Why I think losing childhood friends is hurtful, yet liberating
Most of us have known that becoming an adult means coming out of ‘the age of innocence’. A huge part of this means losing touch with and, in some cases, losing your childhood friends.
The hurtful part of it
Losing your childhood friends is like losing your old self, your childhood self. When you grow up with a certain set of people, they form an intrinsic part of your identity of ‘becoming’; shaping your likes, dislikes, quirks; forming a huge part of your memories. When you’re a child, you are so sure that your friendships will last forever. You promise yourself that you will never let go of your best friends, no matter how ‘busy’ you get.
Children don’t really understand the concept of ‘busyness’ and ‘adulthood’ — the latter is a completely fascinating world that they think will mean the realisation of all their dreams.
And so, it’s completely shocking and heartbreaking when you come into adulthood and realise how much of a transformational, and often painful, journey it is. Mood swings, depression, financial insecurity, and anxiety become as much your friends (frenemies?) as do freedom, independence, and choice. In this deeply turbulent time, you are so invested in becoming someone, becoming ‘you’, that you often don’t have the time for those friendships of yours you so treasure(d).
Most of your friends are also going through a similar phase. But, when your friendships disintegrate into a feeling of apathy and indifference, it is even worse.
When your friendships fade away from being each other’s first phone call to tell them about what your crush did to inviting them over WhatsApp to your engagement (of which they had no idea), a vast chasm opens up between both of you. Within that invitation lies the stark awareness that you both haven’t been in touch and are now vastly alienated from each other’s lives.
Or it could be that your friend is moving abroad for further studies, and you get to know this through a Facebook post.
Or them hearing you got your dream job — the one they knew you wanted since five — from a mutual acquaintance.
Or your friend getting married and you seeing his pictures on Instagram.
Whatever the situation, them not being a part of your journey and you not being a part of theirs, is a heartbreaking experience, and one that we experience as a personal rejection. It makes you question yourself: What did I do wrong? What could I have done better? Do I care more for her than she does for me? Why did he not tell me? Why is this affecting me so much?
And finally, how do I move on? Where do we go from here?
This particular feeling — this irreparable loss of a childhood friend — is the worst.
Not only do you lose them, but you also lose a part of yourself. The part that only they knew — your strengths, your weaknesses; how you cried over getting 40/100 in math, how you spent endless amount of time choosing your farewell sari, the way you made fun of the PE teacher in school, or the mutual delight of sharing those amazing spring rolls in the school canteen.
It's all gone really. There’s no witness to your memories left. The vestiges of your past life, contained within your friends, are lost forever.
The heart experiences a sense of absolute desolation and despair when it loses the friendships it most valued. What makes it even more difficult is the knowledge, deep within, that the blame is for both to share.
The liberating part of it
I truly believe that friendship, in its own way, is far more tragic than love. When you realise you lost a friend, a part of you unscrambles, unbecomes. They leave behind a huge void.
But in the end is also a beginning. A beginning for you to realise the new person you’ve become.
A person who is fighting, and slowly winning, over adulthood.
A person who is learning new things every day.
A person who is earning their own money.
A person who is slowly conquering their depression.
A person who is meeting the love of their life.
A person who is trying to achieve their dreams.
A person who knows that, while they may never experience those deep friendships, they will definitely experience mature ones — friends who understand that life, the way it is, requires that we maintain a balance.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the loss of childhood friendships is something one can ever get over. But it’s heartening to know that you can always make new friendships.
And the best thing? You learn how to become your own friend.
You understand your trigger points. You learn how to spot toxic people. You know that you’d rather watch Netflix with a hot cup of coffee, than go out clubbing. You learn how to pull yourself out of despair. You become your own personal sun. You know that life goes on, and you will meet and forget many people, and there’s a certain kind of beauty in those ephemeral kind of relationships. You become detached from the material world. You probe inward.
You become your own friend.
And that is truly liberating.