Now it’s time to share the long, over-defending, over-explaining email I almost sent to Gina. The one I’m ultimately glad I didn’t send—because rereading it made me doubt my own worries and feel like I wasn’t justified. I was. I was justified because of the things she said and did for years. But this is what I used to do: take full blame, say I was wrong for even speaking up, and apologize for things I hadn’t actually done wrong. My real “mistake” was trusting her and sharing everything because of that trust. I never should have. She was never safe with me in the way I was safe with her.

I used to write Gina these long emails because she would gaslight me or twist my words—on purpose. She knew my past, knew how often I’d had to defend myself, and she used that to make me feel small. When she started ignoring me, it only pushed me to say more. I see now that was the wrong move. I should have stepped back. If I’m forced to defend my character over and over, it’s a sign to disengage and spare myself the anxiety that was literally making me sick. Another reason my emails ran long was because I trusted her too much and believed she wouldn’t judge or walk away. When I apologized for rambling, she would say it was fine, that she was here to read, that she was the same—until the last year, when she wasn’t. When I apologized for sharing a lot, she assured me I could share “any time.”

Here’s the hypocritical part: when Gina worried I didn’t like her anymore (end of 2020–2021, when I had postpartum anxiety), she said mean things, twisted my words, and refused to trust me—even though I had always been trustworthy. I didn’t walk away. I didn’t tell her I was directing my time and energy elsewhere because she didn’t trust my heart and intentions. I didn’t ignore her. It hurts that I cared more and wasn’t given the same care and respect back.

It also hurts that Gina used to thank me for not abandoning her when there were differences or misunderstandings—yet what did she do to me this past year? No wonder I was confused. Either she lied for years or she can’t decide what she wants and keeps changing her story. I don’t know, because she won’t admit anything or tell the truth. It’s always confusing.

AAAHHH. It has hurt so much. I want to be respected and heard the way I did for her. I want to leave no more space for this. I want to be okay never knowing why—and that’s why I’m writing. It’s helping me accept that some people can look healthy, but if they ignore you and don’t give you a second thought or a chance to share your truth, they’re not acting from a good heart.

Below is the long email I started—me pouring out my heart. Why bother, when she wouldn’t have cared and would have read it as proof the problem was me? And by the way, I never got to tell her that in my October email, when I wrote she spends time with people “closer” to her, I meant physically closer, not emotionally. I think she got mad at that and other things because she misunderstood. So if she ever reads my blog: I meant people who live closer to her. It’s easier. She’s said it herself many times about the distance. Okay—now the long email. I’m sharing it to put everything on the table, show what I could have done differently, and admit I wasn’t always clear. I’m not perfect.

“Hi—

I’m not even sure how to start this because I’ve tried to write the perfect letter for months—the one that would make you stop ignoring me and want to talk, work through this, and move past it before our favorite time of year rolls around again. I don’t know what the perfect letter is, but I’m sending this to apologize: for the rambling and confusion in my October 2024 email that started everything, for still not clearly explaining myself in my November 2024 email and sounding harsh and blameful, and for how awful and unfair my January 2025 email was.

In October 2024, I was trying to express something that had been bothering me for a couple of years. I tried a few times and kept repeating myself because I couldn’t say it clearly. I imagine it sounded like I was saying you didn’t care about the friendship or weren’t making an effort. That must have felt hurtful and confusing. I’m sorry my confusing words made you feel that way. What I was trying to convey came from my own insecurities and worries—something we’ve both experienced. I started overthinking. I convinced myself you were rejecting my invites because you didn’t want to spend one-on-one time with us, especially at our house. Then I spiraled into feeling like we weren’t good enough—embarrassing, not worth your time, too boring. When it seemed easy for you to see others, while my invites were declined, I felt like you were done spending holidays, my kids’ birthdays, or other special times with us. It looked like everyone else was doing the “right” things to earn your time.

I obviously had things to work through. It was hard not getting any response that told me what was hurting you so much that you shut me out—no chance to talk, understand, or repair. What was so bad that every attempt to reconcile was ignored, while my husband’s group texts got quick replies and even a birthday message, when I was still ignored? It felt like I’d done something so awful that I was cut out for it. I felt abandoned—again—and I didn’t know how to fix it.

