Loss of a Friendship
Going through EMDR therapy has helped me reach the roots of so much of the grief, pain, and sadness I have carried for years. It has gently peeled back layers I didn’t even realise were there, showing me how deeply some experiences have shaped the way I see myself and others.
In my last session, a particular memory resurfaced. At first, I thought I understood it. I believed I had already processed it. But as I sat with it longer, I realised there was much more beneath the surface. That moment marked the beginning of losing a friend. It was the point where something shifted, quietly but permanently. Looking back now, I can see how that one experience may have created ripples through other relationships too. Perhaps I let that single incident influence how I interpreted future situations, how quickly I guarded my heart, how carefully I kept my distance.
The anger I once felt around that memory wasn’t really anger at all. It was grief. Grief for the loss of a friendship that mattered to me. Grief for the version of that relationship I had believed would last. And it is a grief I’ve been holding onto for far longer than I realised. That person isn’t the only friend I’ve lost over the years.
Part of this comes down to who I am. As a Scorpio, I value trust and loyalty deeply. When those foundations are cracked, I struggle to rebuild them. Forgiveness doesn’t come easily to me. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes it never fully arrives. When I let someone in, I do so completely, and when that bond breaks, it hurts more than I often admit. But friendships are never one-sided.
I know I have my own flaws. I’m not great at texting. I avoid phone calls whenever I can. My parents are still the only people who can reliably get me on the phone. If someone reaches out to me, I always respond. But I’m rarely the first to initiate contact. And when I feel hurt, misunderstood, or betrayed, I tend to withdraw instead of speaking up. That doesn’t mean I stop caring.
There are people who were once an important part of my life that I still think about. I still miss them. I still remember shared laughter, late-night conversations, and moments of connection that felt real and safe. Even if things could never return to what they were, that doesn’t erase their meaning.
I’ve never had a large circle of friends. I keep my world small and intentional. When I love, I love deeply. I am loyal. I show up. I give my energy, my time, and my heart. I will stand beside you no matter what else is happening in my life. But I quietly expect the same in return, often without ever voicing that expectation.
When that expectation isn’t met, I feel hurt. And sometimes, I react defensively. I lash out. I protect myself the only way I know how. It’s something I’m learning to recognise and soften. Even with this awareness, I still grieve the friendships I’ve lost.
I still question myself. I still replay moments in my mind. I still wonder what I could have done differently. Healing hasn’t erased the sadness, but it has given it context and compassion.
This isn’t me hoping anyone will reach out. This isn’t an invitation to reopen old wounds. This is simply me telling the truth about where I am. About how grief lives quietly in the background. About how memories shift when you look at them through the lens of healing. And about how much courage it takes to face your own patterns without judgment. This is about learning to hold my imperfections gently. And choosing, every day, to grow beyond them.