What If I’ve Always Been the One Holding On?

This morning I checked my Marco Polo app—the one where my dear friend and I communicate. The last message was from me. It was five days ago, and it still goes unread. 

This is a familiar pain—friends past and present, even family members—people I long to feel deeply connected to. A history of unanswered Voxer messages and text messages. My desire or need for connection just left… sitting there. 

I find myself wondering, what is wrong with me? 

She was someone I shared every moment with. We had deep conversations about our lives, our spiritual growth, our relationship ups and downs. For the better part of three years, she was part of all of it. 

What changed? 

The thing she understandably longed for finally arrived—a kind, supportive man who has deep conversations with her and seems to be there for her in every way. And I’m so happy for her. But I’m also so deeply sad for me. 

Then she got busy with life—kids graduating from high school and college. The conversations she used to have with me started going elsewhere. 

At one point, a few months ago, I even left her a message asking, “How are you going to have words for three main people in your life?”—me, her other close friend, and the new man. The answer, it seems, is that she doesn’t. 

I know we all shift and change—our lives and needs evolve—but for me, this is an all-too-familiar pattern. 

I seek deep connection—with friends, with family, even with my car business customers. I ask questions. I genuinely want to know what’s happening in people’s lives. It’s who I am. I want more than “How’s your day?” or “How’s the new job?” 

And yet, time and time again, I’m left hanging. 

There’s the effort I’ve made to get closer to my sister, who still leaves texts unanswered. We started using Voxer, and it’s been years since she replied. 

I’ve met women through online spaces who seemed aligned, where we messaged or talked for months at a time—and I thought we had real connections. Then… the messages just stop. 

Some people have friends “since grade school.” I have none of those, except for the occasional Facebook like or comment. 

Part of me wants to toughen up—to stop needing the connection I seek. It’s happened so many times. Why even bother? 

But I have a lot of love and caring to give. I don’t want to shut myself off. 

And here’s the part I don’t like to admit: when someone goes quiet like this, I tend to shut the door. Once I’ve felt the sting of being dropped, I rarely want to reopen that part of my heart—even if they come back. 

So what happens if she reaches out in two months and wants to pick up where we left off? What does friendship even look like after one person’s been sitting alone in the silence? 

Over the course of the last 25 years with my husband, I’ve had deep connections with friends—male and female—that he used to joke gave him a break from those conversations. He’s just not the deep-conversation type. 

I’ve always believed we can’t get everything we need from one person. He’s trying to pick up the slack, but it’s just not his nature. 

As with all of my writing, this is a deep experience and part of my journey. And yes, I’m scared that sharing it will offend others. 

But for me, sharing—and the people who have helped me grow—are the biggest part of my story. The reflection helps me grow and see where maybe I can do better. 

So I’m not blaming her. It’s always about me. 

In astrology, my North Node is in Aries. It calls me to choose myself—again and again. To speak my truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. To care less about keeping the peace and more about honoring what’s real for me. 

I don’t know what I’ll do if she comes back, ready to reconnect. I don’t know if I’ll be open—or already gone. 

What I do know is I’m sitting with the ache of aloneness now, and learning how to be with myself in it. 

That might be the real work. 

If this has happened to you, you’re not alone. I’d love to know how you’ve moved through it—or if you’re still sitting in it like I am.