I didn’t do a great job explaining what I meant about getting together or what I was trying to clear up. I was confusing instead of clear. I was trying to help you understand while asking for your clarification. I trusted you completely, which is why I believed you would understand I wasn’t attacking you and that we could work through it like we’ve done before. When I’m in a situation where I’m defending myself or over-explaining that I didn’t mean something the way it was heard, I stumble even more—because I’ve so often not been listened to or believed. People assume and judge. My heart races, I trip over words, and then they decide I meant something I didn’t—usually that I’m a careless person who doesn’t care. Then I’m abandoned. It’s happened so many times before you that sometimes, over the last few years, I got worried. Things felt almost too good—like a dream—and I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t be abandoned again. Then I overthought, worried when I didn’t need to, and stumbled while trying to explain what was bothering me—and it happened anyway. I’ve worked hard on this all year. I finally understand I shouldn’t have felt that way with you. And I realize that if someone ignores me or abandons me when I’m not even being heard and my words are twisted, they didn’t really care about me.

I regret the miscommunication. I would never tell you that you didn’t care about the friendship or weren’t making enough effort. I’m sorry it looked like my mind and heart were made up when I was just confused, trying to understand, and trying to respect you. I’m sorry for the times I couldn’t express myself clearly—for rambling, saying too much, or not saying enough because I didn’t want to upset you. I’ve worked hard on that this year. I don’t think I’m perfect. I know my thoughts have rough edges because of what I’ve been through—so much abuse—and it will be lifelong work to untangle those patterns. Sometimes I still slip and worry. I wish you’d been there for me the way I’ve always been there for you.

I’m sorry if I put too much on you or ever felt like a burden. All I wanted was to be the best friend to you—something I hadn’t been able to do in the past because friends moved away, I moved away, or people were unkind. Mostly, they didn’t care, expected me to do all the work, and if I didn’t—or if they misunderstood me—they ignored me for good. I’m sorry if I messed this up. I saw our friendship lasting a lifetime, with misunderstandings resolved easily. I pictured more good talks, maybe all of us getting together sometimes, and being able to lean on each other as our kids became teens, grew up, moved out, and when life got hard. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe I should have let things unfold without overthinking. I’m sorry for that.

I’m VERY sorry my January 2025 email was harsh. My mindset then was not good. I had just read your message saying you were stepping away—no indication if or when you’d come back—and that I wasn’t “safe” for you anymore. That cut deep because I have always seen myself as safe, and I always hoped you’d be there for me when I needed to work something through. Old feelings rushed in: hurt, abandonment, misunderstanding, being unseen and unheard, not good enough. It made me feel worthless—like a failure—and that no one outside of my kids, my husband, and God wanted me in their life.

When I read your January email, I should have taken time to reflect and choose my words. Instead, I let my mom’s suggestion—tell you that you need help and to stop contacting me—take over. Your words and actions had hurt me so much that I reacted and tried to hurt you back. I’m sorry. It’s not something I would have said on my own, but I’m responsible for sending it. What I meant was that I agree you should prioritize yourself (though I never expected to be your priority) and do the work around your triggers. I also said you didn’t need to worry about contacting me—my mom told me to say “never contact me again,” but I didn’t want that. My real thought was that I wasn’t worth working through a misunderstanding for. I felt like a burden and didn’t want to add stress to your life.

I was confused, asking God why. I felt like I wasn’t worth keeping around while you worked through things—that we could still talk sometimes like we already were, but instead I got silence. I wish I’d taken more time to reflect and be clear. Instead, I let emotion lead. The silence has helped me grow, learn what to do—and what not to do—and heal from the hurt I’ve carried since your November 2024 email. I’ve grown a lot.

I’ve learned that even though I’ve been hurt by many, not everyone is the same. I’ve learned not to assume the worst when I worry—just communicate clearly instead of tiptoeing because I’m afraid of upsetting someone I trust. I’ve also learned this wasn’t really about me. You were busy, overbooked, and any downtime went to home and your little family—to rest and make memories. Life is short and moving fast. I understand that driving 45 minutes (twice) and then visiting is a lot when your time is limited. That’s why I tried to say I didn’t want to add to your load. I wanted to know how you felt so I could confidently invite you before the holidays (even for a kids sleepover), or accept that it was too much. When you told me you were so busy you didn’t even do a birthday for your oldest, I took that as another excuse, like you were letting me down gently. Instead, I should have believed you. I got insecure and worried that I was too much, that you didn’t want to spend those times with us anymore, or that we weren’t good enough. That was wrong. I should have stayed confident, not worried, and kept an easygoing “if it happens, it happens” mindset. I also see now you made time for others not because you liked them more or it was easier—but because the timing worked then.

