Dear Joely: My Friends Stopped Inviting Me Out Since I Got Engaged

Dear Joely,

I stumbled on your page. I hope you can help.

I’m 26. Rather than tell you loads of boring story about how I got where I am, I’ll try and make it as easy as I can.

I’ve just finished my degree in nursing. Apart from all the study and exams, I had a wonderful time. I had lots of friends around me and a fantastic social life.

I met a fantastic guy on one of our great nights out. He and I just got closer and closer, and we’re now engaged and living together. I’m happy with that, but it feels like my friends have left me behind.

I don’t usually get texted now when they’re going out as a group. I find out about it afterwards, and it really hurts. They just say, “Oh, you’re always busy.”

We used to do everything together. There was a really close group. Now it’s like we can talk, but it’s really basic chat. Nobody bothers going into what’s really going on with them — well, with me anyway.

I miss talking properly to my friends, and while I’m happy with my fiancé, I feel really excluded even though I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s starting to affect my relationship with my fiancé a bit because I’m down in the dumps a lot of the time.

Sorry, this is a bit mixed up.

Sad and Left Behind

Dear Sad and Left Behind,

First of all, congratulations on finishing your nursing degree. That is not a small thing. That is a very large thing involving caffeine, panic, shoes that hurt, and possibly a relationship with laminated notes that became too intimate.

And congratulations on the fiancé too. A good one, I hope. One who knows how to make tea, apologise properly, and not say “calm down” unless he has a death wish.

Now to the sore bit.

I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong. But I do think something has changed, and everyone is pretending it hasn’t.

Groups are funny creatures. At university, friendship can feel effortless because everyone is in the same stream. Same deadlines, same nights out, same shared exhaustion, same cheap wine, same tiny dramas given Shakespearean importance at 2 a.m.

Then someone graduates. Someone gets engaged. Someone starts shift work. Someone moves in with a partner. Suddenly the stream divides, and people often handle that very badly. Instead of saying, “We miss you, but we don’t know how to fit you in now,” they say, “Oh, you’re always busy.”

That line hurts because it makes their exclusion sound like your fault.

But here is the awkward little truth: they may not be deliberately leaving you out. They may have made a lazy assumption that engaged-you is no longer available in the same way single-student-you was. They may think they’re being considerate. Or they may be avoiding the slightly uncomfortable feeling that the group is changing and nobody knows what to do with that.

The first thing I’d do is stop waiting for the group to magically remember you. Pick one friend — the kindest one, not necessarily the loudest one — and say something plain.

Not dramatic. Not accusatory. Just honest.

Try:

“I know life has changed a bit since I moved in with him, but I really miss you all. I’ve noticed I’m not being included as much, and it’s hurt more than I wanted to admit. I still want to be part of things.”

Then be specific. Suggest a night. Suggest coffee. Suggest drinks after work. Don’t just say, “We should catch up,” because that phrase has sent more friendships to the grave than almost anything else.

Also, make sure you are not accidentally waiting to be invited while giving off the signal that your fiancé is now your whole social life. That happens more easily than people think. Love is wonderful, but it can become a very comfortable little cave, and sometimes our friends stop knocking because they think we’ve moved in permanently with the candles and the throw rugs.

This does not mean your fiancé has done anything wrong. But it is worth being careful not to make him responsible for filling every emotional gap your friends have left. That’s too much pressure on a relationship, especially a young engaged one. He can love you beautifully and still not be a group of girlfriends.

So build both things: your relationship and your friendships. They need different rooms in your life.

And if you do reach out clearly, and they still keep excluding you? Then you will have your answer. Painful, yes, but useful. Some friendships are for a season, and some survive the awkward transition into adult life. The ones worth keeping will make space for the fuller version of you — nurse, fiancée, friend, tired human, all of it.

You haven’t been left behind because you moved forward.

But you may need to turn around, wave your arms a little, and say, “I’m still here, you idiots.”

With sympathy, and a firm vote for one proper girls’ night very soon,

Joely

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Dear Joely: Asking for a Friend, Obviously

Dear Joely,

I have to admit I’m not sure I really believe in this sort of thing.

Advice columns always seem a bit made-up to me. People write in with these dramatic problems and then someone like you gives an answer that sounds wise and everyone claps. Maybe I’m being cynical, but it all feels a bit neat.

Anyway, I read a couple of your replies and thought I’d test you.

What exactly are you offering people here? Because from where I’m sitting, most advice is just common sense with nicer words. If someone is unhappy, leave. If someone treats you badly, tell them. If you’re lonely, join a club. If you hate your job, get another one. I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t seem that complicated.

The problem is, people don’t do the obvious thing, do they?

I know someone who complains all the time about being lonely, but then when people invite them anywhere, they say no. They say they want connection, but they don’t answer messages properly. They say no one understands them, but they don’t explain themselves either.

At some point, surely you have to stop making everything deep and just admit some people are their own problem.

So what would you say to someone like that? Not me, obviously. Just someone I know.

Yours,

Not Entirely Convinced

Dear Not Entirely Convinced,

First of all, congratulations on writing an entire letter about “someone you know” while leaving your fingerprints all over the windows.

Very elegant. Very subtle. Nobody noticed. We were all too distracted by the enormous false moustache.

You ask what I am offering people here, and I’ll tell you: not rescue, not instructions, and certainly not a small laminated card marked How to Live Correctly. Most advice is not magic. You’re right about that. A great deal of it is common sense with better lighting.

Leave if you’re miserable. Speak if you’re hurt. Rest if you’re exhausted. Apologise if you’ve behaved badly. Stop texting the person who treats you like an optional side dish.

Simple, yes.

Easy? Almost never.

That is the bit you’ve conveniently stepped over while wearing your sensible shoes.

People often know what the obvious thing is. The problem is not usually information. The problem is fear, shame, habit, hope, pride, attachment, grief, and the horrible little truth that change asks something of us before it gives anything back.

As for your “someone” who complains of loneliness and then says no to invitations, doesn’t answer messages, wants to be understood but won’t explain themselves — yes, they may well be part of their own problem.

Most of us are.

That doesn’t mean the loneliness isn’t real.

Sometimes people refuse invitations because accepting one means admitting they wanted to be asked. Sometimes they don’t answer messages because the first reply feels like stepping onto a stage. Sometimes they say no one understands them because explaining themselves and still not being understood would hurt too much.

Is that frustrating for the people around them? Absolutely. Is it self-defeating? Often. Is it solved by telling them to “just join a club”? My dear, if human suffering could be cured by joining a club, the world would be a much quieter place and municipal badminton would have saved us all.

So here is my advice to your friend, whoever they may be wearing your shoes:

Stop using cynicism as a crash helmet.

It may protect you from looking foolish, but it also stops quite a lot of air getting in.

You don’t have to become one of those people who speaks entirely in therapy phrases and thanks the universe every time a parking space opens up. You don’t have to become soft-boiled and available to every invitation. But you do have to admit, at least privately, that wanting connection while avoiding exposure is a very lonely little trick.

Start small. Answer one message properly. Accept one low-stakes invitation. Tell one person the truth without making a joke immediately afterwards. Let yourself be seen in one inch of daylight and see if you burst into flames.

You probably won’t.

And if you still don’t believe in advice columns, that’s perfectly all right. I don’t believe in most things before breakfast either.

But you wrote.

So something in you is less convinced than you’re pretending.

Still not entirely convinced, but hopeful,

Joely

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