A new song titled “We Hug Now” by Sydney Rose has been making its rounds on TikTok with the lyrics, “You’re just thinkin’ it’s a small thing that happened / The world ended when it happened to me.” After giving this song a full listen, it got me reflecting on what it was like to lose my best friend almost a year and a half ago. Losing her felt like losing a part of me that I can’t get back, not because I don’t want to, but because I simply can’t.
Society tends to focus on romantic breakups, glorifying the scars they leave behind, but what about the friendship breakups that leave those same scars? The deep, unspoken grief that hangs around after losing your future maid of honor? These scars from a friendship breakup aren’t just emotional; they carve out spaces in your life that feel impossible to fill again. This is the type of loss that I’ve gone through, one that doesn’t get the attention it deserves yet leaves a lasting imprint that nearly destroys you.
the cultural silence around friendship breakups
Society places a high cultural focus on romantic breakups compared to friendship breakups. Countless movies, songs, and books are filled with narratives about heartbreak and moving on from romantic partners, yet the end of a friendship is rarely given the same focus. This lack of recognition made it feel lonelier, as if something was wrong with my decision to end a friendship despite how unhealthy it had become for me. My pain didn’t feel validated or worthy, even though the loss of a best friend is just as, if not more, devastating than a romantic breakup.
This friendship shaped me, grounded me, and gave me a deep emotional connection that I have yet to find again. It was hard for me to open up conversations about this loss with my other friends, making it harder to heal and leaving me isolated in my grief.
from best friends to strangers
She and I had built years of memories together, from first grade to our freshman year of college. We had inside jokes, countless late-night talks, and promises to stay in each other’s lives forever. She was my go-to person for everything — I shared my happiest moments and my deepest fears with her. I had so much trust in us that I never imagined a day when she would be no longer there to share things with.
But life is all about change, shifting the ground beneath our feet when we least expect it. It doesn’t matter how it happens; the result is always the same: silence where there was once laughter, loneliness where there was once companionship.
I felt like a stranger to myself. That isn’t to say that I didn’t feel like a weight was lifted off my shoulders, but over time, a new one was beginning to form. I couldn’t figure out who I was without her. I had other friends, but none understood me the way she once did, nor did they see the parts of me that I was beginning to lose without her. With her, I felt seen even in my silence. I was trying so hard to wear a version of myself that didn’t fit me anymore.
I did everything to replace her, going from one new best friend to the next. This loss left me confused, leading me through the stages of grief until I was unrecognizable to myself. I was angry, sad, numb, and underneath it all, there was a deep sense of isolation.
caught between grief and guilt
I denied the situation at first. I didn’t want to accept that cutting her off was the only way to move forward. I believed that we could come back together and mend what was broken. But the anger came rushing in when I realized that I couldn’t get over what she did. I was so incredibly hurt that I nearly lost my mind. I put our friendship breakup on full blast, ensuring everyone knew exactly what happened the night it all came crashing down.
All of our friends rallied around me, leaving her to fend for herself, and I didn’t leave them much of a choice. It was me or her. I began to bargain with myself, trying to convince myself that I hadn’t contributed to the breakup and that it was all her fault — when I knew deep down that wasn’t true. I hurt her in different ways, but I was convinced that she hurt me more. Every day, I regret my anger, wishing I had chosen to talk it out before cutting such a deep connection out of my life completely. The first three stages of grief hit me harder than I expected, and in hindsight, it was probably the worst way for me to cope with everything that had happened.
living in the shadows of depression
That all leads to where I am today. I was diagnosed with depression in November 2024. I fought it for so long, telling myself every day that I could just move on and forget about her. But deep down, I knew the scars our friendship left behind weren’t ones I could ignore or outrun. I couldn’t keep ignoring my feelings and proving to everyone that I was stronger than the hurt. This friendship breakup wasn’t a blessing; it was a curse, and the truth was, I wasn’t okay. I needed the extra help to heal.
The more time I spent pretending and telling myself I was fine, the more harm I created. Every day, I regret how long I allowed myself to sit in this stage of denial and depression, clinging to this idea that I was “fine” when I was only working with half of myself. I’m not saying that losing her was the sole cause of my depression, but it’s a big part of why I ended up here. It’s a weight I’ll continue to carry, and no matter how much I tried to act like it didn’t matter, it did.
learning to stand alone
After my diagnosis, I was put on medication to help me focus on the things I love rather than the things that hurt me. Has it worked perfectly? No. Are there days (like today) when I still think about her and our friendship? Yes! But despite that, I’ve made so much progress, and it’s taken real strength to get to this place.
I’m slowly falling back into hobbies I love, like reading and writing. I’m spending time with the people who love me for who I am, such as my family, my boyfriend, and other cherished friends. The loss overshadowed these parts of me, and it hasn’t been easy, but I am slowly rediscovering the person I once was and the person I want to be. I’m learning to trust myself again and stand on my own without needing validation from others.
This isn’t to say that I don’t still deal with other issues, but I’m recovering from this one. This also isn’t to say that I don’t miss her, because I do, but I’ve learned that maybe we’re both better on our own. I wish I could say sorry to her, but I know it isn’t something she wants, and that’s okay. I’ve learned that it’s not about replacing what was lost but instead embracing the strength that was always inside me. I don’t have to be defined by my past; I’m allowed to be someone new, someone whole, and someone who has the power to rebuild a life that was once deemed broken.
