Today I Broke Up With My Best Friend

We talk a lot about romantic breakups. We talk about leaving toxic family members. But there's one type of ending that nobody really prepares you for, one that doesn't get nearly enough attention: friendship breakups.

Today, I ended a friendship with someone I considered my best friend. And honestly? It might be one of the hardest things I've done in a long time.

Here's what I've learnt after 11 years of healing from narcissistic abuse, the patterns don't just disappear when you go no contact with your abuser. They follow you into every relationship; romantic, professional and yes, friendships.

When you grow up with a narcissistic mother, you're trained to accept one-sided relationships as normal. You learn that love means constantly giving, never receiving. You learn that your needs don't matter as much as keeping the peace. You learn to tolerate being the caretaker, the emotional support, the one who shows up; while getting nothing back.

So when a friendship mirrors those same dynamics, it feels familiar. Comfortable, even. You don't recognise it as toxic because it's what you've always known.

With romantic relationships and family, we have clearer language around toxicity. But friendships? We're told those are supposed to be forever. Friends are family you choose. Real friends stick with you through anything. These messages hit differently when you've already been conditioned to sacrifice yourself for the people you love.

I tolerated this friendship being one-sided for far too long because I was still operating from those old survival patterns; the ones that told me if I just tried harder, gave more, was more understanding, eventually I'd be worthy of the same energy in return.

There wasn't one big blow-up. No dramatic argument. No betrayal I could point to and say that's why. It was quieter than that; a slow accumulation of moments that didn't sit right, conversations that never happened, support that never came.

And honestly? It took me this long to recognise it because these patterns were so similar to what I grew up with.

I started noticing:

• I was always the one initiating. Plans, phone calls, check-ins. Just like with my mother, where I was expected to manage the relationship and take all the emotional responsibility.

  
  

• She wasn't prioritising our friendship. I'd make time for her no matter how busy I was, but somehow she was always too overwhelmed, too tired, too stretched thin to show up for me. This mirrored my childhood, where my needs were always secondary to everyone else's.

  
  

• She avoided the difficult conversations. Anytime I tried to address how I was feeling or what I needed from the friendship, she'd deflect, change the subject or make excuses. That avoidance, that refusal to be vulnerable or accountable? It was painfully familiar.

  
  

• She never supported my ventures. And here's the crazy part, I'm not even worried about posting this publicly because I know she'll never see it. She never engaged with my work, my book, my healing advocacy, any of it. The things that matter most to me, the things I pour my heart into? She was completely absent from all of it. Just like my mother, who never celebrated my achievements or showed genuine interest in my life.

  
  

• I felt drained instead of filled. After spending time with her, I didn't feel energised or supported; I felt exhausted, like I'd given everything and received nothing back. That emotional depletion was my baseline growing up.

These weren't occasional slip-ups. They were patterns. And they were patterns I'd spent years learning to accept as "love."

I kept making excuses for her. She's going through a lot. She's busy. She's not great at expressing herself.

Do you hear it? Those are the same excuses I made for my mother for decades. The same justifications that kept me trapped in toxicity, always giving her the benefit of the doubt while never receiving the same grace in return.

But the truth is, when someone wants to show up for you, they do. When someone values your friendship, they make it a priority. I've learnt that lesson the hard way through years of healing work.

I realised I was doing all the emotional labour while she reaped the benefits of having a loyal, supportive friend who asked for nothing in return. And the moment I needed something; reassurance, presence, reciprocity, she wasn't there.

That's when I understood, I was recreating the same dynamic I'd finally escaped from 11 years ago when I went no contact with my mother.

So today, I made the decision. I ended it. Not with anger, not with blame, but with clarity this friendship is no longer serving me and I deserve better.

Writing is how I process things. It always has been. When something significant happens; whether it's painful, confusing or transformative; I need to write through it to make sense of it all. So sitting down to write about this friendship breakup felt right, even necessary.

Some people might think it's too personal to share publicly. But for me, writing isn't just about processing, it's about connecting. It's about putting words to experiences that others might be going through silently, thinking they're alone or overreacting or being too sensitive.

