TO THE STRANGER MASKED AS A FRIEND WHO CALLED ME ‘SISTER’

To the one I once treated like family,
The one who said I was like a sister,
The one I poured into without hesitation – this is for you.

You taught me something, though not in the way I expected. You taught me that friendship isn’t a one-way street, and that loyalty, true, steadfast loyalty, should never feel like chasing after crumbs.

I remember the moments clearly. Cancelling plans to make room for you. Hosting you when things didn’t go your way. Sitting by, always ready to offer a helping hand, a listening ear, a safe place to land. I didn’t think twice. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?

But as time went on, it became painfully clear that our friendship wasn’t mutual. My time, my energy, my heart, I gave so much. And when I needed you, truly needed you, I realised that I was disposable. Replaceable.

I should have known it was strange, the way I knew every detail of your relationship. You shared it all with me, and I listened, supported, and cared as if it were my own. But now I see the imbalance, the glaring red flag I overlooked: you never asked about mine. You didn’t know my stories, my struggles, or the things that made me laugh or cry. It was as if our friendship existed only in service to you.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? You publicly wrote so often about love, its depth, its beauty, its kindness—but your private texts to me felt anything but loving. You wrote about friendship and loyalty, about standing by one another, yet you made me feel disposable when it mattered most. You talked about grace, but withheld it when I needed it. You write of love as if it were your second language, yet your actions told a different story. It’s the kind of irony that cuts deep—the contradiction of someone who knows the words but not the weight, who talks of love but forgets to live it.

I defended you… always. I took your side without question. I listened to your complaints, justified your anger, and stood by you because that’s what friends do, or so I thought. But now, I see the pattern. I see how you turned anyone who saw through the “butter wouldn’t melt” act into an enemy.

What stings most, though, is how quick you were to like, engage with, and even befriend the very women who bullied me. The ones who made me feel small, unwelcome, and insignificant. While I defended you, you extended your hand to those who tore me down. Looking back, it’s clear now: loyalty only went one way, and anyone who didn’t fit into your narrative was cast as the villain.

I should have seen the flags when you claimed to be a feminist, to stand for the empowerment and upliftment of women, but often tearing other women down. You spoke of solidarity, of women supporting women, yet your actions undermined the very foundation of what you claimed to believe in. Feminism isn’t just a banner to wave.

I have made peace with the fact that I am the next to be vilified. I know now how they felt when you did that to them. When they saw people change their view of them, strangers glare, notice their followers drop after people spend time in your company and listen to your tales.

To the one who taught me to stop giving all of myself without checking first—thank you. You taught me that friendships must be two-way. They must involve mutual sacrifice, care, and love. And you reminded me of something crucial: my worth. My value isn’t tied to how much I can give, how much I can move things around, or how much I can accommodate someone who won’t do the same.

I loved you like a sister. I wanted the best for you. And while I still want the best for you, I’ve learned that not everyone deserves a seat at my table. Not everyone deserves to walk this journey with me. And that’s okay.

I see it now… how much this friendship hurt me, how often I endured the pain because your family was so loving to me. They were everything you weren’t: kind, warm, and genuine. They loved me so well, even when I had nothing to offer in return. They made me feel like family. They made me feel seen and valued in ways you never did. With them, I didn’t have to perform or prove my worth – I could just be. You always did ‘joke’ that your mum “forced us to be friends” and you “never wanted to be my friend” – what a truly unkind thing to say but I ignored it because you said it so innocently.

Whilst your family’s kindness showed no bounds, with you I existed only when you needed something. And for too long (eight years to be exact), I tolerated that because I cherished the love your family showed me. But I realise now that I can’t keep doing this to myself—pretending the good from them makes up for the hurt from you.

Week after week, I watched you blank me at church, as if I didn’t exist. The many times I was asked, “Isn’t she one of your best friends?”. It was humiliating, painful, and confusing. How could someone I once cared for so deeply treat me with such indifference?

I remember sitting on the train with you when you admitted, so casually, that you were a jealous friend. At the time, I brushed it off, maybe even tried to laugh it away, but now I see it for what it was—a massive red flag. Jealousy has no place in friendship. Friendship should be about support, love, and celebrating each other’s wins, not secretly resenting them.

I see now that not everyone who comes into your life is meant to stay. Some come to teach you lessons. Some come to show you what love and loyalty don’t look like. And some leave so you can make room for the people who truly matter.

So, to the one I thought would be there forever: goodbye. I wish you well. I hope your life is full of joy but most of all I pray that you heal. Hurt people hurt people. I see how your struggle to get out of that victim mindset probably comes from how he treated you – always viewing yourself through the one situation where you truly were the victim. I see your treatment of me was in part, a projection of that clique of girls, the endless ambiguity of never knowing if you’re in or not in; who know you like the same songs but still won’t invite you to the concert. I see so many reasons to excuse your behaviour and I understand why you treated me the way that you did but I can no longer tolerate it.

When I look back, I’ll know this for certain: in the end, it was probably for the best that I was not there to walk down the aisle with you. And it is for the best that you won’t be there to walk down mine. The women who stand beside me will be those who stood by me in life and that was not you, I see now that was never you.

The women I choose to walk with me in life are those who never make me feel disposable. And that’s the kind of love I want to build my life around. Women who make me feel seen, loved, and valued – not like an afterthought.

Goodbye to you, the stranger masked as a friend who called me sister – and thank you for the lessons.