In defense of (not) cancelling

(Or the case for showing up)

I just dropped my friend off to afternoon drinks. On the drive there, she read aloud the name of yet another person who’d cancelled, bemoaning the fact the numbers were dwindling. Yet, among the friends who did still show, one was coming off the back of night shift, another was unwell, and a third, the girl who had organised the drinks, drove straight from a funeral.

Mental health talk entered our vernacular over the last decade, slowly, and then seemingly all at once, for millennials and the generations under us. Now, in 2025, feeling mentally drained’, ‘protecting my peace’ or needing to ‘prioritise self-care’ are predictable texts to receive en route to a catch-up or while getting ready to leave.

What makes this most difficult to navigate, is that there doesn’t seem to be anything we’re allowed to say in response. To do so – to express sadness or disappointment, to question further, to reply with anything that will make the other party feel guilt, is to be deemed unempathetic. Now, not only have your plans been cancelled, but you’ll make your tongue bleed from biting it so hard.

It hasn’t always been this way – not just the mental health talk, but the flakiness that plagues our generation. Where once you’d be leaving someone literally out in the cold for not showing up, (and them likely wondering if you’d ended up in A&E), courtesy of no mobile phones, now – retreating to the safe-haven of one’s duvet is just a text message away.

But at what cost does this come? When you cancel - your peace might be protected, but whose is being neglected in the process? What individual needs have your prioritised over and above those of your loved ones, your community? With so much talk of a loneliness epidemic, could part of the miracle cure lie in just simply showing up?

Jemima Kirke on our generation’s obsession with ourselves

One of the most difficult parts of being cancelled on, in the age of social media, is seeing all that the ‘cancellee’ put ahead of you. The other friends they saw, the boyfriend they chose instead. After a while, it’s difficult not to take personally where you seemingly fit in the list of importance in their lives. The priming messages don’t help. The ones that let you know a day before they ‘might’ make it, are always an early warning sign, you’re about to be bailed on. They know it more than you - their ‘maybes’ are a smoke signal they’ve spent all week constructing.

Part of the sadness in this whole exercise is that quite often, turning up might be just what the person needs. I can count numerous times when I haven’t felt the energy for something, or anxiety has taken over, but showing up helped me break out of whatever mood I was stuck in, and reminded me there was a world outside my head.

There’s a time for rest, yes, but it’s not always the answer. What might be good for the body – lying in, or having a couch day, is not always good for the brain. And whilst we might fear the initial discomfort – putting on the clothes, turning up to a crowded bar, often there’s a reward in doing the hard things.

One of these rewards, although it might be cliché to say, is that often being a good friend, just feels good. There’s a particular look I’ve received from friends on odd occasions, and I know it because I’ve given it out too. It’s a look of gratitude that you came, that you think this person, this event, is important to you. Not only do I want others to show up for me, but I want to be the type of friend who shows up for them too.

There will of course, always be caveats – a serious illness, an actual emergency, a genuine oversight in someone’s calendar, but there will be something about the tone here that sets these apart from a flaky excuse. It’s the lack of defensiveness, the genuine apology, the offer to make it up to you and reschedule for a later time.

Not cancelling isn’t the answer to all the world’s ills. It’s a small act, but it’s something. I encourage everyone to commit to it. For you, for your friend, for your sense of community - just show up.