I stared at my phone for twenty minutes before I sent it.
Fifteen years of friendship. Gone in 47 words.
The text:
"I can't do this anymore. Every time I need you, you're not there. But I'm always there for you. I'm exhausted. I'm done. I wish you well, but I can't keep being your backup plan."
Send.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Nothing came.
And that silence told me everything I needed to know about why I'd sent it in the first place.
The Friendship That Looked Perfect
From the outside, we were #goals.
Matching Halloween costumes every year. Weekly brunches. Finished each other's sentences. The friend everyone wished they had.
But here's what they didn't see:
I spent three hours listening to her breakup crisis at 2 AM.
When my father died:
She texted "So sorry" and never mentioned it again.
I helped her move. Twice.
When I needed help moving, she was "too busy."
I was at every birthday, every crisis, every moment she needed me.
When I got engaged, it took her four days to respond to my text.
With: "Congrats! Can't talk, crazy busy, let's catch up soon!"
We never did.
The Pattern I Kept Ignoring
For years, I told myself stories:
"She's just going through a lot right now."
"She's not good at emotional stuff."
"I'm more nurturing by nature. That's okay."
"Friendships don't have to be 50/50."
But here's the thing about patterns:
They don't lie.
People show you who they are over and over again. We just keep writing different explanations for the same behavior.
I kept waiting for the version of her that existed in my head.
The one who would show up for me the way I showed up for her.
That person never existed.
I'd invented her.
The Moment I Knew
My grandmother died on a Tuesday.
I called her. No answer.
I texted. Nothing.
I saw her post an Instagram story two hours later. At brunch. Laughing.
She'd seen my text. The one that said "My grandmother died. Can you talk?"
And chosen brunch.
That's when I stopped making excuses.
Not because she was at brunch. People process things differently. Maybe she didn't know what to say.
But because when I needed her most, I didn't even cross her mind.
And I realized: I never did.
What I Learned About One-Sided Friendships
They don't feel one-sided at first.
They feel like YOU'RE the good friend. The reliable one. The rock.
You don't notice you're drowning until you try to come up for air.
And there's no one there to pull you up.
Because you spent all your time pulling them up.
Here's what no one tells you:
Being needed feels like being valued.
It's not.
Being needed is easy. Being valued is rare.
She needed me. She didn't value me.
There's a difference.
The Responses I Didn't Get
After I sent that text, I imagined the conversation we might have.
Maybe she'd say:
- "You're right. I've been a terrible friend. Let me fix this."
- "I didn't realize. I'm so sorry. Can we talk?"
- "I've been going through something. I should have told you."
What I got instead:
Nothing for three days.
Then:
"Wow. Didn't realize you felt that way. Guess that's it then."
No apology. No explanation. No fight to keep me.
Just confirmation that I'd been right all along.
I wasn't a priority. I was convenient.
And when I stopped being convenient, I stopped mattering.
What I Wish I'd Known Sooner
You can love someone and still need to let them go.
The hardest friendships to leave aren't the obviously toxic ones. Those are easy.
The hardest ones to leave are the ones that are almost good enough.
The ones where you keep thinking: "If they'd just try a little harder..."
But here's the thing:
If they wanted to try harder, they would.
You've told them what you need. Directly or indirectly. Through words or through the hurt in your eyes.
They know.
They're just choosing not to.
Six Months Later
I don't miss her.
I miss the idea of her. The person I thought she was. The friendship I thought we had.
But actual her? No.
Because actual her was never there when it mattered.
I have fewer friends now.
But the ones I have show up.
They text me on the hard days without me asking.
They remember what I told them last week.
They don't make me beg for the bare minimum.
Quality over quantity isn't just a cliché.
It's survival.
If You're Thinking About Sending That Text
You already know.
You wouldn't be thinking about it if the friendship was working.
You wouldn't be googling "how to end a one-sided friendship" at 3 AM if you weren't already exhausted.
Here's your permission:
You're allowed to stop carrying people who won't carry you.
You're allowed to protect your energy.
You're allowed to want reciprocity.
You're allowed to be done.
Will it hurt? Yes.
Will you doubt yourself? Absolutely.
Will you wonder if you were too harsh? Probably.
But will you eventually realize you should have done it sooner?
Every single time.
The Real Ending
The friendship didn't end with that text.
It ended years before.
I just finally admitted it.
She'd been gone long before I left.
I'd just been too loyal—or too scared—to notice.
The text wasn't an ending.
It was acknowledgment.
Of what had already died.
And permission to stop performing CPR on a corpse.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop fighting for someone who stopped fighting for you.
That text took me fifteen years to send.
I wish I'd sent it in five.
About 4Angles: For people learning that loyalty without reciprocity is just self-abandonment. Because real friends don't make you beg for the basics.
Last updated: October 31, 2025