When Calling Out Feels Like Pushing Away: Reflections on Friendship, Anxiety, and Collective Care
The conversation started innocently enough. A friend was frustrated—understandably so. Another member of our group had become visibly upset and dysregulated when plans didn’t accommodate her anxiety. The tension was palpable. My friend wanted to call it out.
“She needs to stop making everything about her anxiety,” they said. “It’s exhausting.”
I felt the weight of that moment. Not just the frustration, but the complexity underneath it. The desire to name something real, something difficult. And also, the risk of turning that naming into a kind of exile.
It made me pause.
As a therapist, I’ve spent years sitting with anxiety—not just in clients, but in myself, in relationships, in systems. Anxiety is sneaky. It doesn’t just live inside one person. It spreads. It pulls others into its orbit. It asks for accommodation, for safety, for control. And sometimes, it asks loudly.
But here’s the thing: anxiety isn’t the person. In narrative therapy, we externalise problems to create space between the person and the struggle. So instead of saying she’s being difficult, we might say anxiety is showing up strongly for her right now. That shift matters. It opens the door to compassion, curiosity, and collective responsibility.
Still, anxiety can be demanding. It can shape group dynamics, create tension, and leave others feeling like they’re walking on eggshells. And when that happens, it’s tempting to call it out—to draw a line, to protect the group, to name what feels unfair.
But I’ve been thinking about Vikki Reynolds’ work on resisting a “calling out” culture. She invites us to consider what happens when we call someone out in ways that isolate or shame. Often, it creates a position of exile. The person becomes “othered,” pushed to the margins, defined by their struggle rather than their humanity.
What if, instead, we leaned into calling in? Not in a soft, avoidant way—but in a way that honours complexity. That says: We see the impact of anxiety here. We feel it. And we also see you. We want to stay in relationship, even when it’s hard.
This doesn’t mean ignoring boundaries or pretending everything’s okay. It means resisting the pull to make someone the problem, and instead, naming the problem as something we can face together.
In that moment with my friend, I didn’t have a perfect response. But I did ask: What do you think anxiety is asking for in this situation? And what might we need, as a group, to stay connected while also feeling safe?
It wasn’t about taking sides. It was about making space for everyone’s experience, including the frustration, the overwhelm, and the longing for ease.
When Friendship Reveals Deeper Fault Lines
Sometimes, the tension we feel in friendships isn’t just about the moment—it’s about something deeper. A pattern. A wound. A mismatch in how we understand care, boundaries, or emotional labour.
When anxiety shows up in a group, it can expose underlying relational dynamics that have been quietly brewing. Maybe one person always takes on the role of caretaker. Maybe another feels unseen unless they’re in crisis. Maybe someone else feels like they’re always the one adjusting, accommodating, holding space.
These aren’t just personality quirks—they’re relational strategies, often shaped by early experiences, trauma, or systemic pressures. And when they clash, it can feel like the friendship itself is breaking down.
But what if the friendship isn’t broken—just asking for repair?
Calling out can feel like a boundary, but sometimes it’s a reaction to deeper exhaustion. A signal that something in the relationship has been unsustainable for a while. That care has become one-sided. That needs have gone unmet.
In those moments, it’s worth asking:
- What are the relational patterns at play here?
- What’s being asked of each person, and is it fair?
- Is this a moment for calling in, or is it a sign that the relationship needs to be reimagined?
Not all friendships survive these reckonings. But some do—especially when we’re willing to name the fundamental issues with compassion, and to explore what repair might look like.
Collective care isn’t just about soothing anxiety. It’s about honouring the complexity of relationships, and being brave enough to face what’s underneath the surface.