Why I Ghosted My Best Friend

I never imagined I’d be the kind of person to ghost someone—especially not someone I once called my best friend. Yet, somewhere between unread messages and avoided phone calls, that’s exactly what happened. I ghosted my best friend. It wasn’t a decision made in anger or spite. It wasn’t even really a decision at all—it was more like a slow fade, a retreat into silence that I didn’t know how to reverse. And as much as I regret the way things ended, the experience taught me more about myself, my boundaries, and the complicated dynamics of adult friendships than I ever expected.

We met during our second year of college, and from that first accidental conversation, we were inseparable. She was my person. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, stayed up late ranting about life, relationships, and dreams. For years, she was my emotional anchor. But like so many things in life, the intensity of our bond made it fragile. After graduation, our lives split off into completely different directions. She stayed in our hometown, eventually settling into a rhythm that made sense to her—same city, familiar faces, family close by. I, on the other hand, moved three provinces away, chasing job offers and an undefined version of freedom. We promised to stay close, to call weekly, to visit during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, those promises faded under the weight of growing responsibilities and unspoken resentments.

It started with little things. I’d call and she wouldn’t pick up. She’d send texts that felt more like obligations than conversations. When we did talk, I felt a shift—an underlying current of judgment, a subtle disapproval of the choices I was making. I began to feel like I was constantly explaining myself, justifying my absence, my busyness, my changing views. Every conversation felt heavier than the last. At first, I tried harder—sent voice notes, made time for surprise calls, even planned a visit that she later canceled. But eventually, I began to pull back. I told myself it was self-preservation, that I needed to protect my energy. In reality, I was avoiding a difficult conversation.

Then came the silence. She messaged me after a particularly difficult month, asking if everything was okay. I saw the message. I even typed a response. But I never sent it. I didn’t know how to say, “I’m tired of pretending we’re still the same people,” or “I don’t feel safe with you emotionally anymore.” So I said nothing. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. She reached out again, and again. And each time, my guilt grew alongside my silence. I had ghosted my best friend.

The guilt was overwhelming at times. I replayed old memories constantly—our inside jokes, our road trips, the time we both cried over tea in my kitchen after she got dumped. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her anymore. It was that I didn’t know how to love her from the distance we’d both created. It wasn’t that I stopped caring—it was that I no longer felt emotionally safe to be honest with her. That’s what people don’t understand about ghosting. It’s not always cruel or indifferent. Sometimes it’s the final step in a long line of emotional withdrawals, a way of saying “I can’t do this anymore” when words feel too inadequate or dangerous.

I spent a long time wrestling with whether to reach out again. I drafted messages, deleted them, wrote long journal entries trying to make sense of my behavior. What I eventually learned was this: ghosting someone doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It means there was a boundary you didn’t know how to set. It means there was a conversation you were afraid to have. It means your emotional resources were depleted and you didn’t have the tools to repair what was breaking. What I did wasn’t right—but it wasn’t heartless either. It was human.

What it taught me is the importance of emotional honesty. Ghosting felt easier in the moment, but the long-term discomfort was far worse than any hard conversation could’ve been. I learned that if something doesn’t feel right in a friendship—if you’re walking on eggshells, constantly feeling judged, or simply no longer aligning—it’s better to talk about it, even awkwardly, than to vanish. I also learned that friendships, like people, change. And that’s okay. Not every friendship is meant to last forever. Some teach us, shape us, and then gently release us into the next phase of our lives.

Today, we’re not in touch. I don’t know where she is or how she’s doing. Sometimes I still think about sending that message. Not to reignite the friendship, but to apologize for the silence. To let her know it wasn’t her fault. To let her know I was struggling. Maybe one day I will. Or maybe I won’t. But what I do know now is this: ghosting my best friend was a painful chapter in my life, one filled with shame and introspection. But it was also a chapter that forced me to confront who I was becoming, and what kind of connections I truly want.

So if you’ve ghosted someone, or been ghosted, take a breath. There are always deeper stories behind silence. Sometimes it’s avoidance. Sometimes it’s fear. And sometimes, it’s just the end of a chapter that no one had the courage to close properly. Either way, it can be a powerful teacher—if we’re willing to listen.