135: Why You Feel Like the Odd One Out in Your Friend Group

There's a version of this that happens every spring, every summer, every time the group chat lights up again. Baby showers get planned. Play dates get scheduled. The invitations start rolling in. And somewhere between seeing the notification and figuring out what to say back, your heart just drops.

This isn't really about baby showers. You know that. It's about who's at those events. It's about your people, the ones you've known forever, the ones you were texting about nursery colors and baby names and due dates just a few months ago. And now everything feels different, even though nobody says it out loud.

If you've found yourself stuck in that space, dreading the invitations but terrified to say no, showing up and white-knuckling your way through it, or quietly disappearing and hoping nobody notices... this is for you.

You Were All Going to Do This Together

Think about where things were just a little while ago. Maybe you had a friend group where everyone was pregnant around the same time. You were all in the same group chat. You were sharing ultrasound pictures and talking about maternity leave and arguing over which stroller was worth the money.

You were building something together. A future. Play dates and summer barbecues and watching your kids grow up side by side. It felt exciting and safe and like yours.

And then your baby died.

And suddenly the group chat kept going... without you in it. Or at least, without the version of you that belonged there. They're still talking about sleep schedules and nursery updates and what their babies are doing now. And you're reading it. Or you stopped reading it. Or you're still in it but you feel like a ghost.

This is one of the most painful and least talked-about parts of loss. Not just losing your baby, but losing the version of your life you thought you were going to have with the people you love most.

Why It Feels So Complicated

Here's the thing that makes this so hard to sort out: you actually love these people. You do want to be there. You want to see their babies and be part of their lives. You're not angry at them for having what you were supposed to have too.

And also, being around them hurts.

Both things are true at the same time, and that contradiction is exhausting.

What's happening underneath it all is a collision of two completely different worlds. Your friends are living in a world where pregnancy leads to a baby, where the nursery gets used and the car seat gets buckled and the Instagram photos happen. That's their reality right now, and it's a good one.

You are living in a world where you know that isn't guaranteed. Where all the planning and the love and the expecting didn't protect you. You're still here. Still showing up. But you are fundamentally, completely changed. And those two worlds don't always speak the same language.

So when you walk into a room full of people celebrating the exact thing you lost, it's not just uncomfortable. It's like being invited to a party where everyone is celebrating something you can see but can't touch. You're happy for them. You're also grieving. You're also quietly terrified that this is what the rest of your life is going to look like.

What Your Friends Don't Understand

Here's something that might be worth hearing: your friends probably think they're doing the right thing by inviting you. They think including you in the baby shower, texting you about the play date, asking if you're coming... they think that's love.

What they don't understand is that being invited to celebrate the thing you lost, over and over again, is not the same as being included.

They're tiptoeing around you because they don't know what to do. They don't want to say the wrong thing or make you sad or make their excitement feel insensitive. So they invite you and then hold their breath. And you feel that tiptoe, even when nobody says a word. And it makes you feel like a burden. Like your grief is too big and too complicated for friendship.

So you do what so many moms do. You smile and show up and pretend you're fine, because you're afraid that if you're honest about how much it hurts, they're going to pull away. You're afraid your grief is the thing that costs you these friendships. And you're already grieving so much. You can't lose them too.

That fear is real. It makes total sense. And it's also keeping you stuck in a really painful cycle.

You're Allowed to Change What You Can Do

This is the part I want you to sit with for a minute. You are not responsible for protecting their joy. You are not required to show up to every single event and perform okay when you're not. That is not what friendship asks of you, and honestly, it's not something you can sustain.

So let yourself actually think about what you can and can't do right now. Not what you think you should do. What you actually, honestly can do.

Can you go to a baby shower right now? Maybe not. And that's okay. You can send a gift. You can send a text that says, I'm thinking of you and celebrating you from home. That's kind. That's real. That's enough.

Can you show up to a play date, but just for the first hour? Maybe. You don't have to stay until the bitter end. You don't owe anyone a full afternoon of watching babies hit milestones while your arms feel empty. You can show up, give your love, and leave when you need to.

Is there one friend in the group you feel safer with? Someone who asks how you're actually doing and waits for the real answer? Start there. You might say something like, "I love you all and I need you to know that being around all this baby stuff right now is really hard. I don't want to lose you, but I'm also not quite ready for all of it yet."

That's vulnerable and honest and brave. And the friends who matter? They'll meet you there.

What Happens to Friendships After Loss

Some friendships will deepen. Some people will surprise you by showing up in ways you never expected, and those relationships will become something even more solid than they were before.

Some friendships will fade. And that doesn't mean something went wrong. Sometimes the connection was built around a season of life that has passed, and both of you will drift naturally. That doesn't make it less painful, but it doesn't mean you failed.

You're also allowed to grieve the friendship that used to exist, the one where you were all in the same place, all dreaming the same dreams. That version is gone, and it's okay to be sad about it. You don't have to pretend it naturally evolved. You can just be honest that it hurts.

What you don't have to do is hold it all together alone, smile through events that break your heart, or keep quiet about what you're carrying just to make everyone else more comfortable.

You Don't Have to Figure This Out Alone

Navigating friendships after loss is one of the things that comes up again and again in the conversations I have with moms in my world. Because grief doesn't just affect you, it affects everyone around you, and figuring out how to stay connected to the people you love while you're carrying something this heavy is genuinely hard work.

If you're looking for a place to start, my free workshop on releasing guilt and navigating grief is a really gentle first step. We talk about exactly these kinds of situations, how to make decisions that feel kind to you, how to protect yourself without cutting yourself off, and how to move through the hard moments without losing yourself. You can join for free at navigatingbabyloss.com/workshop.

You deserve to have people in your corner who understand what you're carrying. And you deserve friendships that don't ask you to pretend.