Why My Friendships Have Gotten So Weird

The reason there’s an unspoken barrier between us.

By
Published July 31, 2026
Colorful illustration of a person sitting on a couch using a smartphone while several children run, jump, and play throughout a cluttered living room. Broken objects, spilled snacks, and household disorder surround the scene
Margaret Flatley

The shouting was so loud that I could hear it from upstairs. Then came enough f-words to rival a Bill Burr comedy set followed by an angry declaration: “Get your head out of your ass and go!!!” My brain racing, I scurried down the steps to make sure the house wasn’t on fire. Turns out there was no emergency . . . though I was still aghast by the scene.

Right there in the living room, my friend Jessica’s 15-year-old son was watching an NFL game and becoming increasingly unhinged by the score. More alarming, Jessica herself was sitting next to him and aimlessly scrolling her phone in a trance-like state. As a weekend visitor in her home, I just said my good nights and returned to my room. I also zipped my lip when her son and daughter fled the dinner table one night earlier without clearing their plates. Or when I bought them pastries and they didn’t say thank you. When I left in the Uber, I took a breath of sweet relief and felt compelled to ask Jessica if she wanted to come home with me.

Remember that Seinfeld episode when Jerry and Elaine visit their friends in the Hamptons under the pretense of “You gotta see the baby!”? Story of my life with my own friends for years, and I happily obliged. I bought presents. I cooed. I read Goodnight Moon and played puzzles. I was the young and fun de facto Auntie Mara from New York City, yay!

But now that the kids are older, I have a first-row seat to messy dynamics instead of adorable milestones. I recently had dinner with my friend Carrie and her daughters, and they lashed out at her because she wouldn’t let them hang out at the mall with their besties after school. Another time, my friend Laura’s teen daughter refused to leave her room, except when she emerged to demand a bagel. I’m not immune either: When I brought my friend Liz’s son a trivia game last year, he squinted at me and asked, “Do you have anything else?”

For the record, these kids range in ages and religion and social class and live in both big cities and the suburbs across the country. The only common denominator is that I adore their moms.

It’s important to note that I’m not a parent myself, which means I have exactly zero credentials to critique another parent’s disciplinarian skills. But that inconvenient truth doesn’t stop me from constantly making silent verdicts, only to feel guilty for judging. It’s a vicious little cycle. In fact, I was so hesitant to even broach this seemingly taboo subject that I’ve changed everyone’s names.

“This is a natural quality issue,” says Anna Goldfarb, author of the 2024 book Modern Friendship: How to Nurture Our Most Valued Connections. “As you get older, you get choosier about how you want to spend your time because you don’t feel the need to settle anymore. So you’re not going to want to spend free leisure time with people who irritate you or disrespect you — even if they’re children.”

Reassurances aside, I’m still flummoxed about my role amid all this newfound drama. It’s not in my nature to be so passive around my friends, so I feel like there’s an unspoken barrier between us. Staying perma-silent doesn’t scream “I’m so supportive and sympathetic!” either. At this rate, all the pent-up frustration will result in my own profane tantrum.

Per Goldfarb, there are three solutions: Exit, loyalty and voice. The exit is obvious. Irish goodbye for now, call me when the kids have left the nest. For loyalty, “You deal with it by ignoring it,” she says. “The kids are going to do what they want to do and you let them be because they’re not your kids.”

The third option is the trickiest needle to thread. I honestly can’t imagine any scenario in which I pour out my feelings and the conversation ends in an understanding hug. I already can predict the script: You don’t have kids, you don’t get it. Except that I’m human, and I know obnoxiousness when I see it. And I don’t like seeing my friends so over-taxed and under-appreciated.

The big talk, however, can be done. The key is to take the correct approach. “You have to be mindful of the power dynamics in the friendship,” Goldfarb says. “If you approach it like you know better than your friend, it’s going to feel domineering. You don’t want to come in hot, offer unsolicited advice or you use the word ‘should’ as in “I know better and you should do this.’ That is not going to end well.” Alternatively, telling your friend that you need to take a break because you don’t enjoy interacting with her children “will make her feel very wounded.”

Her suggestion? To start, hold off everything until guac and chips and margaritas are involved. “Emotions are charged in the heat of the moment,” she says. “But people tend to relax around food and drink.” Then, come from a place of support and curiosity so nobody’s on the defense: “You have to bring it up like, ‘I noticed Junior seems to be struggling a little bit, what do you think is going on?’ Or, ‘I’m noticing an attitude, is this something you’ve been dealing with? Has it gotten worse?’ Then it’s you and your friend taking on the problem together.”

Goldfarb adds that I should also acknowledge the possibility that the kids are acting out in front of me because of me. “No matter the age, kids always want attention from their mom and don’t want her to be distracted by talking to a friend. It’s a competitive thing,” she says. “So on some level, it’s important to have some empathy. Even on a good day, these kids are going through a stressful time.” Indeed, I too may have been a bit of a monotoned brat to my mom’s friends back in my awkward adolescent days.

The truth is that there is no perfect script. I love my friends too much to walk away from decades of rich history just because their kids have entered a difficult stage. I also don’t want to pretend these moments don’t affect me. Maybe that’s what these friendships must look like now: Extending a little grace to everyone — including myself.

And at the bare minimum, the next time I’m in town I can stay in a hotel.

Can you relate to the above? Let us know in the comments below.

Mara Reinstein is a New York City–based film critic and entertainment journalist who contributes to Us Weekly, Billboard, The Cut, Architectural Digest, HuffPost, The Ringer, Parade and more. She's also an instructor at Gotham Writers Workshop and guest co-host on SiriusXM Volume. Check out her blog at MaraMovies.com.