A Note for the Friends Who Sought an Exit in the Midst of Our Becoming

What started as a letter, ended up as a reflection on the unspoken grief of friendships that suddenly stop choosing us back.

I didn’t know if I would ever write this (let alone share it), but as the year winds down, I’ve been sitting with what I’m choosing to release — and what I’m choosing to carry with me into this next version of my life.

And expectedly, you came to mind.

Not because I’m holding on, but because I'm finally feeling ready to let go.

When our friendship ended — or drifted, or simply vanished without a word — it touched a part of me I didn’t want to acknowledge. I poured so much of myself into what I believed we were building.

I trusted it.

I thought it was safe.

I thought we were safe . . . from the kind of abandonment women validly brace for in those pivotal seasons that shape our 30s.

But learning that something I cherished was so easily discarded by you… that kind of truth rearranges you.

For a while, it made me question my judgment, my worth, even the way I love. But pain and heartbreak tend to bring things into focus — showing you exactly what's real, and what was never meant to stay.

And if letting me go and creating an exit made your life lighter, easier, or more aligned, then truly… I’m glad for you. I don’t hold anger. Just the quiet ache of disappointment. . . Disappointment that something that once felt like sisterhood could be treated like it never mattered at all.

I hope, as you move through life, you offer more care to the people who choose you — the ones who see you fully and love you anyway. The intimacy you give should never become a trap for someone who believes it’s safe to lean in.

This year, I’ve been stitching myself back together—healing, forgiving, learning how to trust myself again. This isn’t an open door, or an invitation. It’s closure.

A soft goodbye to what was, and to what will never be again.

I wish you peace.

I wish you clarity.

I wish you healing—the kind that expands you, softens you, makes you gentler with others.

And I hope you learn that love isn’t something you borrow from people just to feel full for a moment.

So, all that said—may the next ending in your life be handled with the care this one deserved.

Writing this letter is my release—my reminder that letting go is also a sacred act of self-respect. Not every story needs to be reopened.

Some just need to be named, honored, and closed with honesty and peace.

-Jah <3