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Illustration: Lia Kantrowitz
By Allison P. Davis, features writer for New York Magazine and the Cut.
Advice on work, dating, friendships and mental health from women who have failed spectacularly (and also succeeded) at all four.
Dear Allison and Amy Rose,
I’m having a very tough time with close friends who are acting like it’s business as usual these days. The world is a dumpster fire, and they continue to populate their Instagram with la-di-da Stories and posts — photos of them eating dinner, traveling, generally having fun.
My friends aren’t Trump supporters. I don’t have any of those in my circle. They aren’t even Republicans. But there is no acknowledgment that there is so much pain in our country and beyond. I get that it can’t be all doom and gloom, but on the other hand, I resent their lack of empathy and the fact that they won’t use their social-media presence to at least talk a little about the horrors we are experiencing.
I don’t think I would mind the “let them eat cake” posts if they were volunteering. Protesting. Donating. One friend did post a Story about the No Kings Day protest ahead of time but then opted not to attend. I found that especially egregious. It was like they were trying to make themselves sound like they’re doing something when, in reality, they aren’t.
Even though I’m overwhelmed, I am doing something. I volunteer at a food pantry and at charity events supporting anti-ICE efforts. I go to protests. I donate small amounts of money. I stay informed. I post things that lighten the mood, but I also promote fundraisers and repost Stories from highly reputable sources. (I’ve been told by some folks that they are grateful to see my Stories, as it catches them up quickly on what is happening.)
I muted their Instagram Stories, but the way they post makes me question the people in my life. I thought their ethics and values were aligned with mine, and I’m finding out that that’s not necessarily the case. Please don’t give me “engage them” advice. I’ve tried, and I’m done. These are grown-ass folks. They see the same news and have made their decision on how they are helping — or in this case, not helping — others in need. At a birthday dinner, I started talking about a recent protest, and one person in the group said, “Can we please not talk about politics? This is a birthday celebration.” It was said kindly, but I’ll still never forget it.
I’m struggling with how to keep these friends close. I’ve known them for a long time. I truly love them. They have been there for me in tough times, and I for them. I don’t want to lose their friendship, but I’m finding it harder and harder to live in their make-believe world.
—Friends on Mute
Dear Friends on Mute,
Yes, you’ve talked to your friends about politics, but I have a question: When was the last time you looked at a friend’s bank statement? Or their private Venmo history? Can you really assume none of your friends donate to charity based on how they use Instagram? Social media might make us feel like investigative reporters with psychic abilities — even though we know the last place one should seek truth about anybody is Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta. The people who repost every news article might be the ones who do the least in the world. The people who seem to post the least might just be getting shadowbanned. So to start, let’s abandon that framework. You can only know so much about a person based on their posts.
And anyway, your question isn’t really about obnoxious #vacationgrams. To me it feels like you’re trying to navigate the cognitive dissonance of trying to live a happy life in miserable times. I spend a lot of time worrying that everything I do is stupid and small: my job writing about unimportant things (except this advice column, which is very important), my anxiety over not going to Pilates enough, my delight in juicy gossip. Though I mostly avoid social media, I’m politically engaged — I read, I go to protests, I talk about issues, confront reality even when it’s so uncomfortable — but is living my daily life with its stupid parties and silly little dramas “letting them eat cake”? I worry that I will be on the side of history that just kept up business as usual while everything crumbled. (Is the Pilates reformer the new Nero’s fiddle?)
If that’s how I’m judging myself, you can only imagine how judgy I can sometimes get about other people. People who seem like they aren’t struggling with this at all or are just living life without their eye stress-twitching. People who live in a bubble. I resent their ease. In part, it’s a righteous reaction: When it’s time to ride at dawn, I’d better be able to count on the people I associate with showing up for and with me. I want to know that I’ve chosen the right people. But I also have to admit that some of my angst is rooted in my own self-doubt. I need to label people as bad so I can feel confident that I am good. Pointing out their apathy makes me feel less cowardly by contrast.
