The Girl I Grew Up With

Breakups are tough. Your heart learns to beat beside another heart—you make plans, dream of a little white house with a picket fence, maybe a dog or two. You feel safe. You feel seen. And when that bond breaks, it hurts in places you didn’t know could ache.

But friend breakups? They cut differently. Especially when it’s the friend who’s been there for more than half your life. Your other half. Your platonic soulmate. The one who knew every version of you before you even did.

You shared endless sleepovers filled with living room dance parties, giggling until your sides hurt, Barbie doll storylines that stretched into entire worlds. No one else could make life feel that light.

And then one day, you realize that the love wasn’t quite equal. Maybe they cared—but not the same way. You were all in, heart and soul, while they wanted the whole world’s attention. You only wanted theirs. You wanted to be their ride or die, but they leave you to rot in your humdrum hometown.

They drift. They found a new circle, a new rhythm, a new life. The girl you thought would be your maid of honor doesn’t even ask you to stand by her side. And you realize how heartbreakingly replaceable you are.

There was no dramatic ending. No fight. Just silence, and the slow fading of something once so bright. They built their picket fence. You stayed behind, holding memories that no longer belong to both of you.

Someday, their children will flip through old photo albums and point to your face—some girl I grew up with. They’ll move on. And you will too. But part of you will always remember those two little girls on the swings, laughing at nothing and believing it would always be the two of you against the world.