It was 2017, and I’d just turned 40. To celebrate, I decided to do something wildly out of character: throw a birthday party. Now, let me be clear—I’m not a party person.
The planning, the social pressure, the cleaning… no, thank you.
But after years of working full-time, raising small children, and barely keeping my head above water, I craved something light-hearted, spontaneous, and yes, fun.
My birthday happens to fall the night before Guy Fawkes Night, so I pictured a cozy, rom-com-worthy gathering of friends at the top of Primrose Hill in North London.
We’d drink wine from paper cups, laugh in our bobble hats, and gaze up at fireworks lighting up the sky. Total Richard Curtis vibes.
Planning the Perfect Night… and Watching It Crumble
My husband gave me the practical warning: “It’s November. It’ll be freezing.
But I was determined. I sent out invites, bought wine and brownies, and obsessively checked the weather.
I even agonized over the reminder emails, wanting to sound breezy—not desperate.
But then, on the morning of the big day, the texts started rolling in.
First, someone had the flu. “No biggie,” I told myself.
Then came more messages—work emergencies, childcare issues. That list of 25 confirmed guests quickly shrank to ten.
Then eight. I briefly considered cancelling, but nothing felt worse than giving up on my own party out of fear no one would come.
Five People Showed Up… and I Was Grateful
With a rucksack full of brownies and wine, I braved the London transport system feeling more than a little foolish. In the end, just five people turned up—and none of them were longtime friends.
Still, I was beyond thankful for their presence, even if the night carried a tinge of awkwardness.
We laughed about the no-shows and gently questioned the wisdom of an outdoor party in the British cold.
But underneath it all, I knew the truth: I was reaping what I’d sown.
I Used to Be That Friend—The One Who Bailed
See, I had been a serial flaker. In my 20s and 30s, I was always bailing on plans—usually last-minute, often without much of an excuse.
Sometimes it was because I was overwhelmed, sometimes because I got a better offer (usually involving a boy), and occasionally just because I couldn’t face the social energy required.
I once missed a friend’s wedding. Yes, an actual wedding. I had RSVP’d, even marked it in my diary.
But as the day approached, I realized I hadn’t booked a train or hotel, and I had nothing to wear.
On the morning of the ceremony, I sent an email—an email!—saying I was too ill to come. Then I spent the day on the couch with ice cream and shame.
My Flakiness Left a Trail of Damage
Friends bore the brunt of my chaos. I’d show up late, forget plans, or simply vanish from the pub.
Work and family usually got my more responsible side, but with friends—the people who loved me without obligation—I let things slide.
That wedding friend? I avoided her for years, assuming she’d written me off for good.
It wasn’t until a mutual friend fell ill that we found a way to reconnect.
We’ve never spoken of my no-show, but the silence speaks volumes.
Flaky Friends Are Nothing New—Even in the 1200s
Believe it or not, people like me have been around for centuries.
Back in 1205, an Italian writer named Boncompagno da Signa actually categorized bad friends, including the unreliable ones who ghosted when needed most.
Today, we talk about flakiness more gently, often blaming burnout or anxiety.
And yes, there are real emotional and mental health challenges behind some cancellations.
But let’s be honest—some of it is also just bad behaviour.
When “Self-Care” Becomes an Excuse to Ditch Your Friends
Social media has played its part, too. There’s a trend of labeling flaking as “self-care,” as if skipping out on plans last-minute makes you some kind of emotional genius.
But in a world where loneliness is already rampant, calling it “self-care” when you bail on your friend’s birthday party can be more harmful than healing.
Listening to Strangers Open Up About Their Friendships
When I was researching my latest book, Bad Friend, I spoke to people from all walks of life about their experiences.
One man in his 50s talked about a friend who always cancelled due to “work.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that their friendship just didn’t matter as much to the other person—and it stung.
A woman in her 40s told me how she’d mentally “downgraded” a flaky friend until the relationship faded away completely.
Without family ties or wedding rings, friendships can vanish quietly, without anyone ever officially ending them.
That Birthday Taught Me a Lesson I Won’t Forget
I’ll never forget the friends who did show up on that freezing hill, shivering in the dark with me, sipping mulled wine from old milk cartons.
That night, I made a vow to myself: never flake on a friend again.
Have I kept it? I’d like to think so. These days, I choose my social commitments more carefully, and I’m honest when I know I don’t have the energy.
But if I say I’ll be there—you better believe I’m showing up.
These Days, I Choose Connection Over Convenience
Being reliable takes effort. Sometimes it means dragging myself to a dinner when I’d rather collapse on the sofa.
But in return, I feel more connected, more trusted, and more grounded in the relationships that matter most.
To me, skipping out last-minute isn’t a radical act of self-preservation.
Showing up for your friends—even when it’s hard—is what truly nourishes us.
And unless there’s a full-blown natural disaster, I’ll be there.
