#15. Low-maintenance, high risk
(are we really showing up for our friends?)
Low-maintenance friendships are all the hype right now — the idea that a true friend is someone who requires minimal effort to maintain the bond, because there's a deeper affection holding the relationship in silence, grounded in a mutual understanding of each other’s busy lives. And yes, there’s something beautiful about that: the space to exist without pressure or demands, the kind of trust that withstands time apart.
But are we, perhaps, romanticizing a certain kind of neglect?
We live in a time when being truly present has become work. Our energy is finite—and in a world that’s super fast-paced, productivity-driven, and emotionally draining, we end up treating our relationships the same way we treat everything else: whatever’s most convenient wins.
Friends who don’t ask much from us can seem ideal—a relief when so much in our lives already feels demanding.
But when we speak of friendships as “low-maintenance,” we give them a utilitarian tone—as if we’re talking about a device that works well for us precisely because it doesn’t need attention. And that’s where the danger lies: in mistaking those who ask for little with those who are more emotionally mature.
Not needing attention doesn’t make us inherently more evolved. We are human. We have needs. And the beauty of friendship lies in having people we choose to keep close—who genuinely care about us, who help life feel a little lighter.
Perhaps we’re confusing the lightness that friendship brings with the idea that friendship must always be light, as in effortless. But sometimes, friendships do require effort. And that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be a burden or based in pressure—it can be about tending.
Maybe we’ve simply gotten used to surface-level connections because they allow us to avoid the vulnerability and commitment that deeper relationships require.
If we shift our language from “maintenance,” which sounds mechanical, to “cultivation,” which reminds us that friendship is an organic process, we might better understand what it truly takes to keep a relationship alive.
Intimacy is built through mutual exchange, active listening, and shared vulnerability. And for all of that to happen, we need to make time and space for it.
It’s telling that, in our current culture, we often champion “low-maintenance” friendships while pouring energy into transactional relationships—the ones we believe might offer us some advantage in life.
Meanwhile, we watch our friends on Instagram, catching fragments of their lives through stories: milestones, travels, marriages, divorces, children growing up. And for a moment, it feels like we’re close and up to date. But we’re not in the room—we’re in the audience. Watching picture-perfect little pieces of a life crafted for the public, not shared in intimacy with a friend.
This illusion of closeness deceives us. And when paired with our resistance to invest time and effort in real connection, we begin to fade from the lives of those who matter to us—and those to whom we matter.
We don’t text, because we’re always busy with something pressing, something important. We don’t ask how our friends really are, what’s going on in their lives, what they’re excited about, or what’s weighing on their hearts—because what if they actually respond? Who has time for that? Instead, we like their photos, drop a heart emoji, maybe send a meme that reminds us of a rare time when our bodies were in the same space together and we actually shared a laugh.
But we stop witnessing them. We don’t know their struggles, their pain, the things that can’t be posted. We stop showing up for the small joys too—the ease of simply enjoying one another’s company without needing to make the time productive.
We drift away from the honesty that real friendship invites—the soft “hey, I noticed this…” or the tough love that shows we’re paying attention.
Slowly, we start to vanish from each other’s lives—even as we keep watching them.
And then we feel lonely. Unseen, even while being looked at constantly. Following our friends from the outside, but no longer feeling close enough to share what’s alive inside us.
Eventually, we look at life with a tinge of bitterness, as if it betrayed us, without realizing we were the ones who let our bonds go numb.
Now, I agree that meaningful friendships don’t necessarily call for constant presence—but they do call for being genuinely available and interested in our friends’ lives, as a principle.
If we want to experience profound relationships carried through the years, with people who witness us through the seasons and keep us honest, we need to understand that sometimes our friends will need us at inconvenient moments.
And if those friendships have been neglected, they won’t reach out. If they don’t feel there’s space for them, we’ll miss the chance to offer—and receive—the true gifts of deep friendship: belonging and support.
Perhaps what we need is to pay more attention. To take a closer look at what keeps friendship alive.
Because a living friendship has room for a “not today.” It knows how to hold space for pauses. It allows for giving and receiving with generosity.
And when we build friendships that are alive in this way, we stop needing them to be low-maintenance—because we create relationships where we can show up honestly, express our limits, and share what we have to give without overextending ourselves to the point of depletion.
We need to remember that intimacy doesn’t grow through likes, but through time shared (even over the phone, if there’s real presence there), and acts of love—which might sometimes look like maintenance, yes, but not the exhausting kind. The kind that feels like active care.
Friendship, like any living thing, needs tending. Not constant attention, but conscious presence—the kind that says: I see you. I’m here when it matters (and you get to decide when it matters to you). We don’t need to be perfect friends. But we do need to show up for each other—with honesty, with care, with intention.
So I leave you with this question to reflect on:
How do you show up in your friendships—and how do you allow others to show up for you?
A very beautiful and relevant piece