The Friendship Breakups No One Talks About

Your stories of betrayal, bravery, and letting go—because friendship endings deserve airtime too.

We know how to mourn a bad romance. There are endless quizzes, support groups, and therapy. But when a friendship ends—quietly, painfully, sometimes without warning—where do we put that grief?

Friendship splits can hit even harder than romantic breakups. After all, your friends are your ride or die, the Thelma to your Louise. But we don’t have language or even rituals to process the loss.

Last month, when I wrote about toxic friendships for PROVOKED by susan, my inbox was flooded with stories from women who needed to talk. The word I saw the most? Betrayed. It’s not a feeling we often focus on. So here’s your space—to be seen, to be heard, and to know you’re not alone. We’re filling a gap that often gets ignored.

When Your Ride-or-Die Turns on You

Like a Sister

I loved Bea like a sister. I supported her accomplishments, and when things went wrong, I stuck by her side. One day, a mutual friend asked me why I couldn’t see how much Bea disliked me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Turns out, Bea was badmouthing me to our entire friend group! I felt such a deep sense of betrayal.

“I know you were sincere when you congratulated her, but she was congratulating you and then wishing you would burn down,” our mutual friend continued.

Shocked, I cut out my entire friend group for not telling me sooner. Not everyone who smiles and laughs with you is your friend. I was depressed, but I focused on my marriage and work. I knew I wasn’t the problem.

Now, I’m selective about who I allow into the peaceful life I’ve created. I have three close friends instead of a large group, and I’m much happier.

—Maritsa Mansuroglu

A One-Sided Friendship

 Amy and I met during our troubled childhoods in Montana. After high school, she moved to Canada and I moved two hours from home.

We reunited in Paris on a study abroad program where she turned heads, and I, her less attractive sidekick, was annoyed when she arrived 30 minutes late for lunch. One night we found ourselves in Amsterdam’s Red Light District, high and afraid. Men propositioned us and made me feel self-conscious. Amy was thrilled by the attention.

She stayed in Europe. I built a life of hard work, creativity, and activities revolving around two daughters in the U.S. Every summer, Amy visited with her son. She invited herself for dinner, drank bottles of bright pink liquor, and wept in my living room.

Our dynamic felt familiar: My father drank, too. I finally had the courage to leave once I realized it was a one-sided and toxic friendship. When friends and old wounds mix, they make a bad cocktail.

—Barbie Beaton

When Your Gut Knew—and You Finally Listened

Trusting My Intuition

After meeting my new friend for coffee the first time, I thought, “Here’s a person who’s never satisfied with how good her life is.” That hunch played out during our 15-year friendship.

There was a lot to like about her; she was smart, charming, and well-known in the writing world, but our friendship took a turn when my writing began to take off. She had always been the “important one,” and was uncomfortable with the shift.

Over lunch one afternoon, she accused me of ignoring her at my child’s wedding. She was also aggrieved that I hadn’t invited her to dinner more often. That day, she made it clear that she wanted me to shower her with gratitude for being my friend.

A day later, she sent a grudging apology, “I hope we can remain friends.” I told her that wasn’t going to happen. Since then, I pay attention to red flags and listen to my intuition.

—Charlotte Charles

Toxic Positivity

When I was 27, my mother was diagnosed with ALS. We were very close and it was devastating. In the week before she died, when I was terrified of losing her, a friend called to ask why I hadn’t been in touch.

I’m deaf and this new friend—another deaf woman, a bit older than me—believed in crystals and New Age things. I valued the friendship but had mixed feelings about it. I told her my mother was near death.

“I’m dealing with this right now,” I said. “It’s my mother. She’s a wonderful person. And she’s only 57.”

“Well, she must have done something to bring it on herself.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe she had just said that.

“On some level she must have wanted this,” the friend continued. “Karma.”

That’s when I knew—with total clarity—she was no longer a friend. We never spoke again.

—Rachel Zemach

Standing Up for Myself

She was my best friend for a decade. When her “he’s the one” boyfriend broke up with her, we spent hours on the phone. When I needed to talk because my dad was sick, she told me I was oppressive.

Usually, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. This time I spoke up. She ghosted me.

After 9/11, I decided to reach out. Our fight felt petty in light of everything. Her response? “Well, I guess I’m glad you’re not dead.”

That was it for me.

It was devastating to cut contact, but our friendship had always been about her. There was no space for me. Ten years later, she reached out. I wished her well—and said no.

I’m not willing to go back.

