A Hate Letter to Groups

This is a hate letter to groups. 

My social nemesis.

Let us begin:

1. I hate groups.

2. I believe they’re the worst form of social interaction.

3. The point of this letter is catharsis.

If I think of my favourite social experiences – those that filled me with the euphoria of deep bonding and left me grateful for life – how many of them happened in a group?

None.

My favourite conversations, my favourite connections, all happen below the number 3. That is, 2 people.

The last 3 years of my life are a montage of incredible connections: I was moved by the ethereal beauty of sitting side by side across a setting sun, unconsciously synchronising breathing and barely able to maintain eye contact - a moment indelibly imprinted in my memory; I gazed into eyes and felt a knowing that staring back at me was someone I’d continue to know for a lifetime; I’ve small-cried in embarrassed gratitude when a new friend helped me pack my overly full backpack so we could have time for one more conversation before my flight. I’ve felt more than is perhaps my right to feel in a single life-time. These experiences and countless others, precious and personal, were all shared with one other person.

My favourite conversations happen when the people I'm talking to feel safe enough to allow their essence to peek out. When they feel their silliness, seriousness and even shame are safe and invited to be present. I’ve learnt over the years that while I can provide emotional and social safety for most in a one-on-one setting, I struggle to do so for a group. Scaling safety is a skill I’ve yet to acquire.

Groups are lowered to the common denominator. The emotional safety of a group drops to that of the least safe person in it. The social fluidity of a group is also determined by the least socially skilled person in it. A group’s vibe is the average vibe of its people and as you know, you can't always choose who’s in a group.

Even on those rare occasions when a group consists of my favourite people, their various pathologies - the social-gunk we all carry - will combine and mix to create a larger social-emotional entity. The vibe of that organism can be wack. Wack like chocolate and orange together. Food-things that are delicious in isolation but in combination make my taste buds shudder. (chocolate-orange lovers don’t @ me)

I hate that people in groups don’t know how to make each other feel safe. That nowadays, most people are shit at socialising: they lack warmth, grace and charm. Charm and charisma, like many other social skills, seems to now mainly be in the domain of manipulators, performers and dark wizard types.

I hate that care and social connection are undervalued: they’re the skinny legs of top-heavy teenage gym rats. 

I hate that listening, as cliche as it sounds, is a lost art.

Sometimes, after a particularly draining group session, I find myself thinking humans are social creatures who’ve lost their primary skill.

Mostly, I hate the way I feel in groups. The over-stimulation. The cacophony of sensations, words and conflicting desires. The sickly sweet, jarring undercurrent of emotional conflict. On my right will be a friend who feels tired after a long day. What he wants, I feel, are gentle words and a back rub. On my left, another friend is unintentionally leaking small spikes of anger. I can sense he wants to talk about what's troubling him but will he feel comfortable enough to do so in front of a small audience? And while these 2 emotional universes are expanding, 4 people in the middle of the group are energetically discussing the pros and cons of cronuts, the pastry love child of doughnuts and croissants. It’s akin to standing in the middle of the audio-path of 4 speakers, each playing a different music station.

Groups are lands of awkwardness. I pray god give me the strength to withstand awkwardness.

Unfortunately, the way my life is set up I find myself in groups often. When I lived in London it was difficult to see everyone regularly. By regularly I mean once a month because London is a ridiculous city. If I didn’t meet up with friends in groups, there wasn't enough time to see them. There’s also this perplexing reality: people want to hang out in groups, they enjoy hanging out in groups, some even find one-to-ones too intense and prefer the ‘diffusion’ of groups.

Now, I don’t live in London and still I find it hard to see 1 friend for an extended period of time without having to sacrifice seeing others. If I want to avoid groups, I have to pick and choose which of my friends I see. And that’s before I get into all of the time spent explaining to person [X] why today I only want to see person [Y] and not them. It’s a frustrating logistical issue.

Groups, groups, groups.

Group dinners, group holidays, group parties, group work events. Even my family is a group.

Now if, having read my complaints, you were to helpfully tell me to have less friends, I'd say, “shut up.” ↓

link

I wish there was an insightful ending to this hate letter. A lesson or reconciliation. I wish I could tell you I’ve found a solution to the somatic friction I feel every time I’m in the middle of a collection of humans.

Nope. Instead, you’ll catch me again next week, sitting in a group, quarter-smiling, mostly-wincing - enjoying the company of friends yet feeling like I’m being electrocuted with every unspoken utterance. 

You see, the reason groups continue to win our life-long fight is they know my weakness - my internal fracture. They are aware that, more than I hate groups, I love many of the people that make them up. For those people, I'll keep sitting down for a cup of tea with the group-demon.

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I wrote this hate letter almost 4 months ago. At the time I was dissatisfied with the ending but I got, as I’d hoped, a lot of catharsis from finally giving words to a frequently aggravating and low-level painful part of my experience. It was also incredibly freeing to allow myself to write about something I disliked — to rant and momentarily drop the constant drive for gratitude.

After I wrote it, I began to make a conscious effort to talk about my hate for groups. I’d say I found groups uncomfortable when I was in them: as much as I could I’d share what was happening in my direct experience as it happened. I had already started this process half-way through 2022 but in 2023 I gave myself the space to verbalise the discomfort as much as I could. The reason for this was straightforward: I was ashamed of feeling uncomfortable in the groups and the best balm I know for shame is openness and honesty. Shame can’t fester in the internal crevices I frequently expose to the light, and talking is how I let in the light.

As I talked, 3 things happened: first, most people gasped and said, “you uncomfortable in groups? I would’ve never guessed!”. Second, friends asked helpful questions; they held space and allowed me to explore my experience, offered reframes and problem-solved with me. Third, a surprising number of people began to share their stories of discomfort with me. I heard, “god, me too” more times than I count.

Unexpectedly, as of the last month I’ve made an intentional effort to reduce the time I spend in groups, a goal that once seemed unattainable for a multitude of logistical and psychological reasons. Not only have I made an effort, I’ve succeeded.

Most importantly, however, and really the reason I’m writing this update section, is I’ve been noticing the volume of my discomfort in groups begin to lower. Instead of nails against chalkboard level of somatic-pain, it’s now often at ‘uncomfortably warm weather’. I can handle more awkwardness than ever could with far less system disturbance. I leave group hang-outs at most mildly uncomfortable or tired, but not harrowed, and I’m able to dive under the crashing waves of group conversations instead of being buffeted by them.

It’s not a romance-novel ending (my favourite) but I can discern a budding sense of calmness and equanimity I’m gingerly observing – careful to not make any sudden movements that may scare it away.

This newfound calm feels good. I’m hopeful.