'The loneliness of always being a second tier friend.'

Picture this: You're out with your best friends. You're drinking wine, sharing a pizza, laughing about exes — everything's grand.

Then… one of your besties, let's call her Alice, says something that makes your heart stop.

"What's everyone wearing to Liz's wedding?"

Your heart didn't stop because you hadn't found the perfect outfit for Liz's wedding. Your heart stopped because you weren't invited to Liz's wedding in the first place.

Welcome to the world of being a second-tier friend — a position that's way more common than anyone wants to admit, and significantly more traumatic than anyone talks about.

For those blissfully unaware (lucky ducks), being a second-tier friend means you're definitely still in the group, but you're not in the group within the group. You're close enough to care about what's happening, but not quite close enough to be involved in making it happen.

It's like the friendship equivalent of business class — you're not stuck next to a crying baby in economy, but you're also not getting the good champagne either.

Here's what second-tier friendship actually looks like: You hear about plans after they've been locked in rather than while they're being brainstormed.

You're invited to celebrate the big stuff, but you're probably not on the planning committee.

You're in the main group chat, but somehow the really important conversations seem to happen in a different one that you're mysteriously not part of (cool, cool, cool).

The wedding thing though... that's where it gets brutal. While your first-tier friends are getting bridesmaid proposal boxes and hen's party planning duties, you're watching it all unfold through Instagram Stories like you're some kind of friendship stalker.

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You're invited to the wedding (if you're lucky), but definitely not the bridal shower. Or you could be invited to the hen's weekend but, unfortunately, you didn't make the cut on the special day.

Regardless, you spiral.

Did I only get invited to the bridal shower because they needed more money and someone else dropped out?

Did she not include me in the hen's party because I'm not fun enough?

The most humbling part about discovering you're second-tier is the realisation that the people you mentally filed under "my closest friends" clearly had a different filing system for you.

That mutual "we'll obviously be each other's bridesmaids" assumption you thought you had? Turns out it was very much a solo assumption (whoops).

The thing about second-tier friendship that no one really talks about is it's not actually personal. Or at least, it's not as personal as it feels.

Sometimes you're just operating with different friendship styles. Maybe you value deep, one-on-one connections while they prefer big group dynamics. Maybe you see friendship as something that can pick up where it left off, while they see it as something that requires constant maintenance.

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The reality is, most people have friendship tiers whether they consciously think about it or not. There are the "call at 3am" friends, the "definitely invite to the party" friends, the "tell them everything" friends, and the "catch up every few months" friends.

They're all valid relationships; they're just different levels of intensity and involvement.

Second-tier friends often find themselves in that slightly awkward middle ground where you care enough to feel left out, but you're not close enough to actually say anything about it.

The tricky part is managing your own expectations once you realise where you actually stand. It requires a bit of ego adjustment, sure. You might need to recalibrate how much energy you put into maintaining these relationships versus how much you get back.

But it also frees you up from overthinking every group chat response time or wondering why you weren't included in something.

Being a second-tier friend means you're not in the core group anymore. Maybe you never were. It's not dramatic, there's no falling out, but it still hurts. It's the quiet disappointment of realising you were holding on tighter to a friendship than the other person was.

When I found out I was a second-tier friend, it hurt. Like, a lot. But the pain didn't last long, because there's no one way to be a friend.

The way I see my first-tier friends isn't necessarily the way they see me. And maybe that's okay. Could I be a better friend? Probably. Could I check in more, be quicker to make plans, send more thoughtful messages? Yes, to all of that. And maybe, in doing those things, I'd move up in someone else's tier system.

But that's not really what I want from my friendships.

I don't want to earn my place through perfectly-timed texts or group chat participation points. I just want my friends to be there when it matters, and for them to know I'll always be there too. And my friends who probably classify me as second-tier do do all of that, and more.

So yes, it stings. Of course it does. But my love for these women hasn't faltered. Not even a little bit. They'll always have me in their corner, whether or not I'm in theirs.

If you want more from Emily Vernem, you can follow her on Instagram @emilyvernem.

Feature image: Canva.