Get Over Yourself

There's a specific kind of friendship that doesn't survive an argument. Not because it wasn't real. Not because the other person was toxic, or unsupportive, or someone you were better off without. It just quietly stops, usually over something that felt bigger in the moment than it actually was, and then enough time passes that reaching back out starts to feel harder than just letting it stay quiet.

I think a lot of us are sitting on at least one friendship like that.

For years, our social circles practically built themselves without us having to try. Sports brought people together, standing on the same sideline every Saturday for a decade will do that. School events did it too, the same familiar faces at every concert, every fundraiser, every pickup line. Even once the kids got older, there were still built-in connections, other parents at college move-in, a roommate's mom you'd text now and then, the friends from childhood who somehow stayed in the group chat even after everyone scattered.

And then the kids move out, and a lot of that structure just goes with them. You're not standing on a sideline anymore. You're not seeing anyone at back-to-school night. The people you spent a decade bonding with over shared kid schedules start to fade, not out of any real falling out, just out of nothing left pulling you back together.

What's left, once all that built-in structure is gone, are the friendships that actually have to stand on their own. No shared kid activity holding it together. Just two people who genuinely like each other, or used to, before something got in the way.

That's the friendship I'm talking about. The one where you both know exactly what happened. Maybe it was a comment that landed wrong. Maybe it was something that felt unforgivable in the moment, a canceled plan at the worst possible time, a side taken during someone else's drama, words said out of stress that should have been walked back sooner than they were. Whatever it was, it wasn't cruelty. It was a mistake, made by a person who is, underneath all of it, still someone genuinely good.

But pride is patient. It doesn't demand anything of you right away. It just sits there, quietly making the silence feel normal, year after year, until you've gone so long without talking that reaching out starts to feel like it would be strange, or worse, like admitting the whole thing mattered more than you want to admit it did.

Here's the thing though: it did matter. That's exactly why it's worth fixing.

Get over yourself. I mean that gently, but I mean it. Send the text. Make the call. Let it be a little awkward for the first thirty seconds, because it probably will be, and let the relief that comes right after be the thing you remember instead.

This stage of life has a way of clarifying who actually matters. It's not about the size of the group anymore, the sideline full of familiar faces, the crowded group chat. It's about who you actually want to stand next to you now that it's less about the kids and more about you. And more often than you'd expect, the answer includes someone you haven't spoken to in longer than either of you would like to admit.

So, if there's a name sitting in the back of your mind right now, someone good, someone you miss more than the disagreement ever deserved, that's your sign. Get over yourself and reach out. The friendship's probably been waiting just as long as you have.

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