I never used to worry about how often we got together. I figured we’d see each other when we could. Honestly, because we spent so much time with MIL, I thought once she was out of the picture we’d finally get some of those times together—not constantly, but once or twice a year. When that didn’t happen—or when my invites were met with “we’re so busy,” “you live far,” or “I’m not sure you won’t invite MIL”—I started to worry. I’m sorry I expected that from you. I was very content with our talks, truly. I shouldn’t have said anything until I’d settled myself. I felt rejected, my thoughts got cloudy, and I felt like the four of us weren’t worth your time (to be clear, I mean when I invited you all; I wasn’t expecting more invites from you). I’m sorry I ever felt that way. That’s not who I am.

Our friendship meant so much to me, and this almost full year of silence has been one of the hardest things I’ve faced in a long time. I cherished our connection, and I’m sorry I contributed to losing it with my worries, insecurities, unhealed hurts, and words that came out differently than they sounded in my head and heart. I never cared about how often we saw each other as much as I cared about feeling heard, understood, and not abandoned.

I’ve never wanted to force a response. It has to be genuine. As I’ve said, it’s up to you if you ever want to talk or try to work through this and return to our good conversations as friends and SILs. I’ve always been there for you and cared. I truly have been a safe person for you, I’ve never judged you, and I wouldn’t have abandoned you. I’m sorry for how it all happened, and I’d take it back if I could, especially if it meant not losing someone I considered a best friend and SIL. There’s so much I’ve wanted to share (nothing heavy), and then I remember I can’t. I know some of my worries weren’t worth bringing up, and I should have kept them to myself, because I never meant to push you away. I hope you’re doing well, and I hope you understand that I’m very sorry for the misunderstandings—and for my January 2025 email. I wish things had turned out differently, but that’s life, and I have to learn from it like I always have.”

Okay—yes, I got too deep in my feelings, and that draft makes it seem like I wasn’t justified in the concerns I’ve had since 2022. That’s why I didn’t send it. I cared about her and the friendship and wanted to work it out. I wish she hadn’t shut me out. I wish she’d taken time to understand—and I wish I’d been clearer. Something more like this:

“I’m starting to worry, but you are not to blame. I’m only worried that you don’t want one-on-one time with us when I invite, based on things you’ve said. I’m not attacking—I want to understand because I care deeply about you and this friendship, and I don’t want misunderstandings. I worry it’s easier for you to see others and that we’re not enough. I want to talk this through so I can stop feeling that way and we can move forward. I know you’ve had worries before—everyone does—and I trust you. That’s why I’m bringing this up: so it won’t linger in my head as something untrue.”

But I didn’t say it that clearly. And honestly—would it have mattered? Was she already getting rid of me, to the point where anything would set her off? It feels that way. She framed me as a burden, as someone who wouldn’t “allow” her peace. That isn’t true. What did she need to “heal” from when it came to me—her past hurts? Yes. Lumping me in with the people who truly hurt her? Yes. I needed healing too: from not being clear, from realizing I need to use more wisdom when I choose who I trust, from knowing that someone who doesn’t respect me and acknowledge me the way I do them isn’t a good person, from over-worrying because of my past. A true friend—and SIL—works through that with you. You can even bond over it and get better together. Not Gina. She didn’t want to, or care enough to try. If she cared about me, or my kids, or my husband, she wouldn’t have cut me out. I didn’t do anything she needs to “heal from.” It hurts that she couldn’t see I wasn’t attacking her—I was trusting her, like always—to be there, to understand, to work through my worries the way I always did with hers. Instead, she shut me down and walked away. Do you know how many times I’ve been shut down or ignored by people who just wanted to hurt me? She knows. She’s lived it, too. I’ve never done it to anyone, yet it keeps being done to me. It’s hurtful and it’s wrong.

That’s what I wanted to share in this post. I thought this would close the Gina chapter, but I was wrong. She responded to my email on Friday night. Next, I’ll share what she said, how hurtful she continues to be, and how skewed her view of me has become. After that, I’ll share what I would say in response—but I’m choosing silence instead. She ignored me to retaliate and hurt me. I’m choosing to be silent to grow, to keep my peace, and because she no longer deserves my time or attention. I’m sorry for how my January email came off (even though the feelings behind it were valid). I’m also sorry I wasn’t clearer before—tiptoeing around because I worried how she’d react.