It’s clear wherever your friends are right now (brunch? Turks and Caicos? In denial?) is not where you are. So you have a choice to make: Maybe your resentment is insurmountable. Not just for you. Surely you can’t be a good friend either if you’re this pissed at them all the time. If that’s the case, you break up. Or you pull back. Maybe they become what I like to call Hot-Tub Friends, because hanging out with them is akin to sliding into a hot tub and totally relaxing. You go to them because they let you go a bit smooth-brained and offer a reprieve from the horror show. In that case, when you do want to talk to them about an issue that is bothering you, try a different tack. There are some topics that I feel so uneducated about, and so ill-equipped to engage with, that it can be paralyzing; I’m grateful for my friends who are as patient as they are knowledgeable. The ones who don’t make me feel judged or aren’t so self-righteous, I feel like they are eager to put me in my place rather than muddle through complicated conversations.
Something I have to remind myself often is that not every friend can be (or should be) for every situation. It seems like, in addition to approaching your current friends differently (or not at all; up to you), you might just need a different outlet for this. It sounds like you already have the beginnings of a network through your charity work and volunteering. Lean on that community of people who are just as, if not more, galvanized as you are. If you decenter social media and instead tap into something that’s more real, tangible, and connected, I wonder if you’ll feel more satisfied. You won’t have to rely on these friends to fulfill that need as well, and maybe you’ll find it easier to meet them where they are at. If you can’t live without them, you have to learn to live with them as they are.
From your letter, you seem very principled, very sure, and very clear about your sense of right and wrong. That’s a gift. A strong moral compass is commendable. But being friends with people means you have to give them grace within reason. And while I honor how tired you are, and it’s real that educating people takes an immense amount of emotional energy and is sometimes a thankless job, it’s one of our responsibilities to try not to leave one another behind.
Yours in unfollowing,
APD
Have a question for Going Through It? Email goingthroughit@nymag.com or share using this Google Form (and read our submission terms here.)
Illustration: Lia Kantrowitz
Going Through It
Advice on work, dating, friendships and mental health from women who have failed spectacularly (and also succeeded) at all four.
Dear Allison and Amy Rose,
I’m having a very tough time with close friends who are acting like it’s business as usual these days. The world is a dumpster fire, and they continue to populate their Instagram with la-di-da Stories and posts — photos of them eating dinner, traveling, generally having fun.
My friends aren’t Trump supporters. I don’t have any of those in my circle. They aren’t even Republicans. But there is no acknowledgment that there is so much pain in our country and beyond. I get that it can’t be all doom and gloom, but on the other hand, I resent their lack of empathy and the fact that they won’t use their social-media presence to at least talk a little about the horrors we are experiencing.
I don’t think I would mind the “let them eat cake” posts if they were volunteering. Protesting. Donating. One friend did post a Story about the No Kings Day protest ahead of time but then opted not to attend. I found that especially egregious. It was like they were trying to make themselves sound like they’re doing something when, in reality, they aren’t.
Even though I’m overwhelmed, I am doing something. I volunteer at a food pantry and at charity events supporting anti-ICE efforts. I go to protests. I donate small amounts of money. I stay informed. I post things that lighten the mood, but I also promote fundraisers and repost Stories from highly reputable sources. (I’ve been told by some folks that they are grateful to see my Stories, as it catches them up quickly on what is happening.)
I muted their Instagram Stories, but the way they post makes me question the people in my life. I thought their ethics and values were aligned with mine, and I’m finding out that that’s not necessarily the case. Please don’t give me “engage them” advice. I’ve tried, and I’m done. These are grown-ass folks. They see the same news and have made their decision on how they are helping — or in this case, not helping — others in need. At a birthday dinner, I started talking about a recent protest, and one person in the group said, “Can we please not talk about politics? This is a birthday celebration.” It was said kindly, but I’ll still never forget it.