And here's what I want other survivors of narcissistic abuse to understand, the patterns you learnt in childhood will show up in your adult relationships until you consciously break them.

I can recognise toxic friendships now because I've done years of work healing from my narcissistic mother. I know what one-sided relationships look like. I know what emotional neglect feels like. I know the difference between genuine reciprocity and crumbs of affection that I'm expected to call a feast.

If my words can help even one person recognise these patterns in their own friendships, then sharing this vulnerability is worth it.

Ending a friendship feels different than other breakups. There's no societal script, no clear closure, no mutual understanding that "we tried and it didn't work." You just... stop. And it's messy and uncomfortable and filled with guilt.

But for those of us raised by narcissists, that guilt is amplified. We were trained to believe that walking away makes us selfish, that setting boundaries makes us cruel, that prioritising our needs makes us bad people.

I'll always love her. That's the hardest part. Love doesn't disappear just because a relationship isn't healthy. I have years of memories, inside jokes, shared experiences that I'll cherish. But love isn't enough to sustain a one-sided friendship and I finally love myself enough to recognise that.

This year is about prioritising my needs, not sacrificing them for others, even people I care about deeply. I've spent too much of my life shrinking myself, over-giving and accepting crumbs of affection. I learnt those patterns from my mother, but I don't have to keep repeating them.

If someone isn't meeting me halfway, if they're not showing up, if they're not making our connection a priority, then I have to honour myself enough to walk away.

We're sold this idea that real friendships last forever, that if you let someone go, you're not trying hard enough or you're not a good friend. But that's the same messaging we get about family blood is thicker than water, you only get one mother, family comes first.

And for survivors of family abuse, we know those messages are tools of control, not truths to live by.

Some friendships are meant to be lifelong. Others are meant for a season. And some; no matter how much history you share, become toxic and need to end for your wellbeing.

You're allowed to outgrow friendships. You're allowed to recognise when someone isn't showing up for you. You're allowed to stop pouring into relationships that drain you. You're allowed to choose yourself, even when it hurts.

These are the same lessons I had to learn about family. Now I'm learning them about friendship too.

Friendship breakups aren't talked about enough, especially in survivor communities. We focus so much on healing from family trauma that we don't always recognise when we're recreating those same toxic dynamics in other relationships.

Healing from narcissistic abuse isn't just about going no contact with your abuser. It's about recognising and dismantling the patterns they taught you so you don't keep accepting toxicity in every area of your life.

If you're reading this and you've been feeling drained by a friendship, noticing patterns that don't sit right or wondering if you're asking for too much by wanting basic reciprocity, you're not alone. You're not being dramatic. And you're not a bad friend for considering walking away.

You're a survivor who's finally learning that you deserve better than one-sided relationships. That's growth, not selfishness.

I don't know what comes next. Maybe there will be regret. Maybe I'll miss her more than I expect. Maybe I'll second-guess this decision on hard days.

But for now, I feel lighter. I feel clear. I feel like I finally chose myself instead of waiting for someone else to choose me; just like I did when I went no contact with my mother 11 years ago.

This year is about continuing that work, prioritising my needs, surrounding myself with people who show up and refusing to settle for relationships where I'm the only one investing. I've learnt this lesson in family dynamics and now; finally, in friendships too.

You teach people how to treat you by what you accept. And I'm no longer accepting one-sided connections that mirror the abuse I spent my childhood enduring.

If you're in a similar place, I see you. If you've ended a friendship and felt guilty about it, I understand. And if you're still trying to figure out whether to stay or go, trust your instincts. Your healing has taught you to recognise toxicity. Don't ignore what you know.

The patterns you learnt from your narcissistic parent will show up in your friendships until you actively break them. You deserve friends who show up, who prioritise you, who meet you halfway. And if someone can't do that, it's okay to walk away, even if you still love them.

You didn't survive narcissistic abuse just to recreate those same dynamics in every relationship. You deserve better.

Choosing yourself is never the wrong choice.