When Silence Speaks the Truth: Healing from a One-Sided Friendship

Life, Healing, and the Weight of Silence

I want to talk about something that’s been heavy on my heart this past week. It’s about the friendship I invested over eight years into. One I truly believed was mutual and meaningful. But over time, I started to see signs that it wasn’t. And when I finally brought up my concerns, I was met with silence. Now, more than five months later, that silence continues.

This blog began as a space to share my experience in that friendship—the good and the bad. I don’t have someone to talk to about it right now, but maybe writing it here will help me make sense of it. Maybe it’ll help someone else, too.

A Painful Realization

In the last week and a half, I’ve been reflecting on how this friendship unfolded. I saw this person as a safe haven—someone I could share everything with. I never imagined the disconnect beneath the surface. Even though I’ve finally stepped away from the toxicity, I’m still confused. I’m still hurting.

The silence hurts. The hypocrisy hurts even more. This friend often preached empathy and claimed to relate to being hurt by others—but turned around and inflicted those same wounds on me. That feels like the deepest betrayal. Eight years of care and devotion, and I never suspected she didn’t see me the same way.

When the Mask Slipped

What’s been most confusing happened last fall. I finally found a subtle way to talk about how I was feeling—worried, confused, and unsure where I stood. She had been venting about her siblings ignoring her, so I carefully shared how I sometimes felt intimidated to invite others over due to past incidents. I also explained why I hadn’t invited them to anything that year-due to the mixed signals she’d give-but I did not tell her she gave me mixed signals. I was calm and nice, but that’s when everything shifted.

Instead of opening up like she used to, she became angry. I didn’t even get a chance to explain myself. I was met with a wall—and then silence.

The irony is still painful: during that same conversation, she admitted to being “all over the place” about making plans, yet blamed me for not trusting her intentions. I now see that moment clearly. Her anger wasn’t about what I said—it was about being held accountable for her actions.

I wasn’t being difficult. I just wanted to understand. But instead of a conversation, I got silence and abandonment.

Coming to Terms

Despite the pain, I see now that speaking up took courage. Reaching out eight years ago took courage. And now, walking away is taking even more.

It’s bittersweet. I still have moments where I hope she’ll respond to the email I sent last week. But hope is fading. I used to blame myself, wondering if I was overanalyzing things. But now, I see how often I gave her the benefit of the doubt—and how little of that was ever returned.

I realize now: my kindness and empathy were exploited. What I once saw as insecurity and busyness was actually manipulation and control. Looking back, the red flags were there: gaslighting, blame-shifting, emotional withdrawal.

If she ever reaches out again (which I doubt), I honestly don’t know if I could let her back in. The longer the silence goes on, the clearer her intentions become. I’ve broken free, and I’m finally starting to understand that it was never my responsibility to fix what was never real to begin with.

The Last Message I Sent

I want to share the email I sent her eight days ago. We mostly communicated by email, and this one was written with care—not to accuse, but to speak my truth, but I still feel like I shouldn’t have sent it. I shouldn’t have opened up more. I shouldn’t have given her room to see me as “too much,” just because I wanted this friendship to continue. I am learning so much and one thing I have learned is: I do not need to over-defend or over-explain to someone who refuses to understand. Here is what I said (I know there are mistakes and things I should have left out. I honestly regret all of my emails-wish I had a do over-because I was seen as “too much” and it gave her an excuse to shut me out more):

“I’ve taken a lot of time, care, and emotional energy to write this. I’ve been hurting for a while over how our friendship has unfolded and how everything was left unresolved. I care about you deeply, and I’ve really missed the good parts of our friendship—especially our meaningful conversations that once felt like a safe and supportive space. That’s why the distance between us has been so difficult and confusing.

This isn’t about blame or pushing for anything—I just want to share my experience honestly. My hope is simply for understanding, and for you to (hopefully) read this with an open heart.

Over the past year, there have been moments where I’ve felt dismissed, misunderstood, and shut out—just when I needed to talk things through. I’ve really tried to be supportive, patient, and respectful, but it often felt one-sided. I gave space, understanding, and the benefit of the doubt, even when I was hurting and unsure.

I’ve had a hard time making sense of how we went from sharing openly to barely talking and then silence. And the silence—it’s been hard. It’s left me with a lot of questions and sadness.

Over time, I’ve felt more confused and unsure about where we stand, especially as things seem to shift. The double standards and silence made me question what was happening, and I was left feeling even more hurt. Your messages sometimes felt like a decision had already been made—without engaging with the heart of what I was trying to say. It felt like the door was closed, instead of working through misunderstandings together.

There were moments when I felt like I was walking on eggshells, unsure of how you were feeling or whether I had said something wrong. Some of that came from my own insecurities, but I also genuinely felt uncertain about where I stood with you. I know I may have shared a lot at times—maybe too much—and if that ever felt overwhelming, I’m truly sorry. My intention was only ever to be there, listen, support, and to share, not to burden you.

