Are You Multitasking Your Relationships With People?

I recently saw a social media post detailing the author's shortcomings as a friend and family member—forgetting to text back, missing small gestures, etc. They then listed life's demands as reasons for their constant busyness, insisting they genuinely cared and everyone was always in their thoughts. This post resonated deeply with me—it stirred up a lot of feelings. I almost didn't write this, fearing it might sound unkind or lacking empathy, but then I recalled how often I've been on the receiving end of that kind of behavior, and I had to share my thoughts.

I know life is heavy

I know the days slip away under grocery bags, endless work calls, kids with sticky hands who need you, laundry that never folds itself, and a thousand small fires you’re putting out every single day.

I know how hard you’re trying — to provide, to protect, to juggle a hundred fragile glass balls all at once without letting anything shatter.

But multitasking your relationships is not love,

 and it's finally time for someone to say it.

I know how easy it is to convince yourself that multitasking your relationships still counts. That calling your best friend while yelling at drivers in traffic or answering your mom's text while a coworker talks in your ear is enough. That it's okay to shoot off a distracted thinking-of-you text at a red light or to give a rushed two-minute call while your kid is in the back seat with a tablet, headphones on, and you're half-listening because someone else is calling through. That it's okay to get that call in to your sibling while you're doing your food haul at Costco. Although it may all feel like you're checking multiple things off your "to do list" at once, it's not the right approach. And why are our relationships on our "to do list" anyway?

I don't know about you, but the idea of being treated like just another item on someone's to-do list- squeezed between picking up milk and running errands-feels profoundly disheartening. When it comes to relationships that are meant to matter-be it family, friendship, or something more-we shouldn't be reduced to a checkbox. Connection deserves presence. We owe it to each other to stop multitasking with the people we claim to care about, as if meaningful interaction is just another obligation to get through. It's not about making time-it's about valuing it.

I get it — I really do

This world runs on overdrive. None of us ever feel caught up. Somewhere along the way, we started accepting the idea that “at least I’m squeezing you in” is good enough. That the people we say we love most should simply be grateful for the scraps of our attention.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth

Being loved in the leftover spaces hurts. Stop wedging me in like I’m meant to fit, but don’t.

Of course you love us, but you certainly can understand why we question it when this continuously happens. It tells someone that out of the hundred priorities in your life — your deadlines, your errands, your commutes, your emails, your constantly buzzing phone — they rank somewhere beneath all of that. It says, I care about you, but not enough to carve out real time.

I know this might come across as tough to hear-especially when you're already stretched thin, trying to hold everything together and be everything for everyone, all while never truly showing up for yourself. I see that. I respect the effort.

But there comes a moment in all our lives when we have to pause and ask: Is this truly how I want to keep moving through the world? Am I becoming someone who's always present for the tasks but absent from the moments that matter?

Life is demanding, yes-but we can't let the pace of it strip away the purpose in it. Because if we're not careful, we'll blink and realize we traded years of meaning for a schedule that never loved us back. And that kind of regret... it lingers.

This isn't judgment-it's perspective. Maybe even a quiet truth we've been avoiding. But sometimes, it takes a little discomfort to reclaim what actually matters.

Speaking from my own life

I’ve been there. I have so many people I love more than words — friends who are like sisters, chosen family I’d give my heart for, colleagues who became life-long confidants. I know how lucky I am.

I also know what it feels like to be the person always waiting.

Waiting for you to have a minute.

Waiting for a thoughtful reply to that text I sent days ago.

Waiting for you to not be so exhausted or busy or overwhelmed so we can just have a real conversation that doesn’t involve "hold on a sec" every five seconds.

I’ve spent years being endlessly patient, endlessly understanding, endlessly empathetic. Listening to those around me get angry when I bring this subject up with them. They look at my life as smooth sailing and free, simply because I am single. Apparently that means, it's okay for me to always be the one reaching out, checking in, and making plans. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's not. I'm busy too - trust me! Yet, never continuously busy for those I love and care about. If it ever comes to that (and it has in the past), I check myself immediately because I never want to feel that emptiness.

I don’t have children or a partner who’s demanding of my every waking hour.

