirely of so-called strong friends. These are people I can give to and also receive from. They are people who can hold the wholeness of me, the humanness of me, who know I can have a breakdown at 8:55 and still be good for that meeting at 9, and who trust that when my life goes to shit, it’s not a personal failing or indicator of our friendship. They rally for me, and I rally for them. It’s give and take.

This hasn’t always been the case for most of us. In many cases, we’ve spent years being the sole strong friend among people who would happily use us up and spit us out, and it’s taken a not insignificant amount of time and effort for us to trust that we don’t always have to be that version of ourselves with each other — to trust that we can also be held.

The strong friends aren’t doing so well

There have been other times throughout the years where I’ve noticed an uptick in strong friends not doing well — through the environmental activism of the late 90s and early 00s as many of our friends disappeared under suspicious circumstances, after 9/11 as we fought back against a looming war, during the events leading up to and after the 2008 financial crisis, every time there’s an uptick in mass shootings and hate crimes… the list goes on. And while a lot of folks think the current President has only been part of the political conversation for the last decade, as this timeline from TV Guide shows, he’s been on our political radars for much longer. 

And then came COVID, and with it, one of the final societal masks (pun intended) of decency and basic respect fell away. And, once again, it was on the activists, advocates, marginalized folks, and strong friends to hold the line… for ourselves, for our communities, for our dreams of a better world. We showed up for our friends who were isolated and alone, we showed up for our friends trying to figure out pandemic homeschooling, we showed up to do the pandemic homeschooling for the folks who couldn’t be home for it, we mailed masks and supplies all over the place, we listened as people tried to make sense of all the feelings they were having, we showed people how to protest, how to protect themselves, how to not cause harm at events. We showed up, in big ways and small, again and again and again. 

And yet. The more society normalized mass death and a never-ending pandemic as the “new normal” — the more cracks I started to see. The more our loved ones asked, “Are you really still worried about that?”... the more people scoffed at basic protections… the more they chose “normalcy” over our lives… the more we watched as so many of the folks we showed up for chose not to show up for us… the more each of us got sick, repeatedly… the more the cracks started to show.

None of us are OK. 

We keep being told things are “unprecedented” — so much so that it’s a bit of a running joke online now. As a society, we’re living through mass grief and trauma that very few people are actually processing. 

And then here comes this new regime, and with it, a lot of folks are just fucking done. Spent. Nothing left to give. Left it all on the field. And yet still, they will find ways to show up for the people in their lives. 

We need each other. Yes, even us super introverted folks.

So, where do we go from here?

The internet loves to tell us trite little things like, “Check on your strong friends!” and to that, I say: Pause first and check in with yourself. None of us has bandwidth all of the time, and there’s no shame in that. 

So before you reach out, pause and ask yourself a few questions: 

• What expectations do I have for a response?

• Do I actually want to know how they’re doing?

• Do I have the bandwidth for them to brush me off with a “fine” type response, or will my feelings be hurt?

• Do I have the capacity for them if they share heavy stuff; or am I about to walk into a meeting or appointment or take a nap, and then to disappear on them for (hours, days, weeks)?

If you don’t have the bandwidth to reach out fully — THAT’S OK. 

Here’s what you can do instead: 

• “I’m thinking of you” or similar statements that, critically, don’t require anything in return. 

• Send a meme or something funny that reminds you of them.

• If you’re particularly close to them, you could just send heart emojis or something similar. A few of my friends and I do this on days when we’re struggling and know we don’t have the capacity for each other, but we want to say hi.

• Offer them a few options for how you can show support within your capacity that you would enjoy doing for them, and let them know you would feel good doing those things for them. If you’re great at making Doordash orders, offer that. If you’re great at sending memes, offer that. If you are nearby and can bring them groceries, offer that. 

At the end of the day, the more honest we can be with ourselves, the more honest we can be with other people — and the safer we make it for them to be honest in return. 

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ICYMI this week on Alive and (un)Well:

7 reasons to keep going

How we feel about birthdays