Dear Roe,
This is more of a friendship question than a romantic relationship question. I am a big gift-giver, and always get my friends a really nice gift for birthdays or any life milestones. It was my birthday recently, and many of my closest friends did not get me a present. I know it’s nothing personal, but I was a bit hurt by it. I know cost of living is high and people don’t have as much disposable income, but I would have expected at least a card, or for them to buy me a coffee. I feel weird not getting them anything for their own birthdays that will be coming up soon. If this was a romantic relationship, I would have a conversation with my partner about expectations around gift-giving etc, but as it’s with friends, should I let it slide?
Gift-giving season may have come and gone, but this feels like a good question to address as you move into the new year, and resolve to create a new relationship with gift-giving, your friends, and yourself this year.
I understand that a friendship wound that looks like a missing birthday present is never really about paper, ribbon, or price tags; it is about the millisecond of warmth that says: I thought of you, love you, and here is a thing to make you happy.
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I recognise this ache deeply, because I too am a gift-giver. I have frequently described myself as a deranged crow, constantly bringing pebbles and shiny things to the humans I love as an offering of affection. I don’t turn up to events empty-handed, I send care packages when my friends are sick and flowers when they win, I keep a running list of gift ideas in my phone so no birthday goes unnoticed, and I go big at Christmas. This used to bring me unfiltered joy.
Note: used to. However, in the past few years I have suddenly found myself surrounded by people who have children with seemingly constant birthday parties; an endless parade of (mostly abroad) weddings; some housewarmings; and a lot of new people in my life to think about at Christmas.
I am not married, have no kids, a freelance journalist’s salary, and have deep-rooted anxiety about throwing myself any form of party, birthday or otherwise, which means that over the past four years, I suddenly found myself spending an inordinate amount of money on other people when I was not getting gifts or celebrations back – not out of other people’s neglect or malice, but because toddlers don’t buy you presents (how rude), and if you don’t tell people it’s your birthday or have socially acknowledged “gift-receiving” milestones happening in your life, you can indeed fall through the cracks. So my sympathies are fully with you here.
(Note to readers: check in with your single friends, your friends without kids, the gift givers in your life, or the people who haven’t been celebrated lately and throw some effort in their direction. It will mean more than you know.)
But here is the turning point, delivered without gift wrap because change is expensive and the truth is free: when I found myself genuinely angry while buying gifts that I knew wouldn’t be reciprocated, or that caused me financial panic, or emotional depletion, I realised the issue wasn’t other people – it was that I was failing to set boundaries that protected me; I was starting to measure relationships through objects instead of efforts and presence; and I was conflating “sending gifts” with “being a good friend/person”.
This mindset was putting pressure on me and was making me judge others by a standard they had never agreed to or even been informed of – which, let’s be honest, is a bit like marking someone’s homework on a syllabus you never sent them.
Gift-giving and celebration may be your language, and you can invite your friends to know it – but don’t ask them to speak it fluently without a little translation first
Here’s the truth most of us learn too late: not all love we are offered feels like the love we give. Many wonderful friends are terrible gift-givers, not because they are cheap, uncaring or indifferent, but because gifts simply aren’t how they instinctively express devotion.
Their care might come as listening, remembering details, showing up when it matters, sending memes that say “I get you”, or assuming quietly that you know you’re cherished. And other people have budgetary constraints or are mired in responsibilities and have to let some things fall.
Again: that’s not an indictment of character or a sign that the relationship isn’t important to them, it’s just life. I am both fully in favour of everyone celebrating each other, and of extending as much grace as possible.
This doesn’t mean you have to give up hope of feeling celebrated, or that you have to erase your own generosity, but you can edit it and start making some things more explicit. You can check in with people lightly by asking, “Are we doing gifts this year?” before birthdays and holidays, because clarity is kindness and unexpressed expectation is the breeding ground for resentment.
As your birthday approaches, you are allowed to say that you’d love a celebration. You could say “I realised birthdays feel really meaningful to me in the little rituals – cards, a moment together, even just a coffee. It makes me feel celebrated. No pressure, I just wanted to share because I realised it’s part of how I connect.” Gift-giving and celebration may be your language, and you can invite your friends to know it – but don’t ask them to speak it fluently without a little translation first.
When you tell them what is important to you, watch what happens next, to see if they respond with enthusiasm at the opportunity to celebrate you. If they do, wonderful, and if they don’t, that is also useful, because you now have some important information to help shape your next move.
You are also allowed to organise your own celebrations, not in the spirit of martyrdom but in the spirit of agency. I have yet to work up to a birthday party, but I have organised dinners for friends where we celebrate our year’s overlooked achievements and milestones, which means I get to celebrate mine, too. Be the you-celebrating person you want to see in the world, and see who follows.
To avoid resentment, set your own quiet boundaries around your gift-giving: don’t conflate gifts with affection; only make the effort that feels right to you; and if your mood will be ruined by giving someone a gift that they don’t reciprocate in kind, then don’t do it, because giving from deficit can quickly curdle into resentment.
I have told certain people: “I’m on a really tight budget right now but love you fiercely and would love to hang out.” I write long cards more now and spend less; and I am trying to focus on enjoying quality time instead of relying on gifts as a stand-in for visibility, affection, belonging, ritual, milestone, proof, or existential reassurance (it really is shocking how many jobs we make a scented candle do).
This shift has meant I enjoy all my relationships more – and when I do give a gift, I am genuinely thrilled to do it, because giving from abundance expands you, giving from pressure compresses you, and no friendship deserves to be graded on a test it never agreed to sit.
So keep being a glorious, deranged crow giving shiny pebbles to the people you love, but don’t overextend yourself, and don’t overlook the ways other people are more like dogs gifting pure enthusiasm, or owls delivering midnight wisdom via voice notes, or bees delivering warmth through tiny engineered moments. They may not be pebbles, but it’s still all love.
