So here’s my little love letter to all the “has beens” in my life — ex-friends, ex-lovers, and even some family I’ve had to outgrow. You know who you are. And if you think this is about you… it probably is.
Healing is wild. It will have you gaining so much and losing just as much—sometimes all at once. It strips down the version of you that used to shrink for others and rebuilds someone who finally knows what they deserve. It’s beautiful. And brutal. The version of you that finally feels free and whole might not fit the life you built before.
I didn’t realize how much of me was shaped by silence. Pre-marital counseling taught me that. Not just how to love someone else — but how to see myself. I saw, clearly, how my boundaries were always there — I just didn’t know what to do when people refused to honor them. I’d shrink. I’d accommodate. I’d swallow things whole and call it peace. But it wasn’t peace. It was fear wearing a friendly face.
Thank You to My Exes
(And Yes, This One Is About You)
Is This What Healing Gets Me?
Somewhere in my healing process, I heard my mom’s voice:
“People are just jealous of you.”
I used to roll my eyes. Laugh even. Why would anyone be jealous of me? Please.
But jealousy wears many disguises: possessiveness dressed as loyalty, shady compliments wrapped in jokes. And sometimes, when you shine, it triggers people who’ve never done the work to love their own reflection.
Healing also taught me:
I’ve always had boundaries—I just didn’t know how to enforce them.
I’ve always had value—I just let people stay who didn’t see it.
I’ve always had intuition—I just second-guessed it to keep the peace.
And the gag is: I’ve always chosen well. It’s just that the people I let choose me back? Not so much.
Friendship Endings That Cut Deeper Than Breakups
People talk about romantic breakups like they’re the ultimate heartbreak. But nobody warns you about the ache that comes when a friend stops choosing you.
With men, I always knew where the line was. I could feel it the moment things shifted—even when it came out of nowhere. Even if they lied, cheated, or disappeared, I knew I’d survive. I knew another version of love would come.
But with friendships? Especially with women? Whew. There was no warning, no manual, no breakup talk over dinner. Just sudden silence. And confusion.
I asked questions I never asked in romantic relationships:
“What did I do?”
“Why are they treating her better than me?”
“How can someone who knows all of me suddenly act like I never existed?”
I didn’t have answers. Just grief in its strangest form.
I’ve been dropped as collateral when friends ended other friendships. Ghosted when I stopped overextending. Judged for not having a tribe, then judged again for trying to build one. I collected girlfriends like Pokémon cards just to feel less like a threat in a room full of women — only to be played with anyway.
I tolerated disrespect because I was taught that time, history, and blood ties meant more than how I felt. I confused “we’ve known each other forever” with “they must love me.”
I learned that being “the strong friend” isn’t a compliment if it means people ignore your pain.
All the while, I was shrinking — celebrating everyone else while silently starving at my own party. What I didn’t realize then was this: the pain wasn’t because I lacked something. It was because I was finally learning to honor what I deserved.
What Closure Would Look Like (If I Ever Got It)
Some of the hardest breakups I’ve ever had were with people who never saw it as a breakup. They just moved on, like I didn’t matter.
So here it is. If I never get that apology — and I probably won’t — let this be my closure:
To the friend who taught me best-friendships don’t make relationships safer…
Dating your best friend sounds sweet in theory. But when things went bad, you weren’t my friend anymore. I deserved respect—from beginning to end.
To the one who felt like the end of the mean girl curse…
You made me think I was finally safe. That I could breathe around women again. That I’d found a sister-friend who had my back. But instead, I got bullied in my own home. And instead of an apology, I got a goodbye. Loyalty isn’t loud words and curated selfies—it’s how you show up when no one’s watching. Thank you for showing me what surface-level support looks like—and why I’ll never settle for it again.
To the one who pushed me to be smarter…
You saw through my act. You knew when I was pretending. For the first time, I felt seen. But when I finally opened up about being hurt, you dismissed it like it didn’t matter. That rejection still stings. Thank you—for showing me that even the deepest bonds can break when communication is a one-way street.
To the one who always knew what I was thinking…
You were my twin flame in friend form. We had an unspoken language. But I deserved for my growth to be respected, not resented. For my boundaries to be honored, even when they looked different than yours. I deserved to be heard without tears. To be more than a secret keeper or emotional punching bag. Thank you for showing me that even “ride or die” has limits—and mine is peace.
To the one who matched my goofy energy like a mirror…
You made me feel like I didn’t have to tone it down for anyone. You reminded me that joy is powerful, that being a grown woman with childlike wonder is a flex, not a flaw. That meant everything. But I deserved to be chosen, not traded. Heard, not dismissed. Protected, not met with silence when others disrespected me. Thank you—for teaching me not to shrink.
To the ones who confused friendship with utility…
You loved me when I was useful. When I made you laugh. When I carried the weight. But when I needed softness, or slowness, or just a turn to be vulnerable—you dipped. And yet, thank you. Because you taught me the difference between being appreciated and being consumed.
To the one who felt like family before we even understood why…
Our moms brought us together, but we stayed because we loved each other. We survived every school move, life shift, and teenage drama. I miss that version of us. But the end felt hollow. If we had just talked — maybe we could have saved it.
To the friend who gave me main character energy…
From hopping continents to dancing until sunrise — you made me feel unstoppable. But I didn’t deserve to be left on read. Abandoned. Gaslit. I should’ve told you how it hurt when you didn’t show up. Maybe it would’ve changed something. Or at least given me peace.
The People Who Helped Me Heal
So yeah—thank you to my exes.
With every friendship that ended, every connection that broke down, I changed—and I changed for the better.
Thank you for the confusion, the pain, the clarity. Every friendship that ended taught me something about myself. Every broken bond was a mirror, a magnifying glass, and a map.
Because of you, I am now a woman who knows what she deserves—and isn’t afraid to ask for it. A woman who doesn’t apologize for her feelings or question her standards. A woman who’s not afraid to be vulnerable and set the record straight. Who believes in radical self-worth and intentional love.
It took a long time, but I finally found my people. Friends who ask about my dreams and my boundaries. A partner who makes me feel safe and chosen. A circle who hears me when I speak—even when I whisper.
I used to treat romantic relationships with more reverence than friendships. But now? I pray over my friendships the same way I prayed for my husband. Because they matter just as much.
So thank you, exes. All of you. For the lessons, the wounds, and the clarity. You shaped the woman I am — one who knows her worth, demands her peace, and refuses to accept less.
No, you’re not vain. This one is about you.
