I’ve had a lot of girlfriends and best friends in my lifetime, but none of them fit into this category, except her. I recently cut off one of my longtime best friends, and even though it had to be done, I still feel terrible because we had known each other for a long time, long enough that I convinced myself discomfort was just part of closeness.
She was fun, magnetic, and familiar, and those qualities made it easy to overlook the things that never quite sat right. I wore rose-tinted glasses for years, telling myself that loyalty meant tolerating behavior I wouldn’t accept from anyone new.
Over time, the pattern became harder to ignore. She had a habit of making comments that were framed as jokes but landed as subtle insults. Comparisons slipped into conversations. I would laugh along in the moment, only to feel a quiet heaviness afterward, the kind you can’t immediately explain but your body remembers.
Boundaries were often blurred. She expressed interest in a romantic partner from the past. She made confessions that crossed lines she knew existed. One night, she told me that if we didn’t end up married, maybe we should be together. It made me deeply uncomfortable, not because of the words themselves, but because she already knew where I stood. My boundaries weren’t unclear, they were simply ignored.
There was an underlying tension in the friendship that I didn’t have language for at the time. A mix of competition, dependency, and restlessness. She often pulled me toward things that didn’t align with my values, while I found myself playing the role of the steady one, the grounding presence. What felt exciting on the surface was quietly exhausting underneath.
I tried to step away more than once. Each time I did, I felt lighter. And each time, she found her way back into my life. Not through accountability or change, but through familiarity, nostalgia, and fun. I confused longevity with loyalty, and history with safety.
What finally shifted wasn’t one dramatic incident, but the accumulation of moments I could no longer unsee. I realized that friendships are not exempt from the same standards we hold in romantic relationships. Respect matters. Boundaries matter. How someone makes you feel in your body matters.
Laughing something off doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Feeling guilty doesn’t mean the decision was wrong. And knowing someone forever doesn’t mean they get forever access to you.
Ending this friendship was painful, and I still carry some sadness about it. But clarity often comes with grief. Sometimes, the healthiest choice isn’t the easiest one, it’s the one that finally brings peace.
Some people leave your life because they change. Others leave because we do.
And sometimes, choosing ourselves is the quietest, hardest, and most necessary act of self-respect.
Honestly, Vanessa 