The Friendship Breakup That Cracked Me Open

I woke up on the morning of my 34th birthday and was hit with a massive wave of grief, because I knew I wasn’t going to hear from a friend.

Ex-friend, that is.

And even though I knew it was coming, there was something about not hearing from her that just made it all feel so real.

It was the nail in the coffin. The realization that it really was over. And that feeling has been the theme of my whole year. Not feeling seen. Not feeling recognized. And feeling missed, by the people closest to me.

I’ve been wondering why I keep feeling that way. And the question I’ve landed on is, do I feel safe to be my authentic self with the people I love? Or am I performing?

And as I’ve been toning down the performative part of me who claims, “everything is fine” when it’s totally not — unmasking, and finding the courage to be more authentically myself —I’ve started to notice what it costs.

All of the relationships I’ve later realized were more performative than authentic are either fading away naturally, or coming to a head and blowing up.

This one most definitely fell on the blow-up side.

I just want to name that I feel absolutely terrified about sharing this. And also, I want to acknowledge that there are two sides to the friendship breakup story. She has hers and I have mine. I’ve gone back and forth on whether or not this is appropriate to be shared publicly. But ultimately, I want to share my version of the story because I need to get it off my chest. And I have a suspicion that if I talk about this openly and honestly, and let myself be seen in my pain, it will connect me to others going through their own version of it.

I have this thing where I don’t want to get the details twisted — it’s a huge wound for me. From my childhood experiences of not being validated and my emotions not being attuned to, I’ve developed this belief that I am too much. I’m too dramatic. I exaggerate stories, blow things out of proportion, and straight up make shit up. I’m working through a story that my reality is skewed, the other side of the story is always the more valid one, and I’m just living in la la land.

But I’m going to name it anyway, because I need to say it out loud: this breakup fucking hurt me. And I’m still hurting from it.

This was one of my closes friends in my adult life. And we’ve been through so many different seasons together.

We’d been single together throughout our twenties, making jokes like well, if there are no prospects out there, at least we have each other — all while desperately yearning for romantic partnerships, bouncing between situationships, and often commiserating over the suckery of the dating world. But whenever one of us was seeing someone, it would cause this weirdness in the dynamic. This was one of my first red flags in the relationship.

When I met my husband things happened very quickly and it was a whirlwind. It was a lot for me to metabolize. And that’s one of the things that’s stung me the most in this breakup. Because so much of the rupture revolved around how much I had “changed” since meeting my husband.

As if it was my husband and not motherhood that triggered the rupture.

You don’t think meeting someone and getting pregnant 3.5 months later was hard for me to process? You think this is a hard pill for you to swallow? I literally just met this person… I know it’s all fucking crazy. Yes, I’m happy. Yes, I want it to happen. But you don’t think this is a lot for me too?

But I didn’t feel like I could say those things out loud… to anyone. I had to be happy so that no one would worry about me. Because if I admitted that I too, was scared and freaked out, everyone around me would have freaked out even more.

At least that was the story I was telling myself.

From the outside it could’ve looked like two things: A romantic, whimsical whirlwind. Swept up by my knight in shining armor and riding off into my beautiful new life. Or the most chaotic curve ball that was bound to fail because I was (once again) being incredibly impulsive and diving head first into a new life adventure that I would inevitably grow tired of. Either way, my vibe seemed to communicate something to the people around me along the lines of, fuck all of you guys! I’m outta here!!

Not gonna lie, it was a little mix of the two. We should’ve been doomed. The cards were absolutely stacked against us. But that’s a story for another time.

The point is my whimsical whirlwind romance suddenly got super serious. And I had to get my ducks in a row… and fast. My husband and I had to hastily figure out how to merge our lives, our families (we had only met each others parents once or twice). We had to have really serious conversations about really serious things on a timeline that felt wayyy too soon. And in the meantime, I had to find service providers, figure out how to take care of a pregnant body, not to mention… I had to birth a whole ass baby!!!! All while getting to know someone at the same time.

Plain and simple: I didn’t have time for my friendships. And as things continued accelerating in my life, the time between our interactions kept getting longer.

We had a conversation about one year before the official breakup where I tried to express that I was feeling extremely overwhelmed with my life. With the pressure to keep up with people and friendships. And the grief I was feeling that things we’re drifting, even though everyone was saying that was normal in this season of life. It took a lot out of me to name that I really needed a friendship where I wasn’t the one initiating the plans. Where, for a time, plans needed to revolve more around my life at home with my family. I was willing to get together and hang out, but I had to prioritize my kids first. And so if that meant coming over for 90 minutes during a nap window, that’s how it had to be for me to make it work.

I thought things were going to shift after that conversation. But they didn’t. I continued to do the reaching. I continued to overextend myself. Which would lead to me inviting her over and then canceling last minute because one of the kids were sick, I was sick, kids’ schedules or moods changed as they do, or because I was just genuinely too tired and run down from taking care of everyone.

After a handful of last minute cancellations, she expressed her dissatisfaction with the dynamic. She told me the relationship had started to feel very one-sided. And that I was being too flaky and non-committal to keep giving energy to the friendship. She expressed that she was giving and giving and giving, and meanwhile, I was putting in no effort and not appreciating her relentless ‘above and beyond’ efforts as a friend.

I wasn’t shocked when I received the message. If I’m being completely honest, reaching out to her started feeling like a chore. Like something I would throw on my mental to-do list and then keep shoving to the bottom of the scroll.

