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Ariyike Olayiwola: Does It Really Pay to Be The Understanding Friend?
You have heard of the “understanding girlfriend,” but have you heard of the “understanding friend”? If this piques your curiosity and you squint to create a mental image, an image of me wearing an endurance-green cape, untidy hair, and a forced wide smile with arms akimbo should flash through.
Perhaps that’s a little too much exaggeration. However, one would know this title has been accorded to you when you are lying on a hospital bed, and your three friends start making flimsy excuses for why they cannot stay with you, ending each reason with “I’m sure you’d understand.” Not minding that, weeks before then, you had slipped and sprained your ankle while rushing from class to the hostel to tend to one of them at the request of their fellow hostel mates who deemed you the only one who would know what to do. Or that when that weird illness that hit the hostels affected two of them during a school test, you shuttled from test halls to restaurants and the hospital every day for five days because no one else was there for them.
You’d also know when that one friend only remembers to call you when they are in a fix and need clarity or support. They start and end each call with, “Only you understand me,” but your invitation gets lost when they celebrate a milestone. Surely you’d know when you work on a project with that friend and are excited for the opportunities that may come with it for you both, but on its release, your name is yanked off and replaced with a popular name. They also come bearing “I know you understand my reasons.” You should know by then, or you’d wait for more occurrences to snap out of your denial.
It’s a good thing that I can now look back at the unnerving memories and laugh at what I’d refer to as my sweet innocence. This innocence was not a lack of judgment; if anything, it was my non-judgmental quality tilting towards empathy that took more space than cynicism.
It was how I was raised. We did not have a specific term for it, nevertheless, my parents valued courteousness and empathy over cynicism and criticism. So, I was taught the art of it: to listen, be open-minded, be less cynical, and be gracious and understanding. I was constantly reminded that we all come from different backgrounds, with different circumstances, and we process things differently. Therefore, it seemed right to consider these factors when interacting with people, before writing a person off or passing judgment. As I grew, it evolved from an intentional practice to becoming an essential part of my identity.
Internalising this quality was a great thing for me, at first. I recognised earlier in life how limiting being cynical and judgmental can be, both for individuals and society at large. That instant assessment and categorisation of people, especially when done based on aged rules or knowledge that were specifically created for a certain era, has lulled us, collectively, into a false sense of morality. One devoid of humanity. I detested the prejudice and meanness that this act birthed, hindering individuals from acknowledging the humanity in others. Also, it hindered us from experiencing and enjoying the magic, richness, and beauty that others carry, or that could be unlocked when we hold hands with open hearts. It brought me peace to know I did not have to carry that negativity. Along with this, there was the happiness and magic I got to find in others and, they, in me. For my kind of person, it brought me so much joy to see people feel safe and seen with just a simple act of listening or kindness — however brief.
The perks of it augmented in my early adulthood, extending from peace, shared happiness, and magic, to enhancing my personal growth. It afforded me knowledge, sharpened listening and communication skills, empathy, and emotional intelligence. I navigated that phase, my friendships, and other relationships with these qualities, and I believe that’s what accorded me the “understanding friend” title.
For me, that term manifested as that friend who always makes room for their friends—listening to their words and the silences in between, recognising their struggles, excusing their errors, indulging their excessiveness, being gracious with time, actions, and words. Through this, offering them more or less a safe space to recognise their essence and thrive. Because, you know, they are friends. Or, so I thought.
Alas, that wasn’t how I was regarded. To some, I was only that go-to person when they needed peace and help. To others, I was the “understanding friend” with the silent mumu prefix. It appeared that some perceived my understanding as a weakness to be exploited. The shocker was realising that others interpreted my “understanding friend” quality as introversion, acquiescence, cowardice, or autophobia. Thus, an invitation to treat me poorly. It became a “treat her anyhow, beggars can’t be choosers” situation.
Good grief! That realisation stung.
It turned out that in my effort to see and honour other people’s humanity, I had mine stripped off and ripped off. I became an object of convenience, an emotional dumping ground and a crisis Santa box. As painful and personal as this experience is, it is not peculiar to me—it’s common amongst people who imbibe the various cultures of kindness. This leaves me wondering if people indeed value kindness like we often hear. Or, have we internalised lingos like “all man for himself” and its other variations so much that we’d prioritise personal gains at the detriment of others or the future?
I say this because those experiences had me losing faith in humanity, as it did for others too. I could excuse it when it happened with acquaintances, but with friends, and on multiple occasions? This mumu cup had to pass over me. I locked myself in my ready-to-wear armour of introversion and built a wall of heated iron bars and spikes from anger and cynicism. I became inaccessible and shut my senses to both the rich and harsh realities of others in an attempt to preserve my energy and heart.
But there is this double-edged sword phenomenon that ensures that one thing cannot fully be of immense benefits and a source of bliss; it leaves room for dicey episodes. And just as I realised that “understanding” was a quality, I also realised that this wall, created as a means of protection, had locked me away from my humanity. As I shut my senses, I was shutting my core. These qualities of being understanding and kind, as a friend or acquaintance, were not just skills or roles, they were inherently me, and ignoring them meant losing myself.
With this realisation came the need to find a balance between allowing myself to be and protecting myself from energy vampires. I had to learn boundaries, but not without forgiving myself and others. I had to let go of the anger.
To establish these boundaries, I had to learn to prioritise myself, affirming that I deserve every good that I put out and more. I acknowledged that my feelings, comfort, and happiness matter, and not only do I owe them to myself, but to be with people who recognise this.
I also had to identify my emotional triggers and limits. Another challenge of being understanding was the emotional turbulence and feelings of helplessness triggered by absorbing too many emotions and stories from others. I resolved that to be truly myself and be valuable to anyone, I needed to be whole — happy, sane, and healthy.
This resolution facilitated my ability to set and enforce boundaries in friendships, other relationships, and everyday dealings. I knew to curb the urge to ask “how’ and “why” in certain discussions, confidently say “no” to requests that might discomfort or drain me, and swiftly remove myself from disrespectful or exploitative situations. I could still be understanding of people’s situations, remain non-judgmental and kind, while also refusing to be participatory in their unpleasant behaviours.
The best part was learning how to choose genuine friends who value me for who I am. It is an absolutely beautiful feeling to have that one or two persons who are not only grateful for our friendship, but mirror every bit of kindness back to me in their incredible ways. This is the beautiful version of friendship I live for now – to like and be liked, to understand and be understood.
I still reap the other rewards from the growth that being understanding affords me, and I’m glad I didn’t let those experiences deny me my humanity and these rewards. Yet, I think of other people with similar experiences and their attitudes towards kindness and humanity now. Are they finding a balance, or is the supply of kindness and humanity diminishing?
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