A case against being useful

An argument for connection over function

I am going to make an argument that sounds fundamentally wrong, especially coming from a Nigerian woman, an Eldest Daughter, no less.

I think I’m done with being a “useful” friend. This sentiment feels like a form of blasphemy, akin to saying “I’m done with breathing” or “Rice is trash.” It simply doesn’t compute in a life that has been, from its inception, a performance of usefulness.

My whole life, and the lives of many like me, has been built on a currency of function. From the second I could walk, I was useful: fetching something, holding a sibling, or “being mature.” The praise for this behavior was sweet and reinforcing: “Ah, see my daughter. “She’s so efficient at doing so and so thing”. I learned quickly that my value was not in who I was, but in what I did for people. I became a function, and I dragged that deep, internal programming straight into my adult friendships, which is precisely where it began to fail me.

At 32, I live alone, run a business, and even manage a community space. My life is not empty; my phone is full, and my calendar is manageable. And yet, I am often profoundly lonely. This is not a loneliness born from a lack of people, but a loneliness that comes from being the node, the hub, The Fixer. It is the isolation of realizing that everyone seems to call for a reason: to edit a CV, to listen to the same story about the same terrible partner, to get advice on a business plan, or simply to have someone “handle it.” My friendships started to feel like a second job, a shift I never clocked out of.

I would hang up the phone after an hour of “fixing” someone’s life and feel hollowed out, just bone-tired. This exhaustion bred resentment, which was quickly followed by guilt for feeling resentful. After all, wasn’t I supposed to be the “good” friend? But what is a “good friend”? Is it a free therapist, a project manager, a personal assistant, or a 24/7 crisis hotline? For the longest time, I believed the answer was yes. I was here to be useful.

Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash

The problem with being the useful friend is that you become a utility, like NEPA: people only notice you when you’re not working or when you fail to provide the expected service. The moment you are, for one second, human, it’s a disruption. In this dynamic, the real self gets buried. The “you” that just wants to talk about a recent book they read, or that is, sometimes, a complete mess with no solutions for anyone. That version of you is inconvenient. That you is, by this definition, useless.

So, this is my formal case: I am making an argument for “useless” friendships. I am actively, awkwardly, and sometimes painfully trying to build friendships that have no point, that are not a transaction, and where my only “function” is to show up and simply be. I want friendships where we can sit in my apartment in total silence, reading our own books, and it isn’t weird. I want someone to call me not with a five-alarm fire, but just to say, “The traffic on Eko Bridge is mad, I’m just bored.” I am seeking friendships that are soft, easy, and reciprocal. I want to be loved for my presence, not my performance.

This shift requires learning new, uncomfortable skills. I am learning to say “No,” or “Babe, I don’t have the capacity for this right now.” I am learning to not offer a solution, to just listen and say, “Wow, that sounds incredibly hard,” and then stop. To be clear, this is not a case for abandoning friends in their moments of genuine need; rather, it is a case against a dynamic where “need” is the only mode of interaction.

Those who understand this exhaustion know how difficult it is to simply enjoy people outside of a function. I am learning to show up as just me.

I am making a case for enjoying my friends, and for them to simply enjoy me.

No agenda, no solutions, no use. Just connection. Imagine that.