Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Nov. 7, 2014
Throughout my twenties and early thirties, I found myself caught in a pattern of forming intense friendships with women who turned out to be as unsuitable as some of the partners I dated. The cycle was predictable: I would meet someone new, feel an instant spark over shared interests, and quickly develop a sense of closeness that I mistakenly labeled as “best friendship” long before any real bond had time to form.
I often overshared in the early stages, eager to offer support and encouragement that felt disproportionate to our limited history. I took pride in being the person she turned to in moments of crisis, which, given our short acquaintance, seemed to happen alarmingly often. But inevitably, I would falter during one of these melodramas, leading to accusations that I had let her down despite my initial enthusiasm.
Before long, the title of “best friend” became a weighty obligation, akin to a scratchy wool dress I couldn’t remove without help. Both of us were at fault; we rushed into the label of best friends without allowing the genuine connection to develop.
This pattern repeated itself several times—too many to count. Once I recognized the type of women I was consistently drawn to, I made an effort to look for warning signs and heed the unsettling feelings in my gut when something felt off. When I met Mia*, I believed I had finally figured it out.
Mia was eager to deepen our friendship, while I tried to be cautious. She was delightful and funny, and I enjoyed our time together. Yet, I often left our encounters feeling either exhausted or questioning my self-worth. Unable to articulate this discomfort, I let the friendship gain momentum, ignoring the red flags in pursuit of that coveted sisterly bond.
One evening at dinner, we had a conversation that stuck with me for its sting. “I’m going on a blind date,” I shared.
Mia, wiping her mouth, asked about my date. I mentioned the name of the man I was being set up with, and her expression shifted to disbelief. “Really? You’re being set up with him?”
“Yeah, why?” I inquired, feeling a sense of disappointment creeping in.
“Do you know what he looks like?”
“No. Is it terrible?”
“Not at all. He’s incredibly handsome and hilarious. I just don’t get it.”
In that moment, I felt a wave of insecurity; was I unattractive and dull?
Weeks later, when I received recognition from a prominent publication, Mia called me with a tone that felt off. “Looks like you had a good day,” she remarked, her words dripping with something I couldn’t quite identify.
As I shared the details of my writing assignment, she responded with skepticism. “How did you get such a great opportunity because of a photo?”
Her comments made me question my worth, igniting feelings of inadequacy. I realized that while she had a valid point about the arbitrary nature of the assignment, her delivery was undermining. It struck me that Mia was not a true friend; she was an underminer.
A turning point came when I heard Mike Albo discuss the concept of “underminers” on a podcast. This term resonated deeply and made me reconsider all my past friendships. I had unwittingly attracted underminers instead of genuine friends.
The realization that I was drawn to underminers was enlightening. These friendships, built on the quicksand of rushed intimacy, lacked the foundation of authentic connection. I recognized that I too had played a part in sabotaging the potential for true friendship by hastily labeling these women as best friends before genuinely getting to know them.
After Mia, I became more attuned to the signs of an underminer. I learned to trust my intuition, allowing me to navigate relationships with greater discernment. I chose to embrace friendships that developed authentically, free from the pitfalls of rushed connections.
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In summary, it’s crucial to recognize the difference between true friendship and relationships with underminers. By learning to slow down and truly engage with potential friends, we can create meaningful and supportive connections rather than superficial ones.