Signs It’s Time to End a Friendship

Five years ago, on one of our weekly hikes, I was eager to tell my close friend Annie* that my agent had found a publisher for my memoir. My first book was getting published—it was cause for celebration! But her reaction deflated me. “Memoir is a genre that’s easy to sell,” she said. Inside, I wanted to shout, “No book is easy to sell!” But I stayed silent. When I told her the publisher, she replied, “Yeah, that’s not a real publisher.” Again, I wanted to protest, but instead she lectured me about the ins and outs of the publishing world and how most books fail, but then offered that it was great that mine was getting published.

Annie had never published a book. Years before, she had written one and asked for my feedback. I thought there was room for improvement, and when I offered what I considered thoughtful criticism, she didn’t take it well. She said I was being callous and insensitive. I felt so bad that I hurt her feelings, but my repeated apologies made no difference. She never really forgave me. I’ve wondered if this was the beginning of our end, but the truth is, somewhere along our 20+ years-long friendship, things had become toxic. Or maybe, they had always been.

I Thought She Was a Downer. She Thought I Was Overconfident. Somehow We Became Best Friends.

Annie and I met in our 20s. We were introduced by a mutual friend who knew we both wanted Hollywood careers. Our first meeting over salads and iced teas was uncomfortable. I found her negative and reserved. She thought I was overconfident and too happy. But we knew we needed each other as allies in a competitive, male-dominated industry, so we tried. Over time, we found common ground in books, humor, and long walks. We forged an intense and meaningful connection that often felt more like we were family than friends. We celebrated getting our first Big Jobs and kept each other sane with each one that followed. She and her husband were the last guests to leave my wedding. Her son was the first baby I ever held. We bought homes in the same neighborhood. When people would ask how we met, we’d share the same story of that miserable first lunch. It became our shtick, “Oh, we didn’t like each other at all!” We’d laugh, “But look at us now, we’re besties!”

Over a decade later, when my husband became mysteriously ill, Annie sat with me in the hospital almost every day and drove me home when he died three weeks later. My grief became the subject of my memoir—the one she dismissed as “easy to sell.”

The Emotional Toll of a Friendship Breakup

A landmark UCLA study on friendship among women found that women with close friends are more likely to survive the death of a spouse “without any permanent loss of vitality.” My friends absolutely sustained me in the face of such trauma. I was able to rebuild my life and eventually found joy in new people and activities. But so many years after that first lunch, whenever we had plans, I was reminded of Annie’s negativity. On our walks, she complained about her feet, her back, the smog in the air. I realized my only words during our hikes were ”hi” at the start and “bye” at the end. Maybe I was still “too happy” for her, and she didn’t want to hear about my life. When I did share, every comment she made sounded like a judgement. At one of my literary readings, she said to me afterwards, “It’s good that you did this.” “But what about my piece?” I asked. She said, “Well, I couldn’t really hear you, so I’m not sure.” No one else had trouble hearing me. It was hurtful.

Why Ending a Friendship Can Feel Harder Than a Breakup

I knew she loved me, but it felt like she didn’t like me anymore. I started to ask myself why I continued having her in my life. I began to lie about my availability just to avoid her, but she constantly sought out my company. It was confusing. “I’ll be walking by at 4:00, will you be home to say hi?” she’d text. Once, she sat on my couch and asked what smelled. It was an unlit eucalyptus candle on the counter behind her. “You know I’m sensitive to scents,” she said.

That same UCLA study found that social ties reduce women’s risk of disease by lowering blood pressure, heart rate, and cholesterol. Having secure friendships, it suggests, helps women live longer. If having friends has so many health benefits, why do some friendships feel so fraught?

Annie was there for me during the worst crisis I ever experienced, but I didn’t like how diminished I felt when we were together. As I tried to extricate myself from what felt more and more like a dysfunctional friendship, I felt guilty. Whenever we would acknowledge the uneasiness between us, we’d reconcile—usually with wine and cheese—but then there’d be another slight, a dig from her or an exclusion of some kind from me. It was an unhealthy dynamic, and after a while, it got exhausting. It turns out that friendship breakups, much like romantic ones, are frequently preceded by feelings of disconnection and unresolved conflict.

How I Finally Walked Away from a Friendship That No Longer Felt Right

As my book neared publication, Annie fired another barb about me not being a “real writer.” This time, my heart raced and my thoughts were jumbled when I confronted her. She burst into tears and admitted that she was jealous, so jealous that she would never even read my book. We had an emotional back and forth. I expressed how sad it felt that she couldn’t be happy for me. She cried that she no longer felt she had a place in my life. She wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t necessarily want to make room for her anymore. I know that this was hurtful, but a few text and email exchanges later, I could no longer see a way forward.

I’ve asked myself why I stayed in a friendship that for years felt so grueling. The answer is that Annie was a good friend for a long time. She was warm, generous, insightful. But remembering how we each felt at that very first lunch, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps we should never have become friends in the first place. Maybe real friendship shouldn’t be so forced. Or maybe, our friendship had simply run its course.

We ran into each other recently and I was glad to see her. I suspect that she sees our breakup differently. Still, we caught up briefly, mostly about our kids. I know she has a new group of friends, and I am genuinely happy for her. I know how essential it is to have good friends to share our lives with. I wish her the best.

*Annie is a pseudonym to protect her privacy.

Melissa Gould’s memoir, Widowish, is an award-winning, Amazon best-seller and Editor’s Pick for Best Memoir, a Goodreads Top Book of 2021 and has been named one of BookAuthority’s Best Grief Books of All Time. Her essays have been published in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, the Hollywood Reporter, Buzzfeed and more.