She won’t stop talking about her troubles. And it’s exhausting.
Editor’s Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers’ questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at [email protected].
Don’t want to miss a single column? Sign up to get “Dear James” in your inbox.
Dear James,
I have a longtime friend who has recently been going through a string of hard times: Work, relationships, family, friends, you name it—it’s been a bunch of tough episodes stacked one after the other. I’ve always wanted to be there for my friends, especially when they’re struggling, and it’s no different with this person. I’ve been seeing her frequently, talking her through a lot. Over the past few months, however, she wants to talk only about herself. Every conversation comes back to her, and she manages to turn even the most pleasant interaction into something grim, cynical, and self-pitying. It’s getting to the point where I don’t want to be around her, even though I’m sympathetic to what she’s going through. How can I be there for her while being honest when I think she’s feeling too sorry for herself—and trying to protect my own mental health?
Dear Reader,
It sounds like your friend is depressed. And one of the truly terrible things about depression is its power to turn you into a bore. I’m speaking from experience here. When I was depressed, I was an unbelievable bore. I bored the pants off plenty of people, including myself. I bored the universe, and it turned away in search of better company. So painfully confined was I in my own misfiring subjectivity that I had trouble feeling—had trouble imagining—the reality of anybody else. Me and my dilemma, that was all I could think about—and, consequently, all I could talk about. Not a condition in which much courtesy is extended to the listener.
However: It takes two not to tango. You have both created this thing, this faintly noxious dynamic whereby she moans and groans and curses, and you sit there inhaling secondhand depression. So what can you do to shake it up?
I think some wild gestures might be in order. Surprise her with a gift. Take her somewhere unexpected. Make things interesting. Crank up the gallantry, crank up the generosity: Send a spark of love and novelty into the black cloud. Don’t expect gratitude, or at least not immediately. And don’t give up. What you’re after is a micro-shift in the mood, an opening through which she can see, however narrowly or briefly, the world outside—which of course includes you. Do that for her, and you’ll be an amazing friend.
Through ruptured patterns,
James
By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it in part or in full, and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.
