There’s been a lot of talk lately—on TikTok, Substack, and in long text threads with people I haven’t seen in months—about showing up for our friends. Not just texting “thinking of you” or liking their Instagram story, but truly showing up. Physically. Emotionally. Sometimes inconveniently.
We’re talking about attending the poetry reading on a Thursday night, offering to drive them to the airport at 5 a.m., or simply saying “yes” to a hangout even when we’re tired. These conversations online often orbit around community and collective care. But I want to talk about it from a smaller angle—from the perspective of an individual trying to navigate friendship in their early 20s, when everything feels busy, scattered, and undefined.
Because if we’re being honest, this stage of life is messy. College or just out of college. Internships, jobs, freelancing. Friends move away, go abroad, transfer schools, fall in love, or go ghost. The world tells us to focus on career, productivity, and independence. Friendship—especially platonic friendship—often gets the short end of the stick.
But I’ve been thinking lately: how much do we owe our friends? And what does it actually mean to show up?
Showing Up Isn’t Always Convenient
There’s a TikTok trend going around: creators list all the small things they’ve done to show up for their friends, followed by a quiet reflection—“Even though I was exhausted.” “Even though I didn’t really want to go.” “Because I knew it mattered to them.”
And then the twist: they say how often it wasn’t reciprocated. They list birthday dinners where the guest of honor showed up an hour late. Graduation parties where no one brought a card. A breakup where nobody checked in.
That’s the thing about showing up—it can feel really one-sided. It can feel like a sacrifice. And the question bubbles up: If they wouldn’t do it for me, why should I do it for them?
But maybe that’s not the point.
In our early 20s, we’re still learning how to be the kind of friend we want to have. And sometimes that means doing the thing, even if no one notices. Even if no one claps. Even if we never get it back in exactly the same way.
Friendship Isn’t a Transaction, But It Is a Commitment
In one Substack post I read recently, the writer asked, “Do we owe it to our friends to always show up, even when we don’t feel like it?” The overwhelming tone in the comments was yes. Not in an obligatory, moralistic sense—but because love, of any kind, requires effort.
Friendship is one of the only relationships where there’s no contract, no legal tie, no romantic “status” to define it. And that can make it easy to let slide. But the friends who have consistently shown up for me—those are the relationships that feel like glue. Like gravity.
Sometimes I think we forget that friendship takes practice. It’s easy to be a good friend when things are easy. When your schedules align and you live five minutes away and no one’s going through a depressive episode or taking 18 credits. But the real test comes when things get chaotic, when you’re barely holding your own life together. Are you still texting them back? Still showing up?
And even harder: Are they doing that for you?
Proximity Makes (Some) Things Easier
One thing that doesn’t get talked about enough is how much proximity shapes our ability to “show up.” When you live in the same dorm, or on the same block, or your classes align, it’s easier to feel like a Good Friend. You’re around. You’re available.
But what happens when someone moves across the country? Or takes a semester abroad? Or just starts living in a different city altogether?
Suddenly “showing up” looks very different. It means remembering to call. It means sending care packages, or Venmoing them for coffee, or planning a weekend trip months in advance. The effort required increases, while the immediate emotional payoff usually decreases. And the truth is, not all friendships survive that shift.
But that doesn’t mean they weren’t real.
I’ve had to learn that some friendships are seasonal, and that’s okay. But I’ve also learned which ones I want to keep fighting for—and how I need to change my definition of “showing up” in order to do that.
What We Get Out of It
The more I think about it, the more I realize that showing up for friends isn’t just about being a good person. It’s about building the kind of life I want to live. One filled with connection, softness, mutual care.
There’s this cultural script right now—especially among people in their 20s—that says we should be ruthlessly individualistic. That our time is precious and energy is limited. That if something (or someone) doesn’t serve us, we should cut it out.
And sure, boundaries are real. We shouldn’t pour endlessly from an empty cup. But there’s a difference between boundaries and emotional laziness.
Sometimes, showing up for your friend when you don’t feel like it is actually a form of self-care. Because we all need to feel needed. We all need to be part of something bigger than ourselves.
The Ugly Truth: It’s Not Always Mutual
Let’s be honest: not all friendships are balanced. Some friends will disappoint you. They’ll flake. They won’t text back. They won’t notice when you’re not okay. And it will hurt.
But here’s the thing: that doesn’t mean you have to stop showing up.
You can redefine what that looks like. Maybe it’s stepping back from certain people, while still holding space for them in your heart. Maybe it’s protecting your energy, while staying soft. Maybe it’s learning that you’re worthy of friendships that are reciprocal—and that not everyone has the tools to offer that yet.
Letting Go: When Showing Up Isn’t Enough
As much as I believe in showing up, I’ve also had to learn when to let go.
There are friendships where the imbalance doesn’t feel temporary—it feels chronic. Where the “checking in” is always initiated by you, where the effort only flows one way. And at some point, it’s not about being a good friend. It’s about protecting your peace.
In your early 20s, friendships shift a lot. Some dissolve slowly, through silence and soft avoidance. Others end with hard conversations and unmet expectations. And both hurt.
But here’s what I’ve realized: not all friendships are meant to last forever. Some people come into your life for a season—for a specific time, place, or purpose. That doesn’t make the connection any less real. It just means it ran its course.
Letting go doesn’t have to mean burning a bridge. It can mean loosening your grip. It can mean holding gratitude for what was, while making room for what’s next.
Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do—for yourself and for them—is to stop trying so hard. And to trust that the friendships meant to stay will make their way back, in time and in truth.
Final Thoughts: We Do Owe It to Our Friends
So, how much energy should we give to our friendships?
Enough to matter.
Enough to build something lasting, even if it looks different at different times. Enough to know that love isn’t just something we feel—it’s something we do.
I’m learning that showing up doesn’t have to be perfect. But it does have to be intentional. You don’t have to be available 24/7. But you do have to care enough to try. And in a world that keeps telling us to focus only on ourselves, that kind of effort can be radical.
So yes—we do owe it to our friends to show up. Not because we have to. But because we want to build a life where people are held, not just watched from afar.
