the lost friend

✨when an adulthood friendship ends✨

I lost a friend—one I cared for like family. Our friendship was birthed through motherhood, and I’d assumed we’d be close for the long haul, but we didn’t make it.

From the outside, the friendship ended unceremoniously, falling away slowly over the past few years. But within me, it’s felt like my long-time, tightly-held grip on a friendship that I’ve desperately wanted to keep, has tired out and given way.

I recently revisited our text thread, which was oddly cathartic. It ends with me sending her birthday wishes, a few seasons back, and she thanked me. And that’s the end of the back and forth text bubbles that scroll back for years. Unintentionally keeping score, I felt a silent blow when my recent birthday passed without a new bubble on her side of the thread.

Many friendships can withstand a communication drop off—many of mine do; one of my closest friends and I took a 30 year hiatus (read about it here)—but this one's different, because our drifting hasn't happened on solid ground (at least, not from my perspective). Over the course of our friendship’s fall, we’ve acknowledged its declining trajectory, and have attempted to resuscitate it a few times. We’ve been due for another revival for nearly a year, but in my gut, I no longer feel welcome to suggest reconnection.

At my college graduation, 25 years ago, my best friend, Scott, pulled my mom aside and expressed his concern that adulthood relationships might be painful for me, because I hold such high expectations of myself and of others in relationships; he worried that I’d be easily disappointed by people who weren’t willing to invest, emotionally, like I do.

He wasn’t wrong. I’m a bit like a truth serum in my closest friendships. When there’s rupture, I need to talk it all the way through to maintain trust; when life gets hard, I expect to be invited into what’s real and raw. When life’s joys strike, I want to hear the details first-hand, and then celebrate together. That’s who I am, and that’s how I friend; luckily, I’ve found a handful of souls in this life who appreciate it.

Likewise, I require care in return. I recently heard someone self-describe as not being high maintenance, but also not being no maintenance. And that totally resonates. I believe that a friendship requires maintenance, and that can look like many different things; but maintenance does not look and feel like cold absence.

Part of me wants a clear explanation of why we’ve lost our friendship. God nows I’ve made up many possible explanations. The one that seems most probable is that our friendship became too effortful—our lifestyles were once parallel, but I’m now more zig and she’s more zag; we are no longer convenient to each other. But the quiet knowing in my heart is that I’ve steadily been available—and willing—to put in the effort. So, the objective reality is probably that she just doesn't want my friendship anymore.

And that’s a hard truth to accept.

I’ve discovered, as I’ve mourned this friendship, that I’m not inherently equipped to handle the unwanted loss of a friendship. When you break up with someone you’re dating, the fallback landing spot is to “be friends;” but when you end a relationship that’s purely friendship, the fallback landing spot is, I suppose, to be acquaintances. And I find the shift into acquaintanceship to be terribly unnatural.

I mean, when paths cross at the kids’ school or at the grocery store, how does one, who strives to live in integrity, act like you don’t know someone whose life you’ve been part of up close? I find it stranger to interact on a surface-level with a former loved one than it is to have a full conversation with a stranger—my emotional and sensitive heart will never get comfortable with interactions of this kind.

And the whole “let it go” mantra isn’t my style either. Sure, I can act like I’ve let it go; I can even say that I’ve moved on; but that would be denying the very real sadness that lingers in my heart about her.

So as I’ve muddled my way through this hurt, spending way too much energy rehashing the friendship’s disappointments—which, by the way, hasn’t helped me move on—I tried something surprising in an effort to accept the loss. And I think I’ve inadvertently created a coping strategy for friendship loss. And I want to share it with you.

I wrote a gratitude letter.

I believe in the healing power of letter-writing—you may know that I help people write important letters. But a gratitude letter in the wake of friendship loss is not a type of letter I’d ever heard of or attempted. And yet, by writing one, I discovered that there is enormous power in swimming in the pool of gratitude, versus wallowing in the waters of hurt.

Although I wrote the letter to and about my lost friend, I didn’t send her the letter, because it’s not meant to garner her response. Rather, the gratitude letter is written for me. Its goal is to take care of me… to honor what the friendship was, rather than dwell on its loss, so that I receive the positive closure that I need.

And after I wrote it, I felt at peace. Somewhat suddenly. The letter has been a source of healing for me because it enabled me to move on with a lighter and more positive heart about a friend I loved. I feel utterly relieved.

So in case you’re needing some self-care around a lost friendship and would like to try this coping strategy for yourself, I’ll gladly share with you the gratitude letter that I wrote to serve as a guide for you. Simply reply to this email or request it in the comments, and I’ll send it your way.

Let’s keep growing into this new year.

xo Lindsay 

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Other ways I can support your inner self today:

1. Cozy up for fireside stories on Becoming Everwell with Linds.

2. Enroll in my FREE Masterclass: The 5-Step Framework to Thriving as a Midlife Mom. Or, take my QUIZ.

3. Get support writing the letter you’ve always wanted to write through Everwell’s Forever Letter Writing services.

4. Join January’s Memory-Keeping Writing Experience (MWE), to begin 2025 with a writing practice of your own that preserves your life’s stories. MWE entails exclusive backstage access to my essay-writing and idea-generating process, how I set (and keep) personal deadlines and how I make writing fun. You’ll get a month of prompts, guidance and tips. Available only to paid Substack subscribers of Becoming Everwell with Lindsay Hurty. Begins on Monday, January 6th.

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