I got too attached to a friendship that wasn’t what I thought: here’s how I let go

I recently found myself in a familiar but uncomfortable place: realising that a budding friendship I’d invested in wasn’t quite what I thought it was.

You know the feeling. You meet someone who seems wonderful. The initial conversations flow easily. You feel that rare spark of connection that’s so hard to find in adulthood. You start making space for them in your life, putting in effort, doing the emotional labour of reaching out, following up, remembering details, showing up.

And then, slowly, you notice. They’re not quite doing the same.

The adult friendship trap.

Here’s what I’ve learned: adults aren’t very good at making friends because they don’t realise you have to put effort into it to make it work. You can’t just expect the other party to do all the emotional labour.

It’s not like when you’re at school or at work and everyone just shows up at the same place at the same time and you suffer through your days together.

Friendship in adulthood (as outside of any collective institution) requires effort and vulnerability.

I got excited. I got a little too attached. I saw potential and ran toward it with open arms. And that’s okay. That’s actually beautiful, even when it doesn’t work out.

But now I was left with the aftermath: a relationship that wasn’t as reciprocal as I’d hoped, and the need to readjust my expectations without becoming bitter or closed off.

The “Turning the Page” exercise that help me let go.

When I needed to release this friendship, I found an exercise that genuinely helped. I call it “Turning the Page,” and here’s how it works:

Find a quiet moment and imagine this relationship as a chapter in a book you’re writing about your life. Picture yourself:

1. Reading the chapter fully

Acknowledge what this relationship gave you, even if it wasn’t what you hoped. What did you learn? What moments mattered? Don’t skip the good parts or only focus on the disappointment.

For me, this meant recognising that those early conversations were real. The warmth was genuine, even if it wasn’t going to grow into what I imagined.

2. Writing the last paragraph

Imagine writing a gentle, honest closing. Something like: “I wanted this to be different than it was. I gave what I could give. They gave what they could give. That’s the truth of it.”

This step is about accepting reality without judgement. They’re not a bad person. I didn’t fail. We just weren’t building the same thing.

3. Physically turning the page

Actually make the gesture with your hand. Feel the page turn. The chapter doesn’t disappear — it’s still part of your story — but you’re no longer writing it. You’re moving on to the next thing.

There’s something powerful about the physical act. It creates a small ceremony of release.

A daily practice.

When I catch myself replaying conversations or imagining different outcomes, I use this phrase:

“I release you to be who you are meant to become and I release myself to find what I need elsewhere.”

I say it out loud when I’m alone. The act of speaking it creates that ceremony of letting go, over and over, until it sticks.

The reframe that changed everything.

The hardest part was accepting that someone couldn’t meet me where I was. But here’s what I had to understand: that’s not about my worth. It’s about their capacity.

I didn’t misread the situation or mess up.

I was open and hopeful and generous with my energy.

Those are good instincts. The only “mistake” — if we can even call it that — was assuming they were doing the same internal work I was: making space, prioritising, thinking about how to nurture the connection.

The recalibration.

Now comes the mental adjustment: moving them from “emerging close friend” to “friendly acquaintance I enjoy when our paths cross”.

Not with bitterness. Just with accuracy.

They get less real estate in my mind and calendar. And that’s okay.

What I’m taking forward.

The energy and intention I brought to that relationship? It’s still here. I’m still someone who knows how to try, who’s willing to be open, who can get excited about connection.

I just need to find people who are also trying.

Yes, it stings a bit right now because I let myself hope. But the alternative — being too guarded to ever get attached — is lonelier. I’d rather feel this temporary disappointment than close myself off completely.

So I’m giving myself a day or two to feel the “oh, this isn’t what I thought” disappointment. And then I’m turning that page.

Because here’s the truth: adult friendships are hard. They require mutual effort, conscious tending, and the willingness to show up consistently. Not everyone has the capacity for that right now, and that’s okay.

But some people do.

And I’m still out here, ready to find them.