“My Friends Treat Me Like Their Therapist”
My question is: how can I change the dynamic? I have tried suggesting different activities to my friends such as art classes, book clubs, aqua fitness classes, walking at the beach, etc,, but inevitably my friends say that all they can manage is sitting in a cafe or restaurant for a conversation (i.e. therapy!). I am actively seeking to widen my circle but I am unwilling to cut off these long-term friends. I am feeling lonely and am mindful that I can’t rely on my husband to fulfil all of my companionship needs. I would be grateful for your practical advice, thank you. — Not a Therapist
This doesn’t have to be as dramatic and serious as the language you’re using suggests. You don’t need to “cut off” these long-term friends, but it sounds like it may be time to downgrade them if you haven’t yet. That can look like different things, depending on what level of interaction you currently have with them. I have long-term (20-year) friends I see once or twice a year (and we live in the same city) and it sounds like a similar situation. The dynamic of the friendship isn’t one I want or need to experience more than a couple times a year, but I’m also not interested in or willing to cut off the friendship either. The more minimal kind of contact works really well in supporting this type of connection, and I get benefits of a long-term friendship without feeling burdened by or resentful of traits that would bother me if I were around them more.
I’d cut back on reaching out to these friends and invest more energy into fostering new friendships. Your suggestion of art classes, book clubs, and aqua fitness classes would be good places to meet potential friends. My advice here is to be aware of any dynamic that feels similar to the one you have with your long-term friends. It’s so easy to slip into familiar dynamics – even ones we are actively trying to avoid – and before you know it, you’re playing therapist to someone you’ve only known a few months who’s filling you in on years of backstory to help you give them the most relevant advice and life tips. No, thanks.
As you foster new friendships, one way you could maintain contact with your long-term friends is organizing group get-togethers instead of one-on-one dates that lend themselves better to cafe counseling sessions. Even if your friends aren’t friends with each other, it could be fun – and it would shift the dynamic – to get everyone together. And when groups get together, they generally do something other than sit at a cafe. Your friends might be more interested in the art classes and book clubs if there were other friends joining in. Maybe? You could also invite friends to date-specific events, like a concert or a book signing or a one-off class. Friends who might not want to commit to a weekly class or a monthly book club might be less likely to reject an activity that happens one time only.
If you still can’t get anywhere with all of that and it remains important to you to retain these connections, and literally the only thing your friends will agree to is one-on-one coffee dates, then go on these coffee dates once or twice a year until you realize that one-sided conversations with people who you have no common interests with aren’t very satisfying no matter how much history you have together.
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What happens if you start sharing with these friends what is on your mind? The conversation doesn’t have to be one-sided. You can also talk of your life, your emotions, your projects. Friendships should imply reciprocity. Try to stop the pattern by turning the attention on your life for a change. For example: do you know what I have been up to last week…? What do you think of a dilemma I have right now? Did I tell you already about the problem I have with…? And you start sharing. Turn the table and see what happens. If these friends are really unable to pay attention to your story, then I would recommend them to see a therapist. And register myself to these bookclubs, aquagym and other good, fun ideas you have.
I agree.
Can you decide on a time limit for discussing their issues, then change the topic (have a few in mind). Alternatively go on to discuss anything that’s happening in your life that you need to talk through.
If ignored you can decide whether to broach this issue advising you’re happy to listen to and talk through their issue but also need it to be about you and other topics as you’re finding it draining to have this constant focus.
Their response will tell you whether you want to scale back on the friendship or not.
Two years ago, if you’d told me I’d be sitting in my cozy apartment, watching my eight-year-old son build Lego towers on the living room floor while I sip coffee in peace, I’d have laughed—or more likely, cried. Back then, everything was crumbling. My marriage had unraveled slowly, held together only by habit and our shared love for our son, who was turning eight when it all fell apart.
My ex-husband was the breadwinner, always had been. He worked long hours in finance, earning a six-figure salary that afforded us a nice suburban house, Disney vacations, and private school for our son. I was the stay-at-home mom, managing school runs, playdates, and doctor’s appointments. But beneath the perfect facade, I had my struggles. A few years earlier, after losing my mom, I’d spiraled into substance abuse—painkillers, mostly, to numb the grief. It got bad, but I hit rock bottom and got help. Rehab, therapy, the works. By the time we separated, I’d been clean for over a year—sober, steady, and ready to rebuild.
The divorce was messy, but the custody battle was a nightmare. My ex wanted full custody, portraying me as unstable and unfit. His lawyers dug up everything: old prescriptions, ER visits, even anonymous tips from “concerned friends” who were really his family. In court, they twisted my recovery into a liability, calling it a “history of addiction” like it defined me. The judge seemed to lean toward him—stable job, big house, no baggage. I was working part-time at a bookstore, barely getting by, and my lawyer warned we were losing ground. “It’s an uphill battle,” he said. “They see him as the provider.” Preliminary hearings favored him; the guardian ad litem’s report suggested joint custody at best, with him as primary.
I was desperate, falling apart. That’s when a close friend stepped in. We’d known each other since college; she was a free spirit, into yoga, crystals, and what she called “earth-based practices”—witchcraft, essentially, though she never pushed it. One night, over sparkling water, I poured out my heart. “I’m going to lose him. He’s everything to me.” She listened, then cautiously suggested someone she knew—a practitioner, more experienced than her, who’d helped people when odds were stacked against them. “No guarantees,” she said, “but it might shift things in your favor.”
I was skeptical. Raised Catholic, I’d drifted from faith, but desperation opens your mind. She gave me the name of an older woman living on the outskirts of town in a cottage filled with herbs and books. I drove there one rainy afternoon, my son with a sitter. The woman didn’t fit the witch stereotype—no pointy hat, just warm eyes and a knowing smile. We talked for hours about my life, my regrets, my love for my son. She asked for his photo, a lock of my hair, and something of my ex’s—an old tie I’d kept by mistake. She led me through a ritual: candles, incantations in an unfamiliar language, visualizing justice and protection. “The universe listens,” she said. “But you have to fight too.” I left feeling lighter, though I figured it was just emotional release. I paid her a small fee and went home.
The change wasn’t instant, but it started subtly. My ex’s key witness, his sister, backed out last minute, citing a family emergency. Then, at a pivotal hearing, new evidence emerged: text messages from my ex admitting he’d exaggerated my issues to “protect” our son. His lawyers scrambled, but the judge wasn’t impressed. My sobriety tests were spotless, and my therapist’s testimony highlighted my resilience. The case that had been slipping away turned sharply in my favor.
In the end, I got 80-20 custody—my son with me most of the time, weekends and holidays split, but primarily mine. The child support was generous, covering rent, school, and a bit extra for savings. My ex fought it, but the judge was firm: “The child’s best interest is with the parent who’s shown consistent growth and stability.” I was stunned. He grumbled about appeals but eventually backed off, maybe realizing he’d overplayed his hand.
It’s been six months, and life feels possible again. My son is thriving—therapy helped him process the split, and we’ve built routines: pancake Sundays, park adventures, bedtime stories. I don’t know if that woman’s ritual was the turning point or if it was just hard work and luck aligning. My friend swears by it, calls it “manifesting justice.” I keep an open mind. That journey showed me strength I didn’t know I had, and maybe, just maybe, a touch of magic exists. Either way, I’m grateful. My son is safe, happy, and with me. That’s all that matters.
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