Friendship is not unconditional
Nor should it be.
The other day, as I dragged my tired legs up the hill on my morning walk, I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts when the topic of “friends as family” cropped up. More specifically, the hosts were discussing whether they would describe any of their current friends as family. It was fascinating because, initially, the discussion leaned toward how, for many of us, being described by a close friend as family feels like the ultimate compliment.
But as the conversation unfolded, the consensus was that perhaps we shouldn’t think of our friends as family. Unlike family—whose love we often assume to be unconditional—friendships are shaped by boundaries, and the love shared within them is decidedly not unconditional. Nor should it be.
Unlike close sibling relationships or parents or cousins—who we can, arguably, treat poorly, show up as our worst selves, and still expect to see at Christmas dinner—we tend to treat our friends with a level of distance and respect we don’t always extend to family. We choose our friends mindfully, based on how they make us feel, the qualities we admire, and how their values align with our own. But while our selection may be considered, our loyalty and love for our friends are not unconditional.
It’s true that friendships are often formed by circumstance—through the work we do, the season of life we’re in, or simply geography. I’ve often said that you feel like you’ve hit the jackpot of friendship when you connect with someone who leaves your cup overflowing after you’ve spent time with them, who challenges you intellectually, who perhaps has children of a similar age (if at all), and who, as a bonus, lives within a 5km radius. Friendships like this can certainly feel like family in their intensity. But we cannot expect them to be unconditional.
The chaos and conflicts that arise within family dynamics are quite different from those we experience with friends. And while it’s wonderful to feel at ease enough to let our walls down and truly be ourselves with our friends, many of us are guilty of assuming that friendship comes without expectation—that once you’ve found that sweet spot that feels like sunshine, the friendship will last forever. But this is simply not true.
Friendship, like all living things, requires tending—not possession. Lives move on, seasons change, people change. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s the right and gentle thing to let friendships go if they no longer serve you. And if a friend has told you that you feel like family but treats you poorly or expects more from you than they offer in return, then that imbalance either needs to be addressed—or released.
The friends I pull close are the ones who make me feel seen without expectation. The ones where there is no agenda, no eggshells to tread on, and, most importantly, those who are brave enough to show up even when it’s uncomfortable. My greatest friends are also the ones who challenge me beyond measure, inspire me to work harder, to show up unapologetically, and who celebrate my successes while sitting with me through my losses. But what matters most is that this thread is sewn both ways.
I think that for many of us, we pull the circle tighter as we get older. And our friendships more broadly, also begin to look a little different. Instead of the constant need for contact we all crave during adolescence, mature friendship is built on deep connection without explanation—and the ability to show your most vulnerable self. Perhaps that’s also the beauty of it, that even without the promise of unconditional love, we choose each other anyway.
