I started sketching because an old friend suggested it as a way to deal with some of the trauma I was going through.
I had known this person for nearly two decades.
I house sat and dog sat for her at her home. My art appears in her healing art book. I supported her family through the aftermath of a major tragic event.
She was someone I considered chosen family.
At some point, she chose to rekindle a friendship with my ex husband after he was unceremoniously dumped by his mistress.
It was a shocker.
When I explained how deeply it hurt me, given what he had done, treated me and taken from me, she called me bitter and ended the conversation with, “It is what it is.”
I responded, “Fuck you, S,” and ended the friendship.
That was a couple of years ago.
A few months ago, she reached out with an apology of sorts after a mutual friend noticed I was still dealing with the fallout from the end of our friendship and nudged her to check in.
She said she did not realize how much her decision would hurt me, despite the fact that I had already explained exactly why it would.
I had laid out the context.
The trauma.
I explained that reconnecting with him gave him another opportunity to be belittling.
That he had explicitly told me to remove myself from what he called his friends’ circle, while wanting to remain in mine.
And that by regaining her approval, her friendship, and her loyalty, he would treat it as proof that his behavior toward me was neither abusive nor consequential, and would act accordingly, with spite.
He later mocked the end of our friendship as a victory, tagging a photo of himself on her roof after he learned about our falling out.
Friendship is not passive in this context. By choosing to align herself with my ex after I had already explained the harm, she became part of the impact, even if she did not cause the original abuse.
So yes, she apologized.
But it felt hollow.
More obligation than accountability. A checkmark.
Between us, I am not a fan of apologies that arrive years later, especially when they come only after someone else intervenes.
And with her apology came a claim that she would always love me, a claim that felt unearned given the lack of accountability and the timing.
Love is a verb.
Love is action.
Protecting a friend from the source of their trauma is the bare minimum.
She could not do that.
Imagine someone you considered a sister choosing to befriend, comfort, and excuse the person who abused you through deception about sterility, infidelity, adultery, and gaslighting.
That kind of betrayal stays with you.
May a love like that never find you.
Even now, it still feels surreal.
I would never align myself with a friend’s abuser.
I would never discard a twenty-year friendship to comfort the person who harmed them, then dismiss that harm with, “It is what it is,” when called out.
On a final note, since they both follow spirituality, I’ve noticed how it is often used to appear supportive while excusing harm and shielding oneself or others from responsibility.
This is spiritual bypassing.
It’s something I’ll never be comfortable with.
When spirituality is used to dismiss pain instead of address harm, it becomes a form of emotional invalidation.
And personally? I can’t align with people who use it to excuse harm, avoid accountability, or minimize the impact of abuse.
