Political Friendship: Beyond Convenience, Bound by Care
As the leaves shift and the air sharpens, autumn reminds us of the gift in reciprocity that allows for survival and sustainability. The harvest was never meant to be hoarded. It was meant to be shared, gathered around fires, stored in cellars, passed between neighbours. Nourishment is communal - not for the sake of ease but to sustain life. In human relationships, we often crave that same reliability: the sense that our friends will show up no matter what. However, tension is created when enduring care meets self sacrifice. Reciprocity allows for the practice of navigating this ongoing rhythm of giving and receiving. It may sometimes be uneven and inconvenient, but is always shaped by respect.
In the therapy room, I often witness a wrestling with questions around giving and taking: Why does friendship feel so hard sometimes?
Why don’t people just show up when I need them?
Am I asking too much?
Underneath these questions is a cultural myth — that relationships should be effortless, convenient, and free from friction. But friendship, when guided by homonoia, by political friendship, demands something more honest: that you can trust to show up when it matters, even when it’s hard, while also trusting a “no” to be the most respectful answer.
When we talk about political friendship, we’re talking about how friendship and care resist the isolating myths of perfect harmony, individualism, and connection as a transaction. Queer communities have long modeled this in the building of chosen kin and re-focusing on interdependence and community. In these spaces, there is a recognition of the power of sharing housing during crisis, raising each other’s kids, tending grief when families disappear. These friendships are radical because they resist abandonment. And they last because they also make space for honesty, repair, and boundaries. Without reciprocity and respect, care can sour into obligation. Without inconvenience, connection risks becoming shallow. Reciprocity is not scorekeeping but rather offering honest care as a radical act of love, and recognizing how each person is unconditionally a part of the woven fabric.
As we take stock of our harvest and huddle together in the upcoming season, how can our actions more deeply speak: I’ll hold you when you’re tired, and I trust you’ll hold me when I am. Not always at the same time. Not always in perfect balance. But over the long arc of connection.
To balance the polarity of:
staying with, in the messiness, without retreating
and
stepping back when limits are reached by naming boundaries with clarity and care,
here is an invitation to pause and ask:
Where am I willing to stretch for a friend, even when it’s inconvenient?
Where do I need to honor my limits so that care feels genuine and not resentful?
How can I communicate these boundaries without withdrawing love?
Embody your knowing, perhaps by noticing where you’ve been tempted to step back because things felt hard and offer an invitation of care that honours both your and their capacities.
The harvest is never perfect. But friendship — especially political friendship — is about refusing to abandon one another when it would be easier, and trusting that reciprocity and respect will keep the bond alive.