And it might sound harsh, but the truth is, the friendship just wasn’t my priority anymore. I had birthed two babies in just over two years! I was barely keeping my head above water. I wasn’t taking real care of myself. I was still getting to know my husband. I was totally and completely drowning in double postpartum. And I had no idea how to be a person let alone a good friend.

When I told her I was feeling similarly, that I needed different things from the friendship in this phase of life I’d been catapulted into, she didn’t accept it. I expressed, again, that I needed someone to reach into me. To take liberties, to come over, to hold me through a season I was struggling through.

Instead of hearing me, she was offended that I could possibly feel similarly. And then she shared what looked like almost receipts. A list. Look at all the things I’ve done for you over the last three years… and what have you done?

The moment I realized she was keeping score, I knew it was over. Because I’m not interested in a relationship with a scoreboard.

And for those of you who are mothers, you know that friendships in motherhood can’t include a tally list of whose done what. It just can’t. And I don’t feel like I need to explain why.

I melted into a puddle after she sent the list of receipts. I tried to call. I wanted to have a reasonable conversation with the intention of saying, woah, even if this is the end, I think we’re completely missing each other here. You’re sharing your experience, but you’re not giving me space to share mine.

And one of the last things she said to me was, I don’t even recognize you anymore. And you are going to look back and regret all of the amazing people you walked away from.

I’m not going to lie… I found some humor in that. And I got on my high horse a little, because it cut me deep. Oh, a childless person is telling me I was going to regret leaving my soulless lifestyle behind, when she had no idea all I had just gained? And by the way… Motherhood forced me to prioritize. It’s not personal, babe!!! No, sorry. I can’t go on that girls trip. I can’t meet you at that hot new lunch spot on a Saturday afternoon. I’m not going out to the bars with the old crew. I don’t have that type of time luxury anymore. I’m keeping two humans alive! And you have no idea what the hell I’m going through!!

But in my anger I also felt this stinging that I had been so incredibly missed. I didn’t intend to leave these people in the dust. My life did a complete 180 before my eyes and I had no choice but to let go of an old version of me to make space for an entirely new one. I felt totally and completely out of control.

And I can’t even blame her for saying it, because there was such a lack of honesty on my end when things weren’t feeling good far earlier in the dynamic. And instead of being honest when things started feeling bad for me, I blindsided her after multiple months of avoiding her. She felt abandoned by me. But to me, I was just finally telling the truth.

But the thing that hurt the most was that one line.

I don’t recognize you anymore.

I’ve sat with that one for months.

When she first sent it, I scoffed. Well, you don’t recognize me because you haven’t gotten to know the Me that is a mother. I even sent her a 15 minute voice note when she wouldn’t pickup the phone. Trying to explain myself. My hurt. My pain. Trying to tell her that she had it all wrong, that my life was in fact great, better than great! While simultaneously slipping in lines like, “I’ve been drowning” and, “you have no idea what I’m going through,” And that one day, if she chooses to become a mother, I hope that she has a friend who reaches in to her when she needs it most.

And while there’s truth to the first sentiment, that she hasn’t gotten to know me as a mother, there was another really harsh truth beneath the surface.

Because when that friendship broke, I realized I didn’t recognize myself either.

I had this beautiful life. Everything I could have dreamed of. But the one thing I didn’t have a wrap on was a deeper relationship with myself inside all of this newness I was experiencing. I was still calibrating. I was still figuring out who I was in this new reality. And despite deeply loving my husband and my kids, I was struggling to find my way back to myself.

But being honest with her in that moment — about how I was feeling, about how she was treating me — that was me recognizing myself. That was me standing up for me. That was me telling the truth. And even though that’s what severed the relationship, it’s what set me on fire too.

Yeah, you don’t recognize me anymore. Because I’ve become someone entirely different. Motherhood quite literally forced me to stop being a performed version of myself. So I don’t have the capacity to be anything but Me.

And somehow, I feel like I’ve never been more myself while having no idea who the fuck I am.

So you’re uncomfortable with me responding in a way thats Truthful. Rightfully so, because in the past I’d abandon myself to perform the version of me I thought you needed me to be.

But I can’t be that person for you anymore.

Or anyone else for that matter.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. I wonder what she’s doing. How she is. I wonder if I’m going to run into her. I wonder if I’d have the courage to thank her for showing me what I needed to see, exactly when I needed to see it.

Because even though her words stung, and the way she handled things was incredibly hurtful, I commend her for standing her ground in that moment. And I have so much gratitude for that one sentence.

I don’t recognize you anymore.

That single sentence sent me on the most wonderfully challenging rollercoaster.

It’s what encouraged me to start following what makes me feel alive again. It’s what made me want to take my writing seriously. And it forced me to take inventory of all the relationships, environments, and experiences in my life where I was engaging in a way that I didn’t recognize as my own.

Yes, I’m sad that I lost my friend. I’m sad that I feel missed. I often feel anxiety about the possibility that she’s telling people how I was the most horrible friend. The grief comes and goes in waves, for different reasons, far more often than I expected.

But I’m also grateful. Because it was the smack-in-the-face I needed exactly when I didn’t want it.

To stop being dishonest with myself and the people around me. To stop withholding my truth to make others feel comfortable. To stop hiding the vulnerable parts of myself in fear that I am too much. To stop letting things fester and build up long enough for someone to start keeping a list on me.

To stop abandoning myself inside of my own life.

And to create a life where I so deeply and fully recognize myself inside of it that if anyone crosses paths with me and doesn’t see me, doesn’t like what I’m doing, doesn’t agree with my decisions — it doesn’t matter.

I still don’t know what I’d do if I ran into her tomorrow.

She probably still wouldn’t recognize me.

But I finally do.