I’ve Never Lost of Friend

You can tell a lot about a person by how they react when you let them know they’ve hurt or disappointed you. Even if they didn’t mean to, the way they respond when they realise they’ve caused you pain says a lot about their character. Whether it’s listening, apologising, or brushing it off, their reaction speaks volumes.

I dread situations where I have to confront the fact that I’m hurting, and it’s not easy for me. Growing up, I learned to hold things together, to keep up appearances and not show pain—let alone weakness. So, for me, admitting to a friend that something they’ve done has hurt me takes a lot. It feels like stepping into unfamiliar territory, but I’ve realised that honesty in friendships is crucial, even when it’s uncomfortable.

I’ve recently found myself in that exact situation, and to be honest, it didn’t go as planned. The hardest part was realising that someone I’d done life with for years—a person I thought knew me—actually viewed me through such a harsh, distorted lens. It’s heartbreaking to discover that someone who’s been close to you holds such a toxic perspective of who you are.

One of the things many of us as Black women deal with is being perceived as the “angry Black woman.” It’s a stereotype that follows us, whether we’re being assertive or simply expressing our feelings. And sure, as women in general, we’re often labelled as “hysterical” when we speak up. But for Black women, that label comes with an extra layer of intensity.

I’m not someone who pulls the race card at every opportunity, but I’ve come to see how, in the sea of fragile white tears, I’m often cast as the angry Black woman the moment I speak up for myself. That realisation hits even harder when it’s a so-called friend who sees you in that light. You expect understanding, or at least an open dialogue, but instead you get this ugly stereotype thrown at you. And it stings, because it makes you question everything you thought you knew about the friendship.

In the sea of misunderstandings and long-winded dialogue, one particular thing this person said cut deeper than the rest: “I’ve never lost a friend.” I read those words, and they wounded me. It felt like a weaponisation of something I’d been vulnerable about—something personal, used deliberately to hurt me by someone I call a friend.

Those words stuck with me as I boarded our flight to Albania. I kept replaying them in my head throughout the journey: “I’ve never lost a friend. I’ve never lost a friend.” It wasn’t just a statement; it felt like a harsh criticism, especially from someone who knew that I had, in fact, lost someone I once called a friend. It invalidated my pain because how could a scenario exist where they are the problem when they have never lost a friend.

I took the time to reflect on that statement—why it hurt so much, what it really said, what the lesson is to be learnt and, ultimately, what my conclusion was. And here’s what I’ve come to: either I’ve never lost a friend, or I’ve lost friends who needed to be lost.

Because, let’s not forget, even Judas was once a friend of Jesus.

The first realisation I had, the first epiphany, was maybe I have never lost a friend. Maybe, just like them, I’ve never lost a friend either. Instead, I’ve lost individuals who monopolised on my weaknesses, on my trauma, during seasons when I was more easily manipulated—seasons when I was more desperate for love. I’ve lost individuals who were bad influences, who encouraged me to numb my pain in all the wrong ways, who pushed me to drink more than I ever wanted. I’ve also lost people who enjoyed the company of my bullies, and their presence in my life was not something I needed.

In reality, I’ve embraced kisses from an enemy and wrongly called them friends. As Proverbs 27:6 says, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.” Looking back, I’ve been lonely and sought out bad company, not realising until a year, maybe two, that it was bad company all along. And when I lost that company, I now see that none of them were friends to begin with.

“Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.”
– Proverbs 27:6

But there’s an alternate narrative. Yes, maybe I have lost friends—friends who needed to be lost. People outgrow each other, and that’s painful. It’s an unfair expectation to think that someone will grow in exactly the same way you do. Sure, there are friendships with a flexibility, almost as if they were made to grow with you, and I’ve found some of those. But this idea that just because we’ve known each other for years means we must always keep the title of ‘friend’—that’s an unfair standard.

It leaves us with dwindling friendships, clinging to a false sense of safety, surrounded by people we call friends but feeling utterly lonely.

Regardless of whether those losses were of genuine or false friends, I thank God for the space their absence has created in my life. That space has made room for the friendships and connections I now cherish—some of which have loved me in ways I never knew were possible. These are friends who cheer me on without hesitation, without jealousy, friends who would never leave me feeling left out. They’re the ones who, if I said I was hurting, would get in their car and show up at my door.

They’re friends who, if I told them they hurt me, wouldn’t criticise the way I communicated my pain but would focus on addressing the pain itself. For that, I’m thankful. Thankful for the losses that made room for these beautiful friendships.

So, to those I’ve lost—genuine or not—thank you for the space you left behind. I trust God to fill it, whether with His friendship that never falls short, or with others who reflect His love.