God Removed Her From My Life the Moment I Got Honest With Myself

I couldn’t help but wonder… was she ever really my friend, or just someone who liked to keep me small?Over a year ago, I went through a friendship breakup that felt more painful than most actual relationships. I fought for it. I bent. I compromised. I justified. I swallowed my discomfort and silenced my gut — all for the sake of staying in a friendship that, in hindsight, was draining the life out of me. And here’s the hardest truth: the moment I got honest with myself — really honest — God made it crystal clear. She wasn’t supposed to stay. It was a friendship that I was supposed to let go and couldn’t. I overlooked everything. The passive digs. The one-sided effort. The way I constantly had to prove I was worth her time. I gave grace on top of grace because I thought love meant loyalty, even when it hurt.

Little things started to bother me — how I always reached out first, how I had to fight for a spot in her schedule, how she suddenly had endless time for everyone else. But I buried it. Because I was terrified that being alone would feel worse than being overlooked. Spoiler: it doesn’t. Here’s the wild part: other people saw it before I did. Friends. People we mutually hung out with. But most of all — my mom. There’s something about mothers. They sniff out fake friendships the way they sniff out a candle that’s been burning too long. She told me. She warned me. She watched me cry over it and kept reminding me that real friends don’t make you question your worth.

But I didn’t listen. Because when you want something to be real bad enough, you’ll convince yourself it is. Even when it’s clearly not. Now, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I was perfect. I wasn’t. I made mistakes. I snapped. I vented to the wrong people. I wasn’t always transparent or kind or calm. I was human — insecure, emotional, messy. But friendship isn’t about perfection. It’s about effort. And I was giving 100% to someone who couldn’t even give 10% back without making me feel guilty for asking. I confronted her. I asked for more. I told her how much it hurt. And every time, the answer was some version of, “I have a life. You shouldn’t fault me for that.” Eventually, I believed her. She was right. She did have a life. And I wasn’t supposed to be in it. The slow fade eventually turned into a sharp cut. She pushed me out. And at the time, I felt gutted. Like I had lost a limb.

But now? I see it clearly. She didn’t change. I just finally saw her clearly. The friendship wasn’t nourishing — it was stunting. I was becoming smaller, quieter, more apologetic, more anxious — just to be tolerated. I don’t hate her. I don’t even blame her. But I’m done pretending that what we had was healthy. I don’t miss the drama. I don’t miss the confusion. I miss who I thought we were — but I love who I’m becoming without her even more. Because being alone is hard. But shrinking yourself to stay in the room with someone who doesn’t even see you? That’s worse.

Still soft. Still healing. Still not going back.