Edit 24: On Adult Friendships: Visibility & Boundaries
An ongoing series on adult friendships.
In writing the Edit, On Adult Friendships, I named a pattern that had been hurting me and shared how I was able to regain my footing and move forward. It took a little time to get there, but thanks to the wisdom of a friend I was finally able to see things clearly.
Somewhat related is an observation I’ve had for a while that has always been clear, but I settled for far too long with accepting it. Considering the feedback I received from the original On Adult Friendships, I thought this would be relatable as well.
Tell me if this sounds familiar…
Some people will watch your journey closely. They’ll observe from a distance. They’ll keep up. They’ll know what you’re doing, where you’re going, and how it’s unfolding.
What they won’t always do is encourage it or you.
They won’t say the thing out loud. They won’t share the work. They won’t ask how it feels, or what it’s cost, or what it’s teaching you.
And yet, they’ll still ask of you.
Maybe it’s access they want. Time. Energy. A connection. A photograph. A piece of what you’ve been quietly building.
I recently heard someone describe these dynamics simply as lurkers and cheerleaders. The language stuck with me—not because it was harsh, but because it felt accurate.
There are those who sit back and observe, and then there are the ones who lean in. They notice progress even when it’s small. Their encouragement is steady.
For a long time—and I do mean a long time—I didn’t know what to make of that difference. I told myself it didn’t matter, because I loved what I was doing and felt lucky to be growing something of my own. I was happy to share it freely, happy to believe that passion alone was enough to sustain it.
I told myself that support doesn’t always look the way we imagine it will, and that not everyone knows how to show up in ways that feel affirming or visible. That people have their own limits, their own distractions, their own more subtle ways of caring.
Call it a symptom of a recovering people pleaser, but at the time this rationale felt understanding, and for a while, it was good enough.
This may still be true.
But what’s also true is this: Being watched is not the same as being supported, and being visible does not mean you have to be available.
I’ve learned this lesson not just in work, but in friendship—especially in adulthood, where proximity can linger even when participation doesn’t. This is true across all contexts, all connections, and all chapters of life.
I’m learning that encouragement doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful—but it does have to be present.
It shows itself in care, in curiosity, in generosity without an ask attached.
This season has taught me to notice who claps quietly, who claps only when asked, and who never needed an invitation at all.
It’s also taught me that it’s okay to respond differently now: to give my energy where it’s nurtured, to offer my work where it’s respected, and to protect what I’m building because it matters.
Not everything that changes is a loss. Some things are simply placed where they belong.
And like most edits, it makes the final version clearer, stronger, and more honest than what came before.
Have you felt this shift in your own friendships? I suspect I'm not the only one.