Sometimes, I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling without worrying it would come across the wrong way. When I tried to open up in November about feeling hurt and confused, I didn’t feel heard. I was hoping we could talk things through with care, like we used to. That’s always been my goal—not to argue or assign blame, but just to understand each other better.

At times, it felt like I was expected to always understand you, but when I needed that same grace, I didn’t feel it was given. I never wanted to attack you—I just wanted us to understand each other better. That’s what a healthy friendship is about.

I never expected more of your time than you could give. I didn’t need or expect to be a priority. I just wanted to feel like I mattered to you, like our friendship meant something mutual and wasn’t just one-sided. I’ve always valued honesty and clarity, and I’ve done my best to offer both.

One thing I struggled to explain a few months ago was how confusing it felt when you would say you wanted to get together, but your words and actions didn’t always align. I respected your time, your family, and your need for space. I understand those things deeply and feel the same. I never wanted to pressure you. What was hard was the lack of clarity—the back and forth, being all over the place, and your insecurities—and the feeling that I had to be careful not to bring up anything that might be uncomfortable.

When I invited you all over or mentioned getting together and you would say different mixed things, I started to feel unsure and insecure. Did you genuinely want to get together? Did I misread where I stood in your life? Was I just “your husband’s side,” or did you see me as a true friend? I was trying to understand so I could meet you where you were—whether that meant seeing each other occasionally by still trying to make the effort to get together or just keeping in touch by text or email. I am completely easy-going and wouldn’t be upset either way.

I’ve always respected how busy life can get (we’re busy too). But when you’d say things like, “We aren’t against getting together,” it made me feel like you weren’t really invested. Maybe that’s not what you meant, but it left me insecure and hesitant to bring it up again. I wondered: Why can’t she just say it’d be great? Why does it sound like she doesn’t really want to or like she is saying she won’t go out of her way to make it happen?

Your back-and-forth, scattered responses, and insecurities made me feel insecure too—especially when your words and actions didn’t match. In one of your last emails, you said you were “all over the place” about getting together. When I tried to talk through it—to explain why I felt bad or intimidated to invite you—you shut me out and walked away.

I was trying to let you know that I respected how things were shifting for you (and for us), especially now that toxic family dynamics are no longer in the picture and our lives have gotten busier. I didn’t want to add more to your plate. I tried—though imperfectly—to explain how certain moments had made me feel unsure. Like when I invited you over and you repeatedly expressed worry about our Mother-in-Law being invited, even in 2023 when I had made it clear it was just you five invited, you were still worried then. I respected and showed patience with your worries and gave you space to work through it, but it never felt resolved. I accepted your lack of trust, even though it hurt—because I’ve only ever been trustworthy. But when I more recently needed reassurance and/or clarity because I was worried about something, too; I felt shut out and it left me feeling confused and dismissed, like there was a double standard for everything you did. I wasn’t given the same patience and respect I gave you. I felt foolish for even bringing it up.

If I misunderstood anything or said something the wrong way, please know that wasn’t my intention. I’m not writing this to stir up conflict or expect a response. If distance is what you truly need, I will respect that fully. I always have. I just didn’t want to walk away without expressing what was in my heart. That’s not who I am. I try to face things, not disappear—especially from people I care about. Especially when I know what it feels like.

If there’s still a path forward, it would take honesty, openness, and effort from both of us. I would be willing, but only if you genuinely feel the same. If not, I’ll do my best to carry the good memories with me and let go of what’s been painful—with time, patience, and care. Letting go isn’t easy for me, especially when I’ve invested my heart and many years into a friendship.

I want you to know that I really did care—and still do. I never judged you. I always tried to be someone you could turn to, and I appreciate when you did and when I could with you. I made space for your feelings, even when I didn’t fully understand them. I only wish I had felt that same care more consistently in return, especially over the last year.

I hope you can take this for what it is—my honest experience, and a hope for understanding. I never wanted to end the friendship or stop talking to you. I’ve only been confused and hurt. I truly wish you peace, and I will always care about you. If you ever want to talk again—with honesty and kindness—I’ll be here.”

I don’t know if I did the right thing by sending it. Part of me wonders if I gave her more power—another reason to ignore me. But another part of me knows this: I needed closure. I needed to express myself.

And if that’s considered “weak” in her eyes, so be it. In reality, it’s one more piece of evidence that I was right about who she truly is.

Moving Forward

If anyone reading this has been through something similar, I’d love to hear from you. These experiences can feel so isolating, but I know I’m not alone.

In the meantime, I’m diving back into my story—because it deserves to be told in the clearest, most honest way possible.

Thanks for being there.