Letting a Friendship Die & my Internal Parts who are Fighting about it

I’ve been experiencing the slow, unsaid death of a friendship.

And honestly? It’s been quite fascinating.

On one hand, it drives me mad with the complexity and nuances of the how’s, why’s, “she said’s” or “she did’s” from either end. It’s a labyrinth that I thought we could talk out, but as I’ve observed over the last year: she doesn’t want to do the work. She’s not capable of doing the work.

And ultimately? I’m glad. This situation is ripe with learning. It’s like the perfect mixture of something long term and, inherently, sentimental enough for some part of me to feel upset by the loss and treat it like a death of sorts. At the same time, I’ve changed so much over these years that the newer parts of me are honestly quite relieved that it’s coming to an end.

This friendship loss is an ideal opportunity to experience real grief inside of myself while having an equally firm grasp on all the other parts at play within me. I’ve found that grief and difficult times can lead to powerful transformations. While I’m actually quite terrified of loss, this is an experience that lets me get close to these types of emotions without losing myself entirely to them.

“Titrating” or “Pendulation” is what this is known as—something I’ll be exploring more in a future post. It’s a means of subjecting one’s self to something that is uncomfortable, just enough to practice expanding our comfort zones into our growth edge, and being able to retreat back into comfort before we reach our fear zone (which can reopen past wounds rather than helping us to heal from them).

But again, more on titrating next time (or maybe the post after that—TBD).

Months ago I was trying to get to the bottom of my irritation but wasn’t quite sure what the root of the issue was. I woke up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, and lacking clarity. So I asked my dreamscape, “show me what I need to do about this situation.”

I’ve been regularly asking my dreams to give me information and it’s been incredibly revealing.

The dream that followed was awful. I was on a roller coaster as something dear to me jumped out and was destroyed in a volatile manner—the thing in this journey and the details shall not be named for the sheer sadness such a scene invokes. It was bloody and sudden.

As I mourned in the dream, I was taken back to my teenage years when that thing first entered my life (which had nothing to do with real timelines—the “thing” entered my life in my late twenties, but that’s besides the point).

My 15-year-old self cradled this little thing in its baby state as I rocked it back and forth, crying. My tears were of joy, as well as sadness. I mourned the loss while being equally grateful it had happened, that I had the opportunity to hold this thing in my arms in this old memory, and that it would always be with me.

When I awoke I knew what it meant. It had nothing to do with the thing in the dream, of course, but instead was representative of the relationship in question. I felt a strong resolve and knowingness as to how this situation would move forward.

Within the hour after waking I sent one final olive branch: another text, an opportunity for one last chance for connection. Like my other attempts, it was snuffed out and discarded. She didn’t want to deal with it—our relationship was not a priority.

So the answer was solidified: It is time for this relationship to die.