i can’t always be there for my “crisis friend”

mixed feelings is a multi-voiced advice column in which a different mental health expert or writer will respond to your most pressing existential conundrums. If you’re dealing with one right now, use our anonymous form to be considered for a future newsletter. This week, culture writer Kate Lindsay shares how to deal with a "crisis friend" — a friend who repeatedly takes up all the oxygen in the room with their seemingly relentless stream of issues.

dear mixed feelings,

How do you deal with your lifelong best friend who now lives a very different life than you? She’s in a constant state of crisis while I’m finally at a point of peace and stability. I want to help her and love her, but I feel frustrated. —

joYy

This question was originally posted on Diem, a social search engine for the girls, gays, and theys to ask questions and share advice. Download the app on iOS, web, and Android!

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dear @Joyy, 

You’re dealing with a classic “crisis friend.” Unlike a friend who happens to be going through a crisis, a capital “C” Crisis Friend repeatedly takes up all the oxygen in the room with their seemingly relentless stream of issues. They’re always going through something, and these crises are consistently presented in such a way that you’d feel like an asshole if you didn’t immediately drop whatever you’re doing to help. I know this because, not too long ago, I was a crisis friend. 

In a three-year period in my late 20s, I was laid off, had to put down my cat, was laid off again, and then unexpectedly had to put down my next cat. I was taking a beating from the universe, and each time I rallied my friends and had them drop everything and come over. We drank wine, watched TV, and I cried. I mostly just didn’t want to be alone, but on their end, not only had they been asked to do this multiple times, but two of these incidents happened on the same friend’s birthday…two years in a row.

The term “crisis friend” was coined on TikTok. In a since-deleted video by user @carpoolsandcountryclubs that’s been preserved through the many stitches and reaction videos it inspired on the app, the creator describes the hallmarks of a crisis friend: “Every day, every week, there is a new crisis that they have to have support for — they need to be emotionally rallied around, and everyone needs to get behind them.”

And the tricky thing about a crisis friend is that, for the most part, the crises are not made up. For instance, my friend Hannah once broke her leg, her apartment became infested with bird mites, and then as soon as both of those things were resolved, she got COVID. Now, we both laugh about how cursed that summer was. It was just her turn to take a beating from the universe. 

To me, she was going through a “crisis period,” rather than being a crisis friend. Though the definition of “crisis friend” might flex from person to person, the general throughline tends to be an all-consuming dependency: A typical crisis friend rarely reciprocates the support they constantly demand. There’s often not enough room for you to share whatever you might be going through.

That being said, I don’t think the world is split into “crisis friends” and “friends who never have a problem once in their lives.” The longer we spend in our friendships — which, in your case, is a lifetime — the more likely it is we’ll all be a crisis friend at some point. Friendship means sticking with each other through these rough patches, but there are ways to help manage being on either side of the coin.

on treating the crisis friend

Part of what makes a crisis friend so exhausting is that they demand physical and emotional support. But is this person really a crisis friend, or do they just want to vent? Sometimes what’s exhausting is what it feels like they’re asking from us, and that may not actually be the case. I’m someone who feels so inadequate responding to someone’s struggle with platitudes. I want to have the answer. Whenever I’m presented with a problem, I jump into action: Have you tried this? Have you thought of this? How can I help? Want to meet up? Why don’t I handle this for you? When, in reality, none of those things were asked of me. I am the one who is taking on that responsibility, when, oftentimes, all they needed was someone to listen. 

But let’s say you’re dealing with a clear-cut crisis friend. They need you to come over, to get them something, to both physically and emotionally coddle them. And despite your schedule, your problems, and your responsibilities, you do these things because, as I mentioned earlier, their problems are real! How can you say no to someone genuinely experiencing hardship? 

“I usually have like a litmus test,” Blake Blankenbecler, licensed therapist and friendship educator and creator of the Friendship Deck, says. “I’m asking, ‘Hey, am I the only one that you're talking to about this?’ And if I am, that's usually a flag for me.”

You can thank the person for trusting you, Blankenbecler says, but let them know you can’t be the only one supporting them. By setting a boundary, you’re not leaving them out to dry. Instead, you’re pointing them towards more suitable outlets, like a family member or, if they are financially able, a therapist. 

When I was dealing with my “crisis friend,” I brought the issue up to my therapist. I had told this friend, time and time again, that they needed to speak with a therapist of their own. I offered to find one for them, to make the call, to do everything but drag them there myself — although I would have, if it came to that. But ultimately, my own therapist told me I needed to let go. “If they’re not taking these steps themselves,” she said, “then it’s just not bad enough for them yet.” The most effective thing I could do, in this scenario, was to let it get bad enough. Only then would they have the motivation to reach out themselves. 

“The person in crisis feels the burden,” Blankenbecler says. “Often I work with people who are the crisis friend and they're like, ‘I know that I'm wearing my friends out and so it's time to be here.”

Lo and behold, my “crisis friend” is now in therapy. I’m no longer getting frantic middle-of-the-day calls that require me to step out of work. Our friendship has remained intact, and is better for the experience. Most importantly, I no longer harbor any resentment, because, one day, it could be me. 

on being the “crisis friend”

For many people, the “crisis friend” TikTok resonated because they have one of their own. Others had a different realization: “Uh oh…I think this might be me.” A hallmark of a true crisis friend, I think, is that they have no idea they are the crisis friend. They are unabashed in their requests for help. But perhaps, with some hindsight, you’ve reflected on past periods of your life when you might have fit the bill. Or you’re reading this now, and it’s all sounding a little familiar. 

For me, it was those times I’d show up at my friend's birthday parties frazzled with bloodshot eyes having just endured my most recent disaster. I’d try to blend right in, insisting the night was about her. But it was understandably hard for others to ignore the low hum of my distress throughout the event. There’s no denying I unwittingly dampened her spotlight on a night when she should have been centerstage.

“First off, have compassion [for yourself],” Blankenbecler advises anyone who currently thinks they’re the crisis friend. “A lot of this is normalizing. We need a lot of support and we need a lot of people to help us.”

This doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to reach out to your friends when you’re having an issue, but that you should make sure they know you’re not taking them for granted. “Just acknowledging, ‘Hey, I know that I have asked a lot lately and I just wanna offer appreciation for that,’” she continues. “How can you make space, put your crisis aside for a minute, and say, ‘How can I support you? I know that this is a lot, are you getting support?’”

From where I sit now, I know there were better methods of comfort during my crises: I could have called my parents; I could have showed up late to the party so I had time to pull myself together; I could have stayed in, spending time with my boyfriend and Netflix and my journal and accepting that I was going to feel shitty either way. 

But I also know now that I needed to be the crisis friend in order for me to realize I had a problem, that I wasn’t handling the inevitable stressors of life in a healthy way. In the past year, I started seeing a psychiatrist, upped my meds, began exercising regularly, stopped looking at my phone in the mornings, and, through the combination of these things, reduced my overall level of stress to the point that I’m on firmer ground. If, and when, the next crisis hits me, I won’t keep the crisis to myself. But I won’t make it everyone else’s crisis, too.