'I was the social planner of my friendship group. Then a comment made me stop.'

It's a Sunday night. The group chat is a chaotic mosaic of friends from high school, work, and those girls from the bathroom who handed me a tissue when I was sobbing over a guy.

One is asking if the bar has vegan options; another is asking if they can bring a friend; most are merely giving my message a perfunctory 'heart react' to acknowledge they're coming to drinks the following Tuesday.

In times like these, where all my friends are invited to the same event, I feel like a 'friendship Cupid' — shooting my arrow and hoping the platonic sparks fly.

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As I'm the one who loves bringing people together, it's up to me to organise events like these. Ironically enough, I am not in the slightest bit organised. In fact, if you spoke to my friends and family, they would laugh at the notion.

I am criminally bad at responding to messages; I'm constantly losing my keys; and I have never once made a travel itinerary. Don't worry, I am in the midst of getting an ADHD diagnosis.

But when it comes to a group night out, suddenly I have the organisation skills of Monica Geller in Friends.

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I know, I know. It's a risky venture to combine groups. What if a joke lands with friendship Group A but elicits raised eyebrows from Group C? What if someone is left consumed by social anxiety when their only friend doesn't show up?

But in my head, the maths should make sense!!

I get along with Friend A.

I get along with Friend B.

So A + B must = instant best friends? Right?

Unfortunately, real life doesn't always pan out like it does in my imagination. If that were the case, I would be writing this from a yacht, and Harry Styles would be handing me a cocktail.

The truth is, some personalities simply don't mix, and there's nothing worse than being in the room when they don't.

So I'm happily playing friendship Cupid and organising drinks — until a comment from a friend changes everything.

I feel like I'm competing for your time in group settings. It makes me lonely.

It feels like a punch to the gut. Isolating my friends is the exact opposite of what I'm trying to achieve, and it sends me into a spiral.

Am I selfish? Desperate for approval and validation from a crowd? No, I just want all my friends to be included — right?

But is that what they want?

It's not that I hate smaller gatherings. Heck, I live with my best friend of 11 years, and we spend every waking moment together, just the two of us.

Before now, my mantra has always been 'the more, the merrier' for nights out, but my friend's comment prompts me to re-evaluate that. Because no matter my intention, I don't want to dilute the quality of my individual friendships, or make anyone feel neglected.

Now, I've started channelling my Monica Geller-esque social planning skills into more intimate hangs.

And, as much as my past self would hate to admit it, it is a heck of a lot easier. I'm not worried about seating arrangements or inside jokes being missed, and booking tables isn't nearly as tricky.

Of course, I haven't completely given up on group hangs. Oh, no. I'll always love the chaos and energy of being the 'friendship Cupid'. But, as cliché as it sounds, it's all about balance.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to book next week's bar. Anyone got suggestions for a place with killer nachos and just a hint of awkwardness to start? Asking for a friend. Or 10.

Feature Image: Friends/Warner Bros. Television