The grief no one talks about

An ode to the almosts and maybes of female friendship and shit - I just gave myself closure.

There are some heartbreaks you can’t explain because no one ever warned you they existed.

I didn’t think I missed her until I saw someone else laugh the way she used to laugh with me. That kind of deep-belly, no-one-else-would-get-this kind of laugh. It was something we used to do without trying, fall into rhythm, into each other, like we’d been speaking the same language in different rooms our whole lives.

She was never officially my best friend. There was no matching necklaces or sleepover pact. But for a while, she was my favourite person. My first text. My deepest knowing. The one I’d send screenshots to with a single caption: me. She always got it.

And now we don’t talk at all.

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This is one of the most personal essays I’ve written — about grief, friendship breakups, and the ache of fading closeness. I’m sharing the full version with my paid community as a way of protecting its softness, and honouring how much these kinds of stories deserve to be taken seriously.

If this resonates, I’d love to have you join us here. Subscribing helps me keep writing work like this. Slow, intentional, and emotionally true.