A quick Google search for the word “breakup” yields hundreds of results. Most articles, essays and advice columns focus on the end of romantic relationships and divorce. For some reason, breakups with friends—people with whom we never had a romantic bond—are pushed aside. Despite how common they are, we rarely talk about them.
Most of us have consciously ended friendships when we felt they no longer served us, or when we simply lost interest. The good friend from fourth grade through the army grew into a rather irritating adult. The coworker turned out to be a self-absorbed bore. The connection with that friend from university was great as long as we were studying for exams together. How do you know when a relationship no longer works? How do you “divorce” a close friend? What do you do when only one side feels that “this isn’t it anymore,” while the other doesn’t get the hint and keeps texting? And what happens when a good friend tells you, in polite words, that she’s had enough of you? Breaking up hurts a lot, and at the same time, life is full of breakups. It’s impossible to reach adulthood without them.
The keyword: reciprocity
“We met on a post-army trip and connected instantly. She was funny and had endless stories. I was really taken with her—not romantically, of course. I just wanted to be around her. I remember slightly changing my travel route so we could keep traveling together. When we got back to Israel, we both moved to Tel Aviv. We didn’t share an apartment, but we lived nearby and met almost every evening. We were classic single Tel Aviv women, mostly drinking a lot of wine and gossiping about men. That close friendship lasted several good years.
“At some point, she met the man who later became her husband. I was there from the very beginning and was truly happy for her. Two years later, they got married, and I organized an over-the-top bachelorette party for her.
“I think the real gap emerged when the kids arrived. At first, when the first was born, I was still there. I spent hours talking about poop, gas and stretch marks. I sat with her for hours in public parks. Then came the second child, then the third, and slowly we drifted apart. I stayed single and advanced in my career. She immersed herself completely in motherhood. The conversations, at least from my perspective, became dull. It’s not that she didn’t take an interest in my life—she did try. She just didn’t have much to say. Every now and then, there were fun moments that reminded me of who she used to be, but most of the time, we were no longer in the same place.
“We met less and less, and every time she suggested getting together, it was hard for me to admit to myself that I really didn’t feel like it. These meetings exhaust me. They’re no longer enjoyable. At some point, she told me she felt we were drifting apart. I quietly chuckled and thought to myself, ‘Only now you’ve noticed? We’ve been drifting for years.’ I didn’t say anything. What could I say? ‘Listen, you’ve become boring, and I prefer Netflix over another conversation about your kid?’”
(D., 34)
“There are friendships that accompany us for many years and have their place alongside life events and changes,” explains Anat Sela, a relationship expert, couples counselor, certified family and divorce mediator, and coach who works with people on relationships and breakups. “At the same time, there are all kinds of relationships with people we meet along the way. People we meet at university, at work or in the army can become very significant during a shared experience or period. When that event ends or the period passes, the real test of the friendship arrives: does this relationship hold beyond the framework through which you met?
“Often, the friendship fails this test and a mismatch becomes clear. Sometimes it’s very deceptive, because the connection around that event or period was excellent, and we struggle to process the fact that it has run its course.
“At that point, a person begins to feel uncomfortable in the relationship, with a friend with whom they shared many intimate things during a very meaningful time. The problem is that in most cases, there’s no big blowup. It doesn’t have to be a toxic or abusive relationship. The other side isn’t necessarily bad or guilty of anything—and that’s exactly the conflict. How can someone I was so open with suddenly no longer interest me? How can it suddenly not work? Where did the common ground go?
“And that’s exactly the point: it absolutely can happen. We moved on, developed, life happened, and we grew in different directions. It’s both a communication issue and an issue of reciprocity.”
Sela is careful to distinguish between reciprocity, which is necessary in any relationship, and equality, which she says does not exist and is not supposed to exist in relationships.
