Over dinner this week, one of my girlfriends said something that stopped me mid-bite: “The thing about adult friendships is sometimes your seasons clash.”
She continued: “When you’re not in the same season as your friend, your silence gets taken as neglect. They feel forgotten. And then when YOU’RE finally in your season, you forget that they were once drowning in theirs.”
I sat there, fork suspended in the air, as years of guilt, confusion, and missed connections suddenly made sense.
The Weight of Different Seasons
Friendships, relationships, and even business connections all move through seasons. Some are abundant and joyful. Others are barren and isolating. The reality is that everyone has something they’re going through, and everyone requires a decent level of grace.
But here’s the question that keeps me up at night: What are the practical steps you can take when you’re deep in your own season to help the people in your world understand what you’re going through—without completely disconnecting?
I ask this as someone who has spent the better part of the last few years pretty absent-minded. I wasn’t present. I had lost myself through different means, and the people in my life felt it.
When Work Becomes Everything
I was working around the clock—16 to 18-hour days were the norm. I lived in a constant state of heightened anxiety. Text messages at 3 AM. Workdays that started at 5 or 6 AM. Everything and everyone required something from me, and I simply wasn’t there.
I may have appeared present because I was gliding through the world, showing up physically. But I wasn’t actually present. And the people in my world knew it.
They understood that I had a very important job that required more from me. The reality is that most roles require a lot more from Black executives—that’s just how the pendulum swings. But I was also a new mom. A new wife. I had other identities and areas of my life that demanded everything from me. I was juggling it all, but the pressure of work became overbearing.
Layered with the complications that exist at the C-suite level—when you’re working in a high-pressure environment where the standards required of you are often different from everyone else—it was suffocating.
But I digress.
The Grace We Actually Need
The grace people need is one where they feel seen. Where they can talk to their friends, colleagues, or partners and say: “Hey, I’m not doing okay right now. I wish I could be here for you, but I don’t have the bandwidth or capacity.”
I wish I had said that more often over the last three years. Instead, I was just absent.
I missed weddings. I missed birthdays. I missed funerals.
Because I prioritized work. I prioritized things that, at the time, felt more important. But not being able to communicate that I was in a very tough season was difficult. How many people can you truly communicate that with? How many people can you tell, “Hey, I’m drowning in this area of my life, so I can’t show up in this one”?
They’ll probably ask you: “What matters most?”
And here’s the hard truth—when you’re in the thick of your season, the thing that truly matters most is getting out of that season. It’s not about prioritizing one person over another. It’s about navigating the season you’re in so you don’t drown.
Watching Friends in Their Seasons
As I look back now, as I have conversations with my girlfriends, I’m thankful we’ve been able to sit down with each other and say: “Hey, we’re not okay.”
I’ve watched them in their seasons. I’ve heard them say, “I’m going through the death of my father, and I don’t know how to be there for people.” I would sit and listen, and I would tell them they didn’t need to be there. They didn’t need to be a good friend. They just needed to get through the season—or sit in it—because sometimes the season is going to last a very long time.
As someone who lost my business partner and my grandmother within the same month, I understand just not knowing how to communicate. I understand numbness.
I lost my business partner, and I went to work the next day. It felt like the right thing to do. It felt like I had to move through the moment. In hindsight, I look back and wish I had sat in my feelings a little bit more. I wish I had been able to communicate: “I know I’m here for you, but I’m not even here for myself right now.”
And that, I think, is the real difficulty. People are afraid to say: “I can’t be here for you because I don’t know how to be here for myself right now.”
When Your Joy Meets Someone’s Grief
Grace looks complicated when seasons clash in opposite directions.
I remember being in a season where I was getting married, had a child, and life felt full and celebratory. At the same time, I had really close friends deep in grief, losing people in their worlds back to back.
That was challenging. While one thing feels celebratory and fantastic and good, the other feels dark and heavy. How do you balance that? How do you ensure people know that you love them and see them? How do you honor your joy without diminishing their pain?
I think the answer is in reminding people: “I love you regardless of your season.” Sometimes, that’s all they need to hear.
Tools We Don’t Have (But Desperately Need)
I wish we had more tools to share with friends, family, and colleagues across various seasons. Tools that help us say:
- “I’m in survival mode right now, and I can only handle texts, not phone calls.”
- “I need you to know I love you, but I can’t show up the way I usually do.”
- “My season is heavy right now. Can we raincheck, and can you not take it personally?”
- “I see you’re celebrating, and I’m so happy for you, but I’m grieving right now and can’t fully show up.”
What if we normalized saying these things? What if we gave each other permission to be honest about our capacity without the crushing guilt that follows?
Moving Forward With Grace
Here’s what I’m learning: Adult friendships aren’t falling apart because we don’t care. They’re strained because we’re all moving through different seasons at different paces, and we haven’t learned how to communicate that without feeling like failures.
Your silence isn’t neglect; it’s survival. Their distance isn’t rejection; it’s preservation. And when seasons finally align again, the friendships that last are the ones where grace was given freely on both sides.
So to the friends I missed weddings for, the birthdays I forgot, the funerals I couldn’t attend—I see you now. I know that you were in your season while I was drowning in mine. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it then, but I’m saying it now: I love you regardless of your season.
And to anyone reading this who feels like a bad friend right now (you’re not). You’re just in a different season. And that’s okay.
The people who truly love you will remember that you’re still there, even when you can’t show up. And when your seasons finally sync up again, you’ll pick up right where you left off, because real friendship doesn’t expire when life gets hard.
It just waits.