I’m a 34-year-old divorced dad – I haven’t seen my friends in over a year
Are parents selfish friends to their peers? It’s a question that cuts to the heart of adulthood, as people balance friendship and family life. The very people you have grown up with, formed close bonds with and spent all your free time with could take a different path to you, making the life-changing decision to become a parent or not.
The demands of parenting are undeniable and inevitably affect long-standing friendships – and can leave their friends feeling sidelined, but does that make parents selfish? Childfree writer Kate Mulvey and parent Olly James offer their perspectives.
“Does it have to be during term time?”
“Yes.”
“And definitely New Zealand?”
“Of course! The 24-hour £1,000 flight sounds fun.”
I haven’t seen the boys in over a year now. They’re all child-free, in their 30s, and not changed a bit since school. I’m a 34-year-old divorced dad of one trying to make ends meet. While I go to nursery meetings for my son, they’re gallivanting around the world, doing odd jobs, touring on bikes through countries I wasn’t aware had a tourist board. They have a freedom I couldn’t even imagine right now, but I tell myself I’m not bitter as I reply to our group chat:
“I’m going to have to bail again, guys, can’t make it work.”
They can’t be surprised surely? I said the same thing about off-roading in Albania, the Georgia road trip and biking in Vietnam. Their holiday list looks like a Top Gear Specials marathon. Every trip missed is another set of pictures I’m not in, another layer of memories I don’t share, and a fresh batch of in-jokes I’ll never get. I promise I’ll make the next one, but to them it’s a worn-out gesture.
It’s been one long adjustment as I get older. Your social circle recedes in your 30s or collapses after a divorce like mine. Friends move away, settle down with partners, work more, live less. And then you become a parent and it feels impossible to maintain friendships.
I try hard not to be “that” parent friend. You know the ones. They’ll say yes, then flake on the night because their kid sneezed. They’ll never make any plans. Don’t you know how busy they are! Instead, they’ll sit back while their childfree friends pitch an evening that squeezes into their ever-smaller scope.
We were cool once, we had spontaneity, so what happened?
Well, back in the day, a Friday meant waking up at 8am, working, and then pub drinks! I would come home late and do exactly what I wanted the next day: Park drinks, then the cinema? Sure!
Now I’m up at 6am. I drive to my ex-wife’s house, handle the morning chaos, drop my son at nursery, start work late and pick him up at 3:30pm. I spend the evening trying to finish my work while explaining to my little boy why I can’t build a Lego house right this second. By the time he’s asleep, I’m not far behind.
It’s hard to think about anyone else on a day like that, let alone find any time. It’s a cruel irony to be called a selfish friend when you haven’t thought about yourself all day.
During the first three years of parenthood, the smoking car crash of your social life is a write-off. Spontaneity, a relic of the past, and your entire sense of self is shattered. Endless ambitions you had hoped to tick off in your twenties, now deferred, or given up on. During this time of loss, it’s almost impossible not to become a lacklustre friend.
Most parents are fully aware of this. Bearing full responsibility for every missed game night and stressing about every friend left disappointed who might decide to stop texting. Please be patient with us. We’re getting back to a place where we can do more. As a parent, you still have a responsibility to nurture the relationships you care about, especially when you’ve lost as many friends as I have!
And I’m trying. I show up as much as I can, proactively make plans on my free evenings, and push for group holidays outside of term time. I try not to leave people “on read” for long while juggling work, side gigs, and quality time with my son. And when I show up, I try not to endlessly bang on about my kid.
