If I asked you whether you’d ever experienced a falling out with a platonic friend, whose name springs to mind for you?
Is there one name, or multiple?
When I think of mine, a very familiar icky feeling looms in the pit of my stomach. It’s the very same feeling I’ve experienced following a break-up; like a hangover that won’t ease. It’s a sucks-the-confidence-out-of-you kind of sick. Sheer heartbreak.
Our friendships are often some of our most prized possessions. Some friendships last for many years and are entwined by deep, personal memories. Other friendships are shorter, but by no means less significant. I’m going to refer to these simply as our close friendships.
Friendships can remain a constant during our lives’ most tumultuous times: through high school dramas, family loss, stinging breakups, and bad bosses. We call our friends when we get engaged, need advice on a dress, or advice on a Hinge date. We call our friends when we’re facing serious illness, when a loved one passes, or when the pulls of depression feel too strong.
I’ve had a number of close friends throughout my life, each unique in their personality, interests and the regularity with which we’d speak. In some instances, we’ve moved away and simply grown apart. In others, the very real and raw reality of the friendship breakup has ensued. These are the friendships I want to shed light on.
We call our friends when we’re facing serious illness, when a loved one passes, or when the pulls of depression feel too strong.
I’m not unfamiliar with the pain of watching a special friendship demise. I’ve been kept up at night for weeks, months, considering all avenues of where it’s gone wrong. It can be an isolating experience, torn between scenarios and excuses. Had I done something? Said something? Am I not enough anymore? I’d have preferred they’d been mad at me than over me: at least there’d be a call for reconciliation.
I wonder then how this happens; how seemingly close-knit pals who know everything about each other - from their to-go wine orders to best orgasm stories - can suddenly not speak. If no argument was had, what reason do we give ourselves for losing them?
As a friendship commences a downward slope, we may find ourselves acting as the instigator - the person who makes the plans, puts in the effort, and keeps the relationship going.
I’ve driven hours to visit friends who no longer live in town. On hearing of break-ups, I’ve been the first one to call. I once wrote a character reference for a friend’s partner to support their visa application.
For some close friends, there’s no return in the favour. No calls. No visits. No character references. So, you can see how I wonder if I’ve misstepped. Misjudged. Or plain misunderstood how close we really are.
I’d have preferred they’d been mad at me than over me: at least there’d be a call for reconciliation.
The very concept of friendship is broad enough. We often gravitate toward others who are like us - in the ways we think, act, and in the things we believe. Factors like age, religious beliefs, race and upbringing can play a role. Our connection to someone can depend on whether or not these important personal identifiers are the same.
When I think about the friends I’ve fallen out with over the years, they’ve typically been people who have mirrored me in the above. But when our ages, religious beliefs, races and upbringings remain unchanged, what drives us away from one another when once we were so drawn together?
Friendships change as lives get busy. People enter new or more complex relationships with their significant others, people have children, people throw themselves into their careers, people travel, move, or take a step back from the world altogether in search of a softer life. While our friends can be there to ride the wave with us, some aren’t so eager, particularly if those friends’ life choices don’t synchronise with ours.
For some, instances of disconnect like these can be enough to disjoin a friendship entirely. Sometimes, we’re okay with this; we see these shifts as gifts from the universe, simply reminding us that ‘everything happens for a reason’ and not to take it personally. But for those of us who see a friendship as close, this falling out can be devastating.
We get ghosted - left on read and left off invitations. We see those friends less and less, with fewer texts and social tags in between. Milestone birthdays come and go with little more than a ‘like’, and news worth sharing isn’t shared at all.
In the dating world, ghosting’s sister - ie. zombied - is doing the rounds on TikTok. Much like what happens in some friendships, people will ghost you only to dubiously reappear later. This inconsistency can cause even the most level-headed of us to doubt ourselves.
When romantic partners toy with our hearts, we confront them; we call them out on their shitty behaviour. So why don’t we do this with our friends? On reading an essay by The New York Times writer Catherine Pearson, advice lingers on ghosting our friend right back. A semblance of verbal acknowledgement is mentioned, but not insisted on (she’d be right in believing I’d felt I’d already given it my all).
We each define friendship in different ways. We also see our individual friends as serving unique roles in our lives, just as we serve a unique role in theirs. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t sat on the other side of the fence; that I hadn’t pulled away from a friend I knew wasn’t right for me. To them, I’d say: it’s not your fault - we just don’t click.
Are we really as cruel as we worry we are if we speak our truth? Is ghosting not only the easier way out, but the smarter for the long-term sake of their mental health and our reputation?
I’ve found that with age, experience and quite frankly, more pivotal things taking up my time, better understanding others’ definitions of friendship has brought me some solace. I’m someone who’s grown up thinking higher of others than I do myself; who would often ask themselves why another person would actually want to be friends with me.
These days, I’m putting in the effort to turn that narrative around. Prioritising my own happiness doesn’t make me selfish, it makes me admirable. While there’s something really special about being a person who cares deeply for their friends, a mirror of that care needn’t be assumed or expected. In as much as we can want our friends to be there, knowing that you are to them in their way can also be enough.
It’s tough. There’s no right way to ‘win’ a friend back or stop its demise entirely. If there’s anything here you can take away, know that you’re not alone. Because losing a friend is one of the most isolating experiences there is, but we’ve all been there. And who knows, a friendship lost on one person could very well mark a friendship gained for someone new.
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