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Ten years ago, when my husband said he wanted a divorce, I was gutted and overwhelmed. While I didn’t know what the next chapter of my life would look like, I knew the broad outlines of what would come next: talking to a lawyer, making painful decisions about how to divide our children’s time, stuffing my wedding band into the back of my jewelry box, arguments over who should get the painting from our trip to London.
With therapy and support from friends and family — everyone knows what “divorce” means — I pieced my life back together.
Two years ago, I noticed that a close female friend was drifting away. She started brushing off my suggestions for a coffee or wine date or even a “Hey, I get it, you’re underwater. How about we try for a phone date?” I told myself she was busy, I’m busy, we’re all busy, we’ll figure something out. Eventually, when pressed, she told me that she simply no longer wanted my friendship.
Her words took me right back to the divorce but this time, I had no roadmap. No lawyer to consult. No ceremonial ring to remove. I’d keep my artwork. But this pain was as genuine as the end of my marriage.
I didn’t know how to process this kind of loss. I didn’t have a vocabulary for working through her decision with, well, friends who still liked me. I mean, we weren’t estranged; that describes rifts between family members. Breaking up is for dating.
Divorce is the legal undoing of a marriage. I simply could not find a name for what I was going through.
Being unable to label it was kind of confusing. Did we have a chance of reconciliation? Would it be weird or creepy to see whether couples counseling for friendships exists? Surely, it does, but I was ashamed to even contemplate asking her if we could work things out. I think by taking the step of formally removing me from her life, she must have really come to dislike me.
I mean, who formally dumps a friend? Platonic relationships have, of course, different frameworks than romantic ones. They lack the milestones that romance has. There’s no first kiss at the start. There is no “I want to see other people” discussion at the end. And because friendships, unlike romantic partners, aren’t exclusive, you don’t need to end one to start another: traditionally speaking, if you want a new romantic partner, you sever the connection with the existing one. But because society lets you have as many friends as you want, you don’t need to define the beginnings or ends of a friendship.
You don’t need to. But my friend wanted to. And that, I guess, is what hurt so much.
For weeks, I didn’t tell anyone about her “breaking up” with me. Her actions — formally ending a long-term friendship — felt so dramatic and unusual that I was ashamed.
I was mortified at the idea that I had been so clueless about her unhappiness that she had to hit me over the head with her feelings. For months, I thought through ways in which she might have felt I let her down. And for years, I struggled to process how things could have gotten so bad between us that she took the unusual step she did.
Honestly, I still don’t know what to do with my pain. I haven’t found that square peg for the round hole of a shattered platonic friendship. I’d like to reach out to her, to see if she misses me, too. To ask whether we can find a way forward (or backward) to friendship. But requesting she unpack a breakup that doesn’t even have a name kind of terrifies me. How much rejection can I take? I mean, she pretty much demanded I leave her alone.
I can’t quite bring myself to reach for my phone. Maybe respecting her wishes is just what a good friend would do.
Has a good friend ever split up with you? How did you handle it? Let us know in the comments below.
Chiara Ghigliazza
Follow Article Topics: Relationships
