They call it “boyfriend sickness.” I call it ghosted by my bestie. But what happens after the silence?
It always starts the same.
A new guy. A cute guy. A guy with suspiciously clean sneakers and a playlist curated like he’s auditioning for a Wes Anderson film. Suddenly, your best friend—your ride-or-die, your Thursday wine night soulmate, your “we’ll be single together forever” pact partner—goes poof. Gone. Like a sock in a dryer or the last fry you swore you were saving for her.
Now, before we sharpen our pitchforks or send dramatic “u alive?” texts in the middle of the night, I want to say this—I’m not mad. Really. I’m not.
Okay. I was. A Little.
Alright, a lot. But hear me out.
Think of me as your countryside Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City series if she had chickens, a three-day-old blowout, and a habit of writing emotionally confusing captions at 2 a.m., and recently, I’ve been going through The Vanishing.
It’s your close friend—usually the one who’s memorized your Starbucks order and cried with you during your “Taylor Swift: Folklore” phase—starts dating someone new. And slowly, without warning, your texts start to go unanswered. Brunches turn into rescheduled. Your shared memes? Left on “seen.” Her location? Last updated 14 days ago, some guy’s house you’ve never been introduced to.
Love in the Time of Ghosting
Let me give you the tea. I’ve got a friend—we’ll call her Mia (because I’m petty, but not that petty)—who has a PhD in disappearing when dating. I’m talking Houdini-level escapology. We’d go from sending 45 TikToks a day and debating the emotional availability of Pedro Pascal to total radio silence the moment she entered the “talking stage” with a guy who wore beanies in the summer.
And I get it. I do. That honeymoon phase? It’s sticky, glowy, and entirely unhinged. You want to be with your new person all the time. Like, all the time. You’re high on affection and endorphins and serotonin from forehead kisses. Everything smells like lavender and potential. Suddenly, replying to my meme about how we’d both marry Keanu Reeves in another life just… doesn’t make the cut.
But the hard part is this—I’m still here. Noticing. Waiting. Watching your Instagram stories with a confused smile and bag of Doritos.
When They Come Back
Mia FaceTime-d me. After seven months. SEVEN. ENTIRE. MONTHS.
I was in bed, no bra, halfway through a pint of cookie dough ice cream, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls like the emotionally stable woman I pretend to be. My phone buzzed, and there she was—glowing, grinning, and holding up a blurry sonogram to the camera like it was a lottery ticket.
“I’m pregnant!”
Girl. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?
I blinked. I sat up. I tried to remember the last time we even had a conversation that didn’t involve her double-tapping my Instagram story. April 21st. She added, “OMG, are you crying?? I wanna post this viral moment on TikTok!”
Ma’am… MISS MA’AM…
You ghosted me for almost an entire pregnancy. You missed Friendsgiving, my “situationship” saga, and the entire time I was spiraling about whether or not I should get bangs again. And now you want to use my reaction for content?
I could’ve hung up. I could’ve said something dramatic and Carrie-Bradshaw-esque like, “This isn’t just friendship; it’s a timeline you abandoned.” But I didn’t. I just… laughed.
Because really, what else do you do when your best friend calls out of nowhere with a baby bump and an iPhone camera tilted at a 45-degree angle?
The Friend Left Behind
I’m in my 30s. A millennial. The only one in my friend group not married, not pregnant, not nesting like a squirrel prepping for winter. My calendar is filled with baby showers and, “first birthdays” and bridal brunches where I’m seated at the “fun auntie” table (read: the single table).
And every few months, I lose another friend to the Bermuda Triangle of love, domesticity, or their boyfriend’s Call of Duty obsession.
It hurts. Not always in a big, loud way. Sometimes it’s just little things. Like getting tagged in fewer memes. Or not being someone’s emergency contact anymore. Or realizing you don’t know what their new favorite food is because someone else does.
But here’s the twist… sometimes, they come back. And when they do, you have a choice.
You can guilt them. You can hold a grudge. Or—you can welcome them home.
I chose the latter. Because despite all the messy feelings, the silence, the “sorry I’ve been busy” excuses—she’s still my friend.
Love Evolves. So Do Friendships.
Friendships in your 30s are weird. They stretch and bend and sometimes ghost you at 4:37 p.m. on a random Tuesday. But they also show up with cake when your heart’s broken. They babysit your cat when you’re on vacation. They send a TikTok that says “this is you” and it’s literally just a video of someone crying while watching The Notebook and eating cheese.
Friendships aren’t always balanced. Sometimes, you give more. Sometimes, you get more. And sometimes you’re just… waiting for a reply.
But the real ones? They loop back around. Not always with an apology. Sometimes, just with an “I’ve missed you.” And when they do, you realize you’re not the same either. You’ve grown. You’ve learned to entertain yourself. You’ve learned that you’re not less important just because someone’s in love.
You’re just in a different chapter.
And if your friendship is strong enough, it’ll figure out how to be part of your story again.
If You’re the Friend Who Vanished…
Hi. Hello. It’s okay. Life happens. Love is exciting. But if you’ve ghosted someone who once knew every detail of your menstrual cycle, maybe shoot them a text today. Tell them you thought of them. Send that meme you saw three weeks ago. Let them know you’re still there.
We don’t need grand gestures. Just a little nudge that we’re still important to you.
And if you are a friend left behind—you’re not alone. So many of us here, loving our friends through all the versions of themselves: single, in love, heartbroken, healing, thriving, or hiding.
Let it hurt for a bit. Then laugh. Then maybe cry. And then? Text your group chat. Say, “I miss us.” Say, “Brunch?”
TL;DR:
- Your best friend might vanish into her relationship. It’ll suck.
- You might get the “I’m pregnant” text at midnight while watching reruns of Gilmore Girls.
- Cry if you need to. Eat chips. Send passive-aggressive memes.
- But when she comes back? If she comes back?
- Meet her there. Talk. Laugh. Hug if you’re into that.
- And if not? Wish her love. Then, find your people who’ll always answer your memes.
Some friendships aren’t over. They’re just on pause.
And hey—if you’re reading this and your bestie’s vanished into the arms of a boyfriend with a man bun, just know… she’s probably still thinking of you.
Right after their next cuddle session.
Now, excuse me while I text Mia back.