“Reciprocity doesn’t mean equality. People often look for equality, but relationships are never equal. There’s always someone who gives a bit more and someone who needs a bit more. That doesn’t mean if I give 50 percent, the other side has to give 50 percent. Even an 80–20 split is perfectly fine as long as both sides are comfortable with it. As long as it works for me to give 20 percent and receive 80 percent, or vice versa, that’s fine. It’s a bit like a kibbutz: give what you can, take what you need. What is essential is that some degree of reciprocity exists.
“When does it stop being reciprocal? When the percentage I receive is no longer enough for me, when I feel I’m not benefiting from the relationship. For example, a friend who drains your energy—talking constantly about herself, her world and her life, while your world has no space to exist. When there’s a lack of reciprocity in how I’m being rewarded, the conflict begins.
“The most important thing is first to identify that this is happening. It takes time, because it’s hard to internalize that meetings and conversations are no longer what they once were. It takes time to acknowledge that you’ve just returned from meeting a friend and it was hard for you. Something in the connection didn’t flow, felt stuck, or you felt you couldn’t really express yourself anymore, or that you no longer share a common language.”
So what do you do once you’ve identified it?
“There are two options: have a conversation and share your feelings and then end the relationship, or don’t have a conversation and simply end it.
“Personally, I’m less of a believer in having that kind of conversation. I don’t think it’s my job to educate the other person. Telling a friend outright, ‘Change,’ or spelling out my expectations feels petty to me. This isn’t a romantic relationship. I’m not going to bed with her or waking up with her, and she’s not the mother of my children. I can draw her attention to something, but it’s unlikely to change. That’s who she is.
“For me, the responsibility is mine—how I experience the communication between us. Is it beneficial to me or not? You can simply reach an understanding that the shared period has ended, that the phase of interest is over, and what’s needed is to downshift and reduce the frequency of meetings and conversations.
“How do you reduce the dosage? You’re simply less available. You don’t answer WhatsApp messages immediately, you don’t rush to return phone calls, and you don’t hurry to set up meetings. It’s important to take responsibility for the situation and for your feelings within it, because it’s very easy to be dragged into a place you don’t want to be, out of discomfort, or because ‘it’s awkward to disappear,’ or because ‘I might hurt her.’ In my view, you need to be brave and dare to do it, and not stay in a place that doesn’t do you good.”
But what about relationships that really matter to me—say, 20 years of friendship? Do you just give up?
“Not necessarily give up, but yes, reduce the dosage. Understand that each person is in a different phase right now and needs something different from the relationship. At the moment, the other side can’t meet my needs, so I downshift. You don’t have to break up forever. You can meet once every six months.”
Relationships are dynamic. Can there be periods when we’re closer and others when the friendship is on a low flame?
“In principle, yes, but there’s a catch. Let’s say it’s a long-term friendship and the separation is one-sided—only one side feels the need to lower the flame, while the other doesn’t. It’s not certain you’ll be able to return to a high flame later, because the other side may be hurt. The reduction has to be done elegantly. And this is where it’s important to say: breakups are generally not elegant. Breakups are hard and unpleasant.
“You can’t break up with a friend and still remain her friend. There’s a price you have to pay. If you stay in the relationship, it will cost you energy, frustration and more. If you reduce communication now and don’t rush to answer messages, the price is that she may be hurt, and the relationship might end permanently. Either way, there is a cost.”
What is the main difference between breaking up with a romantic partner and breaking up with a close friend?
“First, a close friend doesn’t fulfill the same emotional arsenal that a partner does. With a partner, the level of intensity is much higher. I share major, meaningful experiences more frequently than in any other relationship, no matter how intense, with a friend. A friend doesn’t meet sexual or romantic needs, or the need to build a family, and we don’t share a living space 24/7.
“Second, breaking up with a friend is perceived differently socially than breaking up with a partner. It’s somehow acceptable if you don’t have friends, but if you don’t have a husband, there’s supposedly a problem that needs fixing. The social meaning is different.
“Third, you can’t just disappear or gradually reduce contact with a partner. A breakup there requires a conversation.”