My job doesn’t swallow me whole. So, I’m often the one making the plans, sending the texts, checking in, saying “when can we see each other?” because I have the space you say you don’t. I'm always understanding and conscious that my life doesn't look like yours, so I'm happy to oblige most of the time.

But here’s the thing

My life is no less important.

My time is no less finite.

My need to be seen and loved with intention is no smaller than yours.

Maybe it’s time we all stop pretending it’s normal to treat the people we love this way. Because we only get maybe 75 summers, 75 winters, if we’re lucky, in this lifetime. That’s 75 chances to decorate a Christmas tree, to share a quiet coffee with someone you love, to call your friend and actually listen.

Maybe we don’t even get that long. Tomorrow isn’t promised. None of this is.

When will you stop multitasking your relationships and calling it love?

 Will it be when they’re gone — when your best friend’s name pops up on your phone and it’s someone else telling you there won’t be another chance?

This happened to me with someone very special to me. Only, she never really felt seen in our friendship, because I was always so busy. Now, it's too late. Nearly four years later, I still can't bring myself to delete my dear friend's number. Every anniversary reminder is agonizing. All I can recall is our last conversation.

The day before my birthday, she asked when I'd be free to chat the next day. I gave her a time, but I was busy and missed her call. She left the sweetest, most thoughtful message, even though she was disappointed—that was just her way. She was too wonderful for this world, and I didn't deserve her friendship. Did I call back? No. I didn't call for weeks; it felt too awkward.

Then, her sister contacted me on social media—someone I'd never spoken to before. I knew instantly. She was gone, and I'd never get a second chance. It's my biggest regret.

There isn't a day that goes by when she doesn't cross my mind. Sometimes it's a smell, a song, or a quiet moment that catches me off guard-and suddenly, I'm standing in an old memory, one of the beautiful ones we shared. In those moments, I find myself wishing-hoping-that my phone might ring, and somehow, impossibly, it would be her on the other end.

Looking back now, I see it so clearly: all she ever really wanted was something simple yet profound-more of me. More time, more effort, more presence. She didn't ask for grand gestures. Just the small things-the only things that ever really matter. A returned call. A plan followed through. A conversation that didn't go to voicemail.

And I didn't give her that. Not nearly enough.

I can't pretend I was the friend she deserved. The truth is, I wasn't. Yet, she loved me anyway-with a loyalty and tenderness I hadn't earned. That's what stays with me now. That's what hurts.

Time is the one thing we always think we have more of-until we don't. I would give anything to have just a little more of it with her. Not to make things perfect, but simply to do better. To show up the way she always hoped I would. To be a friend in the way she deserved.

So when does it stop?

Will it be when you’re standing over a casket whispering how sorry you are that you didn’t call more, didn’t show up more, didn’t make real time when it mattered?

It’s hard. I know.

But it’s harder to look at your life one day and realize that all those people you claimed were so important drifted away, slowly starving for a kind of attention you never thought to give.

Or worse, that you became so conditioned to calling from stoplights and checkout lines that you forgot how to be fully present with anyone at all.

I will still understand regardless, but it really takes away from my worth in your life when you do that.

So yes, I understand.

I’m still tender with it.

But I’m also done being endlessly patient, endlessly waiting, endlessly grateful for scraps.

If you say I matter — if you say you love me — prove it.

Make the time. Not in between traffic lights. Not while you’re wrangling the chaos. But in a moment carved out just for me — just for us.

Because if you can’t do that, then maybe someday you will end up with as many regrets as I have and begin to believe the lie that you really aren't that important to others as you believed.

And that’s the saddest part of all because we all know that's not true.

None of us are perfect. We don't have endless time, flawless intentions, or the clarity to be thoughtful in every moment. We're flawed, distracted, and often just trying to make it through the day. But in the midst of all that-just try.

Try to show up. Try to be present. Try to make the call, send the message, say the thing while there's still time to say it. Not perfectly-just sincerely. Because at the end of it all, effort is what people remember. It's what builds trust, deepens connection, and reminds the people we care about that they matter.

Trying doesn't make you weak-it makes you human. And that, more than perfection, is what we truly need from one another.

If this piece resonates with you, share it with someone you miss. Or better yet, pick up the phone, sit down with your coffee, and give them your whole heart for a while.