Adult Friendships Need Different expectations

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but at 61 years old, “ride-or-die friendship” is no longer in my job description.

In fact, I think ride-or-die is a phrase that belongs to high school, college, and those years when you’re a young single mom trying to survive life together.

Back then, your friends were your village. You talked every day. You knew every detail of each other’s lives. You’d show up with wine, tissues, a casserole, bail money, or all four if necessary.

But somewhere between raising four children, surviving decades of marriage, running a business, becoming a grandmother, and figuring out where I left my reading glasses for the third time today (they were on my head, by the way), life changed.

My ride-or-die became my family. My husband. My children. Their spouses. My grandchildren.

That’s my ride-or-die crew.

Those are the people I’m building memories with, spending holidays with, worrying about, celebrating with, and showing up for at 2 a.m. if needed.

That’s not because I don’t value my friendships. I absolutely do. I love my friends. I enjoy lunch with them. I enjoy talking with them. I enjoy hearing about their lives.

But friendship and ride-or-die are not the same thing.

I’m not putting a friend’s problems ahead of my family, and I’m certainly not taking on another adult’s financial burdens as my responsibility. I can care about someone without carrying their life on my back.

At this stage of life, I’m not looking to take on the role of caretaker, fixer, or emotional lifeline for another adult.

I know that sounds harsh, but let’s be honest.

Some people are perpetually in crisis. Every month is an emergency. Every week is a disaster. Every conversation is a complaint. Every solution has a reason it won’t work.

At some point, that’s not a rough season.

That’s just their life.

And while I can listen, encourage, and support, I cannot become a full-time member of someone else’s rescue team.

The truth is that once you marry, that person becomes your ride-or-die. Together you build a family of your own and your emotional energy becomes valuable.

You start paying attention to where it goes.

You realize that every hour spent trying to fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed is an hour you could have spent with your spouse, your children, your grandchildren, your hobbies, or simply enjoying the peaceful life you’ve worked hard to build.

I don’t need a ride-or-die friend.

I need friends who can meet me for lunch and pay their own tab. Friends who can laugh. Friends who can celebrate good things. Friends who occasionally complain because they’re human, but who also know how to enjoy life. Friends who understand that friendship is part of my life—not the center of it.

At this point, I’m not building my world around friendships anymore.

I’m maintaining friendships around the world I’ve already built.

And that world is pretty full.

It includes a husband I’ve shared decades with, four children, their spouses, grandchildren who think I’m far more entertaining than I actually am, and a life I’ve spent years creating.

That’s my ride-or-die crew.

Everyone else gets a valued place in my life, but they’re not sitting in the driver’s seat.

That position has already been filled.