Why does it hurt so much when friendships end? In a perfect world, I would remain friends with everyone forever. I would have time and energy to maintain every friendship. I would have memory capacity for everyone’s birthday and life events. Every time I saw an old friend I would be filled with joy and interest in their life. No one would feel awkward and conversation would be easy. I would get to see all of my friends regularly. Teleportation would be involved.
I know you are not surprised to discover that the world is not perfect. A lot of friendships require a shift in expectations. Some friendships will fizzle out. I understand that and accept that, though I do not love it. What I struggle to accept is friendships ended abruptly, due to a disagreement, or without my consent. Those are hard to handle.
The fizzle you can see coming and feel happening. You have those moments of “should I put in more effort and try to rekindle this thing?” Some you can and do, others you recognize have run their course.
Why is it so much harder when friendships end poorly? At first, it is just more painful. A crevice appears in a previously mellow meadow. Maybe the fault line was there all along, but maybe you did not see the quake coming.
I have had a few friendships end abruptly, and I think the most painful part of all of the relationships ending was a loss of me and my memories. It is hard to think fondly of a memory with someone when I do not think particularly fondly of that person. It feels like I have to pack up all our shared memories in a suitcase marked “tainted.” Experiences, events, memories, late-night conversations; often years of friendship – all of this that should be mine to cherish forever — it now comes with an advisory message. “Warning: contains memories of someone who has hurt you.”
I can visualize my life’s events written out and illustrated on giant dry-erase board. The chronologer starts out methodically filling in a timeline, but once all the details are added it ends up looking more like one of those word jumbles with bigger words representing prominent themes. (I am feeling very metaphorical and visual today, bear with me if you can.)
Then a friendship ends, and out comes a marker to add caveats. Moments that I thought were genuine and precious now get questions marks. Were we ever real? Times that I had previously held as pinnacles in my life get downgraded. Maybe I was wrong about her being my best friend – it could not end if she was really my best friend, right? I even pull out an eraser to try to take out times that are too painful to think about, looking back. I am trying to rewrite my life story, to make me feel less pathetic.
But what happens if I erase everything that is entirely of the past? I cannot change where I have come from, and there should not be shame in fond memories, even if they involve people who have chosen to leave my life.
When I think about those fizzled out friendships and what would happen if I saw them again, I think it would be pleasant. We could reminisce about old times. We could catch up on what we have missed in recent years. Perhaps the conversation would be more effortful, but there would be no hard feelings.
That is not how I think about the abruptly ended friendships. This is what I visualize: my stomach falls out my butt and takes my breath away with it. I feel flustered and cautious and maybe resentful. Surely they have erased me from their life stories in a way that I cannot quite get myself to do.
I am not meaning to make myself out to be the victim. People have to do what is right for them. Sometimes there will be casualties of people living their truths. But I know there is a larger issue here. I want everyone to love me and be loyal to me forever, yet that is not a guarantee of human relationships.
The real problem here is not that friendships end. The problem is that I tie myself and my own meaning too readily to others, so that when those friendships do end I pull out the eraser.
None of my past experiences are candidates for erasure.