A Story of Friendship Breakups

Tulum is known for its cenotes: permanent cavities in limestone caused mostly by gradual rock dissolutions. Slow erosion chips away at the subsurface bedrock until there is no longer enough support. It creates a dipped hollow etch exposing natural pools of water underneath. Sometimes, though, an abrupt collapse of a surface layer does in seconds what can otherwise take centuries.

Anna chose Tulum as the location for her bachelorette party shortly after her longtime boyfriend Nathan proposed to her. A quick Google image search of “Tulum” revealed a cerulean paradise with woody palm trees fanning rocky caves. I imagined piling into the plane with my best friends, neck pillows and sweatshirts in tow, traveling like old times when we used to go on vacations back in college. With all of us scattered across the country in different cities, it was rare for us to be together in one place anymore.

Then, the unthinkable happened. My best friends, my support system--the girls who I lived with and called my sisters for seven years--severed their relationship with me completely. The world I had created with them collapsed in one swift motion, like a cenote giving in.

Six months later, I was lying in bed wearing sweatpants, scrolling through my phone, quietly watching their girls’ trip, the one I was supposed to be a part of, unfold over Instagram. They were in colorful bikinis with wet hair tied into messy buns. They floated in the dewy blue-green pools of Tulum’s infamous cenotes, arms spread wide and relaxed, lazy smiles pasted on their tanned faces.

Anna’s caption read, “The luckiest person to have an entire kingdom of women that make me laugh so hard I go hoarse and can’t even thank without crying because they’re too incredible to put into words. Thank you for being the most amazing humans this planet has to offer and for all getting on planes to eat our weight in tacos.”

Her words stung, solidifying that they were all moving on without me. I wondered if they even noticed that I was missing, a Sophia-shaped, shadowy carcass of a former best friend invisible in the group shot. Erased from the new memories they made together, maybe even erased from their hearts completely.

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In college, my friends and I always talked about how we were such a random, eclectic group of girls to be together. We didn’t fit in with the athletes and sorority-types at our school--we thought we were more global, more innovative, more unique--and we were proud of it.

Anna was a third culture creative who grew up in Paraguay, Ecuador, and Wales, investing deeply in each friendship, which she carefully tended to like a plant. Remembering the little things and surprising you with the most thoughtful gift out of the blue. Adriana was a proud Chilean-American with strong interpersonal skills and a relentless drive to serve those in need. Grounded in her morals, she lived the way she believed. Monica, the daughter of Portuguese immigrants, was a quiet but impenetrable force, a collegiate swimmer and global educator who mothered those closest to her. Treasa was an introverted city girl from Philadelphia with a knack for math and logic, an intellectual who was as silly as she was brilliant. I was a sensitive, moody biracial writer from the suburbs, a little bit naive and sheltered. A chameleon with my identity who anchored myself to the solid friendships I formed. I was the one who had the crazy college stories, the wild card experiences that made them laugh until they realized how sad it all made me feel. They never failed to remind me how much they loved me. How much they forgave me.

Coming from such diverse backgrounds and ending up at this small, rural liberal arts school in southern Maryland, my friend group felt like a miracle. I actually never had been part of a friend group before; I was always more of a loner, but here, I had found my second family. We were authentic. We called each other out when it was necessary. We breezed in and out of each other’s closets, feeling closer to whoever owned the sweatshirt we were borrowing. We took shrooms one day in the school gardens and slid white flowers in our hair. As we switched majors and broke hearts and changed our minds, the one thing that remained constant was us. Anna with her witty roasts. Adriana with her honest opinions. Monica with her unexpectedly hilarious one-liners.

One time sitting around on the portico, we tried to figure out what was one common denominator that we as a group shared. Someone had pointed out that all of us had brothers (except for Treasa, who’s an only child) and that no one of us had any sisters. Maybe that’s why we grew so close--because we had become the sisters we had always wanted.

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The day we graduated college, we wore similar white dresses from Forever 21 and drank Bloody Mary’s with our parents at 7am. The following year, we spread out in Santiago, Lisbon, and Hong Kong. The year after it became New York, Boston, Denver, and Washington, DC. We got accepted into grad schools. We moved in with new roommates who became new best friends, but never replacements for each other. A new set of miles between us, our friendships somehow only grew tighter from our shared group chat, lively with daily updates, and Christmas parties at someone’s apartment.

I did grow somewhat apart from Treasa and Adriana, in terms of individual friendships. My relationships with Anna and Monica, the girls I was closest to throughout college, remained strong until the last days. The final year I had with them, I became a master’s graduate who moved back to my parents’ home and commuted to a lifeless temp job. I felt I wasn’t going anywhere in life, and I turned my frustrations and irritability on them. I skipped out on a concert I was supposed to go to with Monica. I accidentally got too high for Anna’s engagement dinner. Thoughtless things like that, plus more frequent petty disagreements that turned into weeks-long silences. I read G-chat messages from Anna begging me to change, heard FaceTime calls from Monica trying to work out yet another half-hearted apology.

One December day, I had had enough of feeling ganged up on. Blind to my own shortcomings and selfishness towards them, in one senseless, vengeful act on social media, I betrayed Monica in a public way, turning the rest of the group away from me, too. The final straw, which, honestly, was inevitably years in the making, building up to eventually tear everyone down--myself most of all.

Dismayed by my own behavior, I wrote lengthy apology emails to them, where every single one went without response. I spent the subsequent months tackling change within myself, focusing deeply on inner reflection. I made new friends under quiet promises to myself that I’d never let it get that bad with them. I wouldn’t be the “toxic” friend to them. I would listen more than talk. I started to show gratitude more, thinking of them before I thought of myself at times. This was the me my group always wanted.

But then there were times where I’d find myself slightly wine-drunk in the middle of the living room at one of my friends’ apartments, looking around at all my new friends who showed me patience and kindness when I didn’t think I deserved it. I felt warm appreciating the second chances I gained with them yet recognizing that I ran out of chances with my old friends.

They’ll never know that I went to Japan with my brother the day after I found out I earned my first full-time job with benefits. They have no idea I got my second tattoo--the word “angel” behind my arm. The spontaneous trips to New York and Los Angeles, the rejections from guys I liked too quickly, the times I finally learned to say no, the studio apartment I finally moved into on my own. And I’d never know anything about them. Their growth. All the moments they shared not shown on social media.

I found out from Facebook that Anna’s wedding would be on August 10, two days after my birthday. Anna and I were the ones who particularly loved wedding culture, planning our dresses and venues and seasons since we were 18. When the photos came out, I saw tears and hugs. Anna and Nathan grinning with joined hands, raised high in the air in triumph. The girls in long floral dresses. I saw they were happy. They were happy. And in my soul, I knew that it was time for me to let go.

When a cenote caves in, the structures break down, becoming something unrecognizable as what it once resembled. But sometimes, the pools of water created after, are beautiful enough to swim in.