Nostalgia is not friendship
“We’re what people call ‘childhood friends.’ Our mothers are friends, so we technically met while we were both still in the womb, but we only really became friends in high school. Together with two other boys from our class, we formed a kind of group, and in 11th and 12th grade, I probably saw them more than I saw my parents. There were four of us, but my friendship with him was closer.
“The friendship continued during our military service, even though we served at distant bases and barely met. The first years after the army were the best period of our friendship. He and I rented an apartment together, and the other two lived nearby. We met all the time and were a group of guys with not particularly deep conversation topics. At some point, we started drifting apart. Nothing specific happened, just life. I feel we developed in different directions.
“Once, it suited me to sit over a beer and talk about which woman had better breasts, how much that one was ‘worth’ and which beach had more hot girls. Today, it no longer suits me. They make fun of me, say I’ve ‘become a feminist.’ I don’t know if I’ve become a feminist. I think I’ve simply grown up. Today, it feels stupid to talk about women like that. That style is no longer me. It just doesn’t interest me anymore. The friendship is over.”
(O., 30)
“You can divide the types of friendships we have in life into two main categories,” says Dr. Michal Ness-El, a psychologist and couples and family therapist. “The first is based on ‘I love you because I need you’—attachment that comes from need. The other person fulfills a certain need: love, meaning, support, containment, sometimes even prestige. If a friend is considered significant by others and I’m next to them, I get some of their light.
“The second type is based on ‘I need you because I love you,’ meaning you simply love the other person, not because they necessarily fulfill a specific need. This is the healthier type.
“Within the first type, there can be relationships based on need where the need is mutual, and that’s perfectly fine. But there can also be unhealthy relationships. A bad relationship is one in which you feel constantly criticized or put down. The other side likely thinks they’re doing you a favor—holding up a mirror and telling you how and where you need to change—but in practice, it’s a toxic relationship.
“If I meet you for coffee and tell you about something that happened to me, and your response is ‘But you know that’s how you are,’ or ‘Why did you do that?’ or ‘This always happens to you,’ I’ll leave that conversation drained and negative. This is a relationship in which the other person thinks their role is to fix you or help you develop, but does so in a demeaning way. Usually, in such relationships, everyone except you sees the problem.
“Another type of relationship that isn’t healthy is one that becomes therapeutic—when there’s an imbalance and you’re always the one giving and not receiving. It doesn’t necessarily come from exploitation. One side simply needs more all the time. Most people avoid saying outright that something bothers them. So what do they do instead? They slowly unravel the relationship. They’re less available, meet less often, make excuses not to get together. The other side gets hurt, and in the end, they come out looking like the bad one.
“The last type is relationships that worked well at a certain stage of life, but at some point the connection was lost. For example, we were friends from ninth grade, in the scouts together, grew up together, but since then, I’ve developed, and you’ve stayed a bit behind, and now we have nothing to talk about. These are relationships that have nothing in them except nostalgia and a kind of sense of obligation to the other person and to the shared history. You don’t really want to be there. Nostalgia is not friendship. There’s a sense of boredom when you meet, and that’s not a good feeling. Often, both sides feel it, but there’s no courage to say it.”
What do you do when only one side grows tired?
“You can define a period of distancing,” Ness-El suggests. “Say, ‘I see that it’s not as fun as it used to be. Let’s decide to pause our meetings for a bit and see if there’s longing. Let’s test it.’”
Is it legitimate to say something like that to a friend?
“Completely legitimate, but there’s a very good chance the other side will be deeply offended.”
It really is hurtful.
“It’s hurtful because you’re confronted with your own sense of rejection in the moment when the other person doesn’t want you. But when you stop to breathe and think about it, you realize that you’re simply not right for every person all the time. It won’t be pleasant. You can’t divorce a partner pleasantly either.
“When can it be relatively manageable? When you’re able to look at things from the mature, matter-of-fact part of yourself. When you don’t slip into a victim mindset of ‘Why did she do this to me?’ but instead tell yourself, ‘Wait, I could be in the same situation toward other people.’”
