Losing a friend can be more hurtful than a break-up but sometimes the healthiest thing for everyone is to end them

A TikTok about friendship break-ups went viral at the start of this year. In the 33-second clip, a psychologist role-plays as two pals, one confused about the other’s withdrawn behaviour and the other wanly explaining that although she has treasured their ‘season of friendship’ (a direct quote) she doesn’t think that they are in similar enough places to warrant its continuation. She wishes her former mate the best and the video ends.

The reaction to the clip was varied. It was criticised by some for being condescending and needlessly clinical, and celebrated by others as an airtight and emotionally sound way of transitioning out of a friendship. There were parodies and jokes aplenty and the timeline was abuzz with discussions about the proper ways to end a friendship, the things we owe to one another and whether it was appropriate to prepare a script for telling an old friend they’re off your Christmas card list. 

Of course the internet soon moved on to the next topic, but friendship break-ups stayed on my mind. I thought about the few friends that I’ve lost— the ones who exited my life dramatically after an argument, the ones who crossed boundaries and treated me badly and who I eventually ran out of excuses for, the ones whose lives simply moved in a different direction to mine, the ones who pulled back to protect their relationship. I thought about a friendship that waned recently, something I’m not ashamed to say I’m still recovering from. It was a friendship that had felt lifelong while it was being built and yet had dwindled across months, a gradual elongating of silences until it didn’t really make sense to reach out at all, until the person who was so recently my first call in emergencies was suddenly no longer someone I would call at all. 

The mental health impact of losing a friend or having the terms of a friendship drastically change are real and long-lasting, and yet we often don’t give the experience the gravity it deserves. In a world so often cruel and hard to bear, our friendships are where we can find sanctuary, where we are held closest and seen clearest, and there’s a real grief when that ends, a feeling of rejection and loss that can sometimes run deeper even than the conclusion of a romantic partnership.

Certainly a lot of the sensations are the same—the pain of rejection, fears that your secrets are no longer safe, loss of the things that you’d planned to do together but now won’t. You see something that would make them laugh and automatically reach for your phone to send a message or you spot someone with a similar haircut on the train and your heart lurches. You oscillate between anger and upset, confusion and relief. You grieve and that takes time. 

When I’ve broken up with boyfriends there’s been a clearer path through it. I’ve not hesitated to tell my friends, family, the internet or a therapist about it and have had clear language when doing so. With friendships, however, I’ve struggled even to admit when they were struggling. It can be hard to face the reality that even our most treasured and oldest friendships can grow dysfunctional over time, and that sometimes the healthiest thing for everyone is to end them. Ignoring unkind remarks or unfair behaviour for the sake of keeping the peace is tempting in these cases, but ultimately not how we best care for ourselves. Real peace is in healthy, intentional relationships with people who are willing to do the work alongside us. If that isn’t on offer, does it really make sense to go on? 

Of course, facing the future without certain friends beside you is scary and painful no matter the circumstances. It requires looking after yourself and being your own pal throughout, as well as holding space for the fact that your former friends will have their own side to the story. They will remember things differently, recalling things you have forgotten, moments that weren’t significant to you but were to them. All we can ever be sure of are our own intentions and our own truth. 

When I was younger I felt less protective of my close friendships than I do now, perhaps not thinking it even possible for them to end. Now that I’m aware that they can I try to treat them with greater care. When things are tense I broach it. If there’s a bump in the road I don’t take for granted that things will automatically course correct without effort and patience. I’ve learned to accept that some friendships just don’t make it, but so many others do. As hard as it is, I know I have to choose to focus on the places where care is taken, where joy is the bottom line and where love is returned.