No one really warns you about the slow heartbreak of growing apart from friends.

It’s not a breakup. There’s no big fight. No betrayal. Just distance. Silence. A text left unanswered. A group chat that fizzled out. An invite that never came.

As someone now tiptoeing into my mid-thirties, this grief has become more familiar. And honestly? It still stings. Even when I tell myself it shouldn’t.

In my twenties, I lived for the wild nights and the spontaneous brunches. And who could ever forget the classic “where are we drinking?” texts and even the chaotic group stories that came out of nothing and everything. That era was magic. But it was also shallow, and it couldn’t carry the weight of who I was becoming.

Back then, friendship was often proximity-based and performative. We celebrated each other’s chaos, but not always our healing. We knew each other’s drink orders and go-to Instagram filters which were all the rage back then, but not our core values, our traumas, or our quiet goals. And when I stopped partying and started choosing something deeper? The silence was deafening.

Suddenly, some friendships felt like trying to sync your iPhone 16 to a 2006 iPod docking station.

It wasn’t that I hated anyone.

I just couldn’t relate anymore.

I started craving depth. Conversations about purpose, hobbies, weird dreams, boundaries, dating, and the gray space in between. And some of those old friends just weren’t built for that.

And that’s okay. Truly. But it still hurt.

Because it’s not just people we’re letting go of. It’s former versions of ourselves.

Versions who laughed loud, stayed out too late, and cared way too much about being liked.

Letting go of the friendships that belonged to those versions means grieving the people we used to be.

But here’s the part I never expected: the strongest, most soul-feeding friendships I have now? They weren’t always the oldest ones. They came from the most random places: an unexpected DM, a coworker turned confidant, a painting class acquaintance, or someone I met once while waiting for my car to be serviced. What all of these friends had in common? They just got it.

Sometimes, you meet someone for five minutes and feel safer with them than someone you’ve known for fifteen years.

That’s the thing about growth. It doesn’t come with a loyalty clause. Just because you’ve known someone forever doesn’t mean they’re still aligned with who you are now. And just because a friendship is new doesn’t mean it’s less legitimate.

Letting go of old friendships isn’t a failure. It’s a recalibration. And while it is sad, it’s also kind of beautiful.

Because what’s left behind is clarity.

And what’s ahead is a connection that’s more intentional, more grounded, more aligned.

So if you’re in that weird, in-between space where you’re mourning old friends while quietly celebrating your new ones, just know that you’re not alone. Know that growing up does mean growing apart sometimes. And that’s not a negative thing. That’s evolution.

Grieve it. Feel it. But don’t stay stuck in it.

Because what’s ahead might just be more aligned, more fulfilling, and more “you” than anything behind ever was.