I’m struggling with how to keep these friends close. I’ve known them for a long time. I truly love them. They have been there for me in tough times, and I for them. I don’t want to lose their friendship, but I’m finding it harder and harder to live in their make-believe world.
—Friends on Mute
Dear Friends on Mute,
Yes, you’ve talked to your friends about politics, but I have a question: When was the last time you looked at a friend’s bank statement? Or their private Venmo history? Can you really assume none of your friends donate to charity based on how they use Instagram? Social media might make us feel like investigative reporters with psychic abilities — even though we know the last place one should seek truth about anybody is Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta. The people who repost every news article might be the ones who do the least in the world. The people who seem to post the least might just be getting shadowbanned. So to start, let’s abandon that framework. You can only know so much about a person based on their posts.
And anyway, your question isn’t really about obnoxious #vacationgrams. To me it feels like you’re trying to navigate the cognitive dissonance of trying to live a happy life in miserable times. I spend a lot of time worrying that everything I do is stupid and small: my job writing about unimportant things (except this advice column, which is very important), my anxiety over not going to Pilates enough, my delight in juicy gossip. Though I mostly avoid social media, I’m politically engaged — I read, I go to protests, I talk about issues, confront reality even when it’s so uncomfortable — but is living my daily life with its stupid parties and silly little dramas “letting them eat cake”? I worry that I will be on the side of history that just kept up business as usual while everything crumbled. (Is the Pilates reformer the new Nero’s fiddle?)
If that’s how I’m judging myself, you can only imagine how judgy I can sometimes get about other people. People who seem like they aren’t struggling with this at all or are just living life without their eye stress-twitching. People who live in a bubble. I resent their ease. In part, it’s a righteous reaction: When it’s time to ride at dawn, I’d better be able to count on the people I associate with showing up for and with me. I want to know that I’ve chosen the right people. But I also have to admit that some of my angst is rooted in my own self-doubt. I need to label people as bad so I can feel confident that I am good. Pointing out their apathy makes me feel less cowardly by contrast.
It’s clear wherever your friends are right now (brunch? Turks and Caicos? In denial?) is not where you are. So you have a choice to make: Maybe your resentment is insurmountable. Not just for you. Surely you can’t be a good friend either if you’re this pissed at them all the time. If that’s the case, you break up. Or you pull back. Maybe they become what I like to call Hot-Tub Friends, because hanging out with them is akin to sliding into a hot tub and totally relaxing. You go to them because they let you go a bit smooth-brained and offer a reprieve from the horror show. In that case, when you do want to talk to them about an issue that is bothering you, try a different tack. There are some topics that I feel so uneducated about, and so ill-equipped to engage with, that it can be paralyzing; I’m grateful for my friends who are as patient as they are knowledgeable. The ones who don’t make me feel judged or aren’t so self-righteous, I feel like they are eager to put me in my place rather than muddle through complicated conversations.
Something I have to remind myself often is that not every friend can be (or should be) for every situation. It seems like, in addition to approaching your current friends differently (or not at all; up to you), you might just need a different outlet for this. It sounds like you already have the beginnings of a network through your charity work and volunteering. Lean on that community of people who are just as, if not more, galvanized as you are. If you decenter social media and instead tap into something that’s more real, tangible, and connected, I wonder if you’ll feel more satisfied. You won’t have to rely on these friends to fulfill that need as well, and maybe you’ll find it easier to meet them where they are at. If you can’t live without them, you have to learn to live with them as they are.
From your letter, you seem very principled, very sure, and very clear about your sense of right and wrong. That’s a gift. A strong moral compass is commendable. But being friends with people means you have to give them grace within reason. And while I honor how tired you are, and it’s real that educating people takes an immense amount of emotional energy and is sometimes a thankless job, it’s one of our responsibilities to try not to leave one another behind.
Yours in unfollowing,
APD
Have a question for Going Through It? Email goingthroughit@nymag.com or share using this Google Form (and read our submission terms here.)
