5d • General discussion
đź’” Grieving Friendships While Holding Yourself Together
It has taken me over a week to process...
There’s a kind of pain we don’t talk about enough — the pain of needing someone and realizing they’re not there. The pain of struggling mentally, and emotionally…and discovering that the people you once called “friend” don’t even think to check in. It isn’t loud. It isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet, sharp, and deeply personal. It sits in your chest like a weight you can’t put down.
This Thanksgiving was one of the hardest days I’ve had in a long time. I planned a gathering — food cooked, car packed, heart open — ready to spend the holiday with someone I thought cared. But everything fell apart. The friend I was waiting for seemed uninterested, distracted, or simply unwilling to show up. Her suggestion that I should just eat at home felt like a gentle dismissal, a soft way of stepping back without saying the words. But I felt it. Every piece of it.
I sat there in the kitchen, food getting cold, kids waiting, heart breaking… realizing that yet again, I was trying to hold everything together for everyone. I cried. I got angry. I felt that familiar ache of being disappointed by someone I trusted. And after all that, I told my kids, “Take the food out of the car.” We ate at home — the very thing I planned so hard to avoid because I knew what would come next: everyone leaving right after they ate. And that’s exactly what happened.
What hurt even more wasn’t just Thanksgiving falling apart — it was the silence afterward. A week passed. No call. No text. No “Are you okay?” Nothing. And that silence was louder than any argument, louder than any goodbye. It told me everything I didn’t want to admit: I am not a priority in her life. Maybe I never was.
And that’s the part people don’t talk about — grieving the living.
Losing a friend who’s still here can hurt even more than losing someone who has passed. Because with living people, you feel the sting of rejection. You feel the questions: Was I not enough? Did I do something wrong? Did they outgrow me? Were they ever really my friends? You replay everything, trying to understand why the loyalty, love, and support you gave weren’t returned.
But here’s something I’m learning:
Some friendships are seasonal.
Some friendships are lessons.
Some friendships are mirrors — reflecting what we’ve been tolerating for too long.
I’ve realized I’m not the “party friend.” I’m not the “drinking and nightlife friend.” I’m the “real-life friend” — the one you call when your stomach is empty, when your heart is breaking, when your partner hurts you, when you need honesty, comfort, or a warm meal.
But not everyone values the kind of friend you are. Not everyone has the capacity to appreciate someone who loves deeply, shows up consistently, and gives without keeping score.
So how do we cope with losing a friend when we need them most? How do we survive the loneliness, the holiday blues, the financial stress, the emotional exhaustion — all while grieving someone who still exists in the world but no longer exists in our life?
We start here:
🌿 1. Acknowledge the Hurt
It matters. Your feelings are valid. Being abandoned emotionally is a real loss.
🌿 2. Let Yourself Grieve
Grief isn’t just for death — it’s for disappointment, broken trust, and unmet needs.
🌿 3. Remind Yourself of Who You Are
You are the friend who shows up in real life. You are the friend who gives warmth, honesty, and care. Those qualities are rare. Don’t dim them.
🌿 4. Create Space for New People
You deserve friendships that match your heart — not drain it.
🌿 5. Lean Into Community
That’s why this women’s group exists. Because too many of us have felt this exact pain in silence.
And finally…
🌿 6. Understand This Truth
Their absence is not a reflection of your worth — it is a reflection of their capacity.
You are worthy of friends who check on you.
Friends who show up.
Friends who ask, “Are you okay?”
Friends who care even when it’s inconvenient.
Your heart is big.
Your love is real.
Your loyalty is deep.
And you deserve people who see that — not just when life is fun, but when it’s hard.
This holiday season, if you’re grieving friendships, know this:
You are not alone.
You are not unimportant.
You are not too much.
You are growing.
You are healing.
You are choosing yourself.
And that is a powerful kind of peace.
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đź’” Grieving Friendships While Holding Yourself Together
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