Have you ever wondered what would happen if you stopped being the one who always reaches out?

I have.

Turns out… nothing happened.

That’s the heartbreaking part.

I’ve lost count of the number of friendships where everything seemed completely normal. We’d meet up, laugh, spend hours chatting, make plans, have a brilliant time…

Then I’d realise something.

Every single conversation had started with me.

Every coffee.

Every museum trip.

Every “Fancy a drink?”

Every “What are you up to this weekend?”

Every “Shall I come over?”

It wasn’t that they were saying no all the time. Most of them were happy to come along.

But after a while I’d think…

“I wonder what would happen if I didn’t message this time.”

So I’d stop.

Not because I was angry.

Not because I wanted to play games.

I was just… tired.

Tired of wondering whether someone would ever choose me first.

And then…

🌵

Silence.

Not for a week.

Not for a month.

Years.

One of my closest friends from years ago never contacted me again after I stopped reaching out. Twenty years have passed.

Twenty.

That still blows my mind.

The part that drives me crazy is that there was never an argument. No dramatic fallout. No “I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Just…

Nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if they even noticed.

Did they assume I was busy?

Did they think I’d text eventually?

Or was I simply the engine keeping the friendship moving all along?

I honestly don’t know.

Friendship doesn’t have to be perfectly fifty-fifty.

Sometimes one person is going through a rough patch.

Sometimes life gets busy.

Sometimes you’re the organiser.

Then sometimes they are.

That’s normal.

But if months go by and neither person has checked in… at some point somebody has to think,

“I wonder how they’re doing?”

It doesn’t have to be every week.

Or every month.

Even every few months is enough to remind someone they matter.

What hurts isn’t that people have lives.

It’s realising you disappeared from theirs… and they never came looking.

Social media makes it feel even stranger.

You watch people posting photos with groups they’ve had since school.

Weekend away.

Bottomless brunch.

Girls’ night.

Inside jokes.

Meanwhile you’re wondering whether it’s acceptable to text someone you’ve not heard from for six months because you’re worried you’re bothering them… again.

Eventually something changes inside you.

You stop chasing.

Not because you don’t care.

Because you’re scared of discovering, once again, that if you stop making the effort…

…that’s the end.

The sad thing is I still think I’d make a good friend.

I love museums.

Random road trips.

A lazy pub afternoon.

Coffee and cake.

A walk somewhere pretty.

Talking rubbish for hours.

I genuinely enjoy hearing about people’s lives…

I just wish someone would occasionally ask about mine.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.

It isn’t about having hundreds of friends.

It’s about wanting just a few people who think,

“I haven’t spoken to her in a while… I’ll send her a message.”

Because friendship shouldn’t depend on one person remembering to press Send.

💗

Maybe we’ve all got that friend who’s always the organiser.

The one who remembers birthdays.

The one who suggests meeting up.

The one who keeps the group alive.

This week… send them the first message.

They’ve probably been waiting longer than you realise. 💗