Major heartbreak that goes unrecognized
“He was always a negative, depressive person, but he had a mountain of personal charm that made me want to be there. We met at university and spent hours studying for exams and preparing assignments together. He’s very smart, has an interesting worldview and a great sense of humor. At the time, I rightly called him ‘my best friend.’
“When our studies ended, several things happened in his life that made him even more depressed and negative. At first, I accepted it and, like a good friend, tried to help. I listened, gave advice and made sure he kept his head above water. In the past year, it’s become too much. I feel like the entire relationship is about him and only him. There’s no room for my life at all. As if nothing happens in my life, and I don’t need a listening ear.
“He tries sometimes to be a friend, but most of the time he’s consumed by his problems. I don’t blame him—he really does have many troubles—but I’m a person too. I decided to reduce how often we meet. Lately, I’ve been screening his calls more and more. I feel a bit guilty because I love him and he’s dear to me, but enough. I’ve run out of strength to contain him. I’m not a psychologist.”
(T., 29)
You know the scene: a guy breaks up with a woman, she comes home heartbroken and collapses on the couch, and then her best friend arrives with comforting ice cream, tissues and open arms. That’s what good friends do for us when romantic relationships end—but who comforts us when the one doing the dumping is a close friend?
“You can be comforted by another friend or a partner,” says Dr. Ness-El, “but I have to say that being dumped by a friend is truly lonely, because it’s considered an illegitimate kind of loss. It’s not part of the breakup canon we recognize as a society. A breakup between partners is familiar, and people respond with compassion and understanding.
“On top of that, if a close friend dumped me, it says something about me—that I’m not a good enough friend. There’s a lot of self-blame there. Being dumped in a romantic relationship is normal; it happens to everyone. But ‘my best friend dumped me’ is not something that happens to everyone, so it must indicate something bad about me. In romantic breakups, anger often dominates. In friendships, hurt takes center stage. It’s as if she stamped me as an unworthy friend.
“Sometimes there is real heartbreak, pain as deep as after a romantic breakup. There’s nothing to do but accept it, understand that something has ended, and contain it. To understand that you no longer meet certain needs, and that it’s okay—not to spiral into self-flagellation. At the same time, to stay aware: maybe I really was too critical, maybe I really did use too much of the space for my own needs.”
“Usually, no friend will sit you down and say, ‘Let’s break up,’” Sela clarifies. “So here too, the first element has to be identification. You need to notice that a pattern has changed. If you were used to talking every day and suddenly it’s three times a week, then once a week, and she doesn’t respond to texts, you need to recognize that.
“After recognizing it, and assuming you don’t want this breakup and the relationship matters to you, you can sit down and write out your feelings—and this time, yes, put it in a letter. Explain that you want to understand what happened, ask if you did something wrong or hurtful, say, ‘I feel that I miss you,’ and ask if it can be fixed.
“What happens next? Two possibilities. The first is that you get a response along the lines of, ‘I’m glad you brought this up, I’m glad we talked, I feel that…’ The second is that you get the same continuation of non-response—a cold reply or silence. At that point, you need to take a step back and try to understand what actually happened and what it means.”
And what if this isn’t the first time it’s happened to you? If you’re a serial friendship-loser? If you feel that too many close people choose to disconnect from you?
“A recurring pattern can come from either side,” Ness-El explains. “Either I keep ending up in friendships where I’m over-giving, and then I need to examine why I think I always have to take care of someone else. Or I keep getting dumped by close people, and here too it’s worth some self-examination. Why can’t I meet my friends’ needs? Maybe I don’t invest enough in the relationship. Maybe I never initiate meetings and only respond when others do. Maybe I take up too much space. Or maybe I really don’t have much interesting to bring to the space—and that’s probably the hardest part to accept: recognizing that you’re a bit boring. But there’s no getting around it. Some people are boring.”