One of the first topics I covered on this Substack was my longstanding difficulties making friends. The irony is not lost on me that I’ve made a career analyzing social dynamics while not being socially gifted myself, but this actually shouldn’t be surprising at all. People naturally born with social skills never have to think much about them, and have very little to analyze. Me, on the other hand? I have been analyzing what’s wrong with my personality and social skills for years, and (I like to think) finally taught myself how to make friends in my late twenties. My childhood and most of my young adulthood was spent throwing parties nobody attended, wondering why women didn’t call me back after “friend dates,” and regrettably, breaking into musical impressions at other people’s birthday parties.
I’ve come a long way. Sure, plenty of people probably still find me annoying (the Internet is not shy about this), but one of my resolutions for 2025 was to see friends…wait for it…once a month. After sandbagging that goal, I now see friends about once a week, which is a really great frequency for me. I still have yet to throw a well-attended party that was not for my child’s school class but…perhaps that’s a better resolution for 2027.
So in the interim, I’m keeping track of my attempts to socialize, build my social skills and make new friends, and I will be documenting these experiences on a semi-regular basis (Quarterly? You tell me how much you want this!) along with what I wore to each event, because why not enjoy some fashion with the social awkwardness?
If you are an IRL friend of mine, don’t worry—I’m not secretly taking notes during our hangouts to make fun of you. If I plan on making fun of anyone, it’s myself.
When my son started at his school this year, there was a happy hour for parents at a nearby bar. Because we couldn’t find a sitter (tale as old as time) I had to go alone and leave my husband at home with the kids. Being out by myself at night can be a little anxiety-provoking (I know this is “giving zoomer” but I have OCD and am actively working on it!) and I decided to face this exposure head-on. I also don’t really drink, so I couldn’t rely on alcohol to calm my nerves or make me more sociable. To top it off, about fifteen minutes before I had to leave, my toddler stepped on a wasp and began screaming for me, right as I was about to leave.
I felt like the worst mother in the world, leaving my wasp sting survivor child to go to this stupid happy hour. I held her, hugged her, and asked my husband to go instead so I could stay home with her, but by then she had stopped crying and was happily watching Bluey. Even though she was feeling fine, I was too worried about her suddenly collapsing from a previously unknown wasp allergy. I began Googling “child got stung by wasp how long before allergic reaction” and I realized that if she suddenly swelled up like Violet Beauregarde I would discover this information via text from my husband in the middle of a public place thirty minutes away. There was approximately a zero percent chance that I was going to have a good time.
