There’s something about milestones—big or small—that makes us crave the presence of the people we care about. A housewarming, a birthday, or even just the unveiling of a new space feels incomplete without the quiet acknowledgment from friends. It’s not the event itself, but the showing up that feels like the real gift.
But what happens when someone doesn’t show up? Not once, not twice, but continuously—while still engaging with you online, texting about their day, and sharing life updates like nothing is amiss.
I’ve been reflecting on this dynamic a lot lately, thanks to someone I’ll call Sasha Green. Sasha isn’t just any friend; she was once my mentor, a supervisor during my time at a nonprofit. Now, she’s the CEO of Xandle, a non-profit that’s doing incredible work across communities in Rockland County. Sasha is one of those people who seems to be everywhere at once—hosting board meetings, attending political fundraisers, and flying out for weekend leadership retreats. In her own words, she’s constantly “overcommitted but thriving.”
We worked together at SCO Family of Services, and during that time, Sasha’s guidance shaped a lot of the way I approach my practice today. She used to talk at length about the importance of showing up—for clients, colleagues, and especially for friends. To her, the best way to foster trust and deepen relationships was through simple acts of presence. A coffee on a bad day, a text checking in, or just physically being there when life called for it.
So when I moved into my new apartment last year and invited Sasha over for a housewarming, I naturally thought she’d make time. It wasn’t about the apartment itself—it was about the opportunity to share a personal milestone with someone I respected and cared about.
She didn’t come.
At first, I brushed it off. Sasha’s schedule is packed, and I get it—leading an organization, managing staff, and attending events isn’t light work. But over the next few months, the pattern repeated itself. There were polite declines, vague assurances of “I’ll definitely come by soon,” and the classic “Things are just insane right now.”
I tried to be understanding. Until I started noticing that “things” weren’t too insane for everything else.
Sasha was attending weddings, political fundraisers, and award ceremonies. She hosted private soirees for Xandle’s biggest donors—events I took an Uber to attend, sometimes traveling over an hour to show my support. She took weekend trips with friends, celebrated birthdays, and posted photos from intimate gatherings at her home.
Yet my apartment—the one she assured me she wanted to see—remained unseen.
The Texts Keep Coming
The strange part? Despite her absence in my physical life, Sasha and I talked all the time.
She’d message me about new initiatives at Xandle, vent about board meetings that had gone sideways, or share a random article she thought I’d find interesting. Our conversations were constant and seamless, as if the distance wasn’t real. If you had asked me about our friendship, I would have said we were close—because in the digital world, we were.
But the more we talked, the more I felt that disconnect gnawing at me. How can someone feel so present in my inbox yet so distant in my actual life?
Eventually, I decided to ask her directly. Not confrontationally, but out of genuine curiosity. “Do you actually want to see my apartment? It’s totally okay if you don’t. I just don’t want to keep asking if it’s not something you’re interested in.”
Her response?
“Oh no, I do! I just haven’t even made it to visit my cousin in assisted living.”
And there it was—the comparison that cut deeper than I expected.
I sat with that for a while. I understand that life is hectic and friendships sometimes get sidelined, but equating visiting my home with a family obligation, framed almost like a chore, felt like a subtle dismissal. It positioned my invitation as something to check off—an item on a growing list of duties she hadn’t managed to fulfill.
The Disconnect Between Values and Actions
I don’t think Sasha intended to hurt me. But as a therapist and someone who works closely with others, I can’t ignore the dissonance between what people say and what they do. And for someone who consistently preaches the value of presence, her actions spoke louder than her texts ever could.
Friendships, much like professional relationships, require accountability. And as much as I value Sasha, the reality is that there’s a point where understanding can slip into making excuses for someone else’s behavior.
Reciprocity isn’t about grand gestures or constant availability. It’s about alignment—the balance of effort, acknowledgment, and care. When one person consistently shows up while the other remains distant, that imbalance can start to erode the trust and warmth that once existed.
I know I’m not the only one who experiences this. Many of us have a Sasha Green in our lives—a friend who thrives in digital spaces but struggles to translate that energy into real-world connection. It’s an increasingly common dynamic in a time where relationships are often maintained more through screens than face-to-face.
What I’ve Realized
This isn’t about resentment or demanding someone’s time. It’s about feeling valued in the same way we value others. Friendships are not transactions, but they do require a certain level of mutual effort.
For now, I’ve decided to shift my perspective. I’m lowering my expectations—not out of frustration, but to preserve the friendship in a way that feels sustainable. I’ll appreciate Sasha for who she is, while also allowing myself the space to invest in friends who consistently show up.
Because at the end of the day, digital connection can only go so far. Sometimes, friendship needs to exist in the physical world—in the messy, imperfect spaces where we show up, not because we have to, but because we want to.
Until then, I’ll celebrate this space with the people who do show up—online and off.
Author Info:
Max E. Guttman
Max E. Guttman is the owner of Mindful Living LCSW, PLLC, a private mental health practice in Yonkers, New York.
