HOW TO LOSE FRIENDS BY INTRODUCING PEOPLE

OK, so -- I used to be a collector of people. Not in a creepy way—in that golden retriever, "You should meet my friend!" way that made me feel like the social architect of my own miniature universe. In college and just after, I'd orchestrate these elaborate nights out, mixing friend groups like a DJ blending tracks. Former roommates would meet work friends who'd meet high school friends who'd meet that girl I talked to once at a coffee shop and immediately loved. I was building bridges, creating synergy, expanding everyone's social portfolio. I was basically doing God's work.

Then, somewhere between my late twenties and the arrival of my first child, I learned a terrible truth: when you introduce two people and they hit it off, you don't get credit. You get demoted.

You know that moment when you realize your setup worked a little too well? When the friends you introduced are now texting each other directly, making plans without you, sharing inside jokes you're not inside of? That's when you understand that being a connector isn't always an essential role—it's a sacrifice. You're not the architect; you're the scaffolding that gets removed once the building is complete.

The worst part is when you're still friends with both of them, just... less. You've created a triangle, and anyone who's watched their kid navigate preschool friendships knows that three children does not a happy playdate make. Someone is always on the outside. Someone is always suggesting a sleepover that doesn't include the third kid. Someone is always crying in the bathroom because Emma and Sophia decided they're "best friends now" and best friends is a two-person designation, thank you very much.

And you can't even be mad about it because you did this. You're the one who said, "You two have so much in common!" You engineered your own obsolescence.

So now I've become strategically stingy with my connections. Before I introduce two friends, I run a cost-benefit analysis that would make McKinsey proud. Are they too compatible? Do they live closer to each other than either lives to me? Do they both have that specific brand of organizational energy that would lead them to start a book club I'd feel obligated to join but would secretly resent? If yes to any of these, I suddenly develop amnesia about everyone's contact information.

But here's the real minefield: the big friend group. The one everyone loves to hate, the one that gets labeled as a clique, as exclusionary, as everything wrong with social hierarchy since middle school. The threesomes upon threesomes upon threesomes that make up the groups that are supposed to be toxic. We've seen the movies. We know how this goes. A dinner gets scheduled in a separate text chain. Someone reacts with a thumbs-up that feels aggressive. Someone else suddenly can't make it. The fracture begins.

And yet. AND YET.

These maligned cliques are usually the ones who show up. They're the group text that's simultaneously the most annoying thing on your phone and the first place you turn when you need someone to tell you that your kid's rash is normal or that your mother-in-law's comment was indeed as passive-aggressive as you thought. They're there at 6 AM when you can't sleep and at 11 PM when you shouldn't still be awake. They remember your kids' names and your coffee order and that thing you mentioned three weeks ago that you barely remember yourself.

As a mother—and let's be honest, mothers need this more than anyone—that ever-present hive mind is not just nice to have. It's infrastructure. It's the safety net under the tightrope of modern parenting. Yes, the group can be intense. Yes, someone is always vaguely annoyed at someone else. Yes, the group dynamics shift like tectonic plates, and you're never quite sure if you're currently on the inner or outer ring. But when you need them? They're there.

So I guess what I'm saying is: I've evolved. I've gone from the friend collector who wanted to introduce everyone to everyone to someone who's just trying her damn best to stay connected, -- in a group, third-wheeling, one-on-one, or anywhere in between. '

And if you're the person I introduced to someone else and you're now better friends with them than with me? I'm not mad. I'm just quietly plotting which of your friends I'm going to become best friends with next.

I introduced you once. I can do it again.