—Leigh Shulman

When Life Changes—So Do Friendships

Bonded Through Grief

When our mentor died, Annie and I, little more than acquaintances, clung to each other. Grieving Maria bonded us. We sobbed in late night phone calls and over morning coffee.

A year later, when Annie moved to the West Coast to be near her dad, I said, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she promised.

Our friendship stayed strong through boyfriends, career highs, and cross-country visits. I flew out after her father died, but when I returned home, the distance felt wider. I thought it was a side effect of her grief.

We kept showing up for the big stuff. When I turned 50, my husband and I moved to the West Coast, two blocks from Annie. We could no longer hide the distance between us. I was social and open. She was solitary, protective of her time.

“We should talk,” I said after another awkward meetup. But we never did. My heart still aches.

—Blair Glaser

 A Friendship of Convenience

I met my group of friends when our kids were in preschool. We got together on the weekends, talked about kids, and complained about husbands. But as our children got older, and I started going through menopause, I began focusing more on my health. I cut out coffee, alcohol, and anything that affected my mood or sleep.

I never imposed my choices on others, but three friends always asked if I was drinking or wanted a gummy. When I said, “No, thank you,” they took it personally, like I was looking down on them. But it was never my intention.

Recently, I found out that one of these friends called me lame for staying home on a Friday night with my college-aged son to watch movies and cook dinner, rather than hanging out with the group.

I was livid and hurt, and I wanted to call her out on it. But then it dawned on me. This has never been a true friendship. It was a friendship of convenience. Now, it’s no longer convenient, so I’m letting it go. I only want authentic relationships in my life.

—Angi Williams

Too Many Demands

How do you sum up a 40-year friendship and its slow demise?

Suzanne and I met in seventh grade. Throughout our difficult childhoods we lost contact, but we reconnected as adults after we both had kids. We bonded over being working moms who tried to do it all.

I flew halfway across the country to visit her and take her on vacations, but I was footing the bill. I realized I was putting more energy into her than myself.

When I tried to focus on my own family, Suzanne became more demanding. She was critical and judgmental, but I still cared about her. I couldn’t walk away. The final straw was a girls’ trip.

“You’re being cold and snotty. You make me feel stupid,” she said.

That’s when I knew the relationship was no longer serving me. I had to prioritize myself and my family. I walked away, but I’m still not over it.

—Anne Lee

When Doing the Right Thing Costs You Everything

Misogyny Prevailed

My profession and moral responsibility to a student blew up a tight coterie of friends in the small college town where we all live and work. Our little group was idyllic: We traveled to Mexico over spring break, hiked on weekends, and had cocktail bonfires together.

Then, one of my students confided that one of these friends had hit on her in his office. She planned to file a Title IX sexual harassment case. I had known of this friend’s past marital infidelities with students, but he’d always worked it out with his wife, who was also part of this friend group.

I filed my report (as required by law), and included that he had a history of sexual relationships with students. When he was fired, I lost four friends: the man and his wife, but surprisingly, two others who decided that I was the villain.

I’m still processing this loss. I hadn’t accounted for the fact that the men I considered friends would believe another man, instead of me or the student. I grew up in the 1990s where Anita Hill was reviled. I wanted this woman’s story to be different.

I would do it all over again.

—Lynn Scott 

When Walking Away Was Freedom

A Weight Off My Shoulders

I met Dria in flight attendant school for American Airlines in 2007. It was a small cohort of students and we all bonded during the eight weeks of training. Aside from being a flight attendant, I was also a personal trainer.

Dria and I would meet up at the gym to work out between studies. Once we graduated, we stayed close and I coached her through her first bodybuilding show. And then, she began dating a guy with bad energy.

Sometimes you just know it’s not going to go well. He didn’t like me. Maybe he saw me as a threat. Suddenly, Dria was talking smack about me to the bodybuilding community. This was my livelihood, so it went way beyond petty BS. It was a total betrayal.

She turned on me because he was controlling her. There was nothing I could do to make her see it. I had to walk away. The guy never committed to her. In the end, she lost both of us. It makes me sad to this day.

—Natalia Kahn Hanton

The Grief No One Prepared You For

Friendship breakups hurt, and they don’t come with a girls’ night out and playlists to help you mourn like romantic breakups often do. But maybe they should.

It’s not easy to break up with a friend, but sometimes it’s necessary.

You deserve friends that show up for you, support you, protect your peace, and make you feel like the queen you are. Even if it’s the hardest thing you ever have to do.

Have a story of your own? Share in the comments. We’re here and we’re listening.