They Don’t Care About Me, Right? The Anxiety of Adult Friendships.
I regret to inform you that I am not psychic.
I know. This is shocking news, especially considering how confidently I can decide that my friend’s “no worries.” text actually means: You are exhausting, I’ve outgrown you, and also you chew weird.
Today’s feature: the cognitive distortion lovingly known in therapy land as mind reading.
Now, I did not learn about mind reading from a BuzzFeed quiz. I learned about it sitting on my therapist’s couch, mid-spiral, explaining how I just knew my friend was mad at me because she watched my Instagram story and didn’t respond to my meme about burnout.
My therapist blinked gently and said, “What’s the evidence for that?”
Rude.
Apparently, mind reading is when we assume we know what other people are thinking—usually something negative about us—without actual proof.
And let me tell you, adult friendships are a breeding ground for this distortion.
The Group Chat Spiral
You know the vibe.
You send a message to the group chat. Something casual. Something charming. Maybe even something mildly funny.
Silence.
Three hours later, someone responds to something completely different.
My brain: They saw it. They hated it. You’ve become the friend who tries too hard.
Reality: They were at work. Or working out. Or managing a tiny human. Or dissociating to survive capitalism.
But mind reading doesn’t care about reality. Mind reading thrives on vibes.
As a millennial, I grew up decoding AIM away messages and cryptic Facebook statuses. Of course I think I’m skilled at interpreting subtext. But what therapy has gently (and repeatedly) pointed out is that I’m not interpreting—I’m projecting.
That’s the part that stings.
Because when I assume my friend is annoyed with me, it’s usually because I’m already annoyed with myself. When I assume I’m being excluded, it’s often because I feel insecure. Mind reading is less about their brain and more about mine.
Unfortunate plot twist.
The “She Didn’t Invite Me” Catastrophe
You’re scrolling Instagram. Casual. Hydrated. Unbothered. And then you see it. Two of your friends at brunch. Together. Without you.
Cue the internal monologue:
Oh. Okay. This is information.
My brain immediately launches into investigative mode.
Was I intentionally excluded?
Did I miss a group text?
Have I been slowly phased out?Is this about that one time I rescheduled book club in 2019?
Mind reading kicks in fast and loud:
They didn’t invite you because you’re too much.
You’re the backup friend.
They’re closer to each other than they are to you.
And here’s the kicker — I haven’t spoken to either of them yet. I have zero data. Just vibes and insecurity.
What Therapy Helped Me See (Reluctantly)
When I brought a version of this to therapy, I was fully prepared for validation. I wanted a supportive nod like, “Yes, that was clearly exclusion.”
Instead, I got: “What else could be true?” Again. Rude.
Other possibilities included:
It was spontaneous.
They ran into each other. It was a quick catch-up.
They assumed I was busy.
It genuinely had nothing to do with me.
The Part We Don’t Say Out Loud
Adult friendships aren’t exclusive contracts. They’re overlapping circles. Sometimes your circles intersect more. Sometimes less. It doesn’t automatically signal doom.
But mind reading doesn’t tolerate ambiguity well. It says, “If you weren’t included, it must mean something.” What I’m slowly learning is that sometimes it means… nothing. Sometimes it just means people made plans.
Wild.
What I Try to Do Now
Do I still feel the pang? Absolutely. I am human, not a monk.
But instead of spiraling into silent resentment, I try one of three things:
Reality check: Do I actually know why I wasn’t there?
Self-check: Is this hitting an old insecurity?
Connection move: Text something normal. “That brunch looked cute! Let’s plan one soon.”
Nine times out of ten, the response is warm. Inclusive. Loving.
The narrative I created dissolves immediately.
The Work-in-Progress Truth
Mind reading feels safer than asking.
If I decide you don’t care, I don’t have to risk hearing whether you do.
But every time I choose curiosity over assumption, I chip away at that distortion just a little.
I’m still messy. I still screenshot things and overanalyze timestamps. The goal isn’t to never feel left out. The goal is to stop turning a brunch photo into a friendship funeral or a personal affront.
And honestly? That’s enough progress for one millennial nervous system.
