Advice: My friend ghosted me - but am I the jerk?

Few experiences feel more painfully disorienting than realising someone you thought was your friend doesn’t even want to be in the same room with you. Illustration / Marta Monteiro, The New York Times

Question: I have had my circle of friends for more than 30 years. We celebrate birthdays, New Year’s Eve and Gay Pride together. Most of us meet up once a week for dinner.

In the winter of 2023, I went on vacation with one of my mates, J. We both lazed around the beach. He ran in the mornings and I slept in. He’d come back and call me and we’d go downstairs for breakfast. He never complained. I had nothing to complain about.

Two months after we got back, he removed himself from our group chat, stopped coming to our weekly dinners and stopped answering my texts. I got concerned and asked the gang if they’d seen or heard from him. Nobody else seemed to be as worried. Someone said he was taking a night class. A few weeks later, one of the guys had a birthday party. I was expecting an invitation, but his partner later told me that I wasn’t invited because J. wouldn’t come to the party if I was there.”

I was gobsmacked. What had I done to him? Nobody knew.

Two years later, J. shows up for dinner. It’s apparent he has been in touch with everyone else all this time. At the end of the meal, we all give each other the usual big hug. But with me, J. turns and walks away.

I tell everybody that this is unacceptable. They tell me to give it time. Two months after J. resurfaces, he finally says, “We need to talk.” We meet and he tells me that I was mean on the trip and he was on pins and needles the entire time. He says I’m just not a nice person – and he’s not the only one who thinks so.

Suddenly everything came together. I’m a jerk. How could I be so stupid? I’m that guy!

I’m not sure where to go from here. What does one do when one finds himself being the friend everyone barely tolerates?

Answer: Few experiences feel more painfully disorienting than realising that someone you thought was your friend doesn’t even want to be in the same room with you.

For decades you’ve been sharing weekly dinners and regular celebrations, and even chose to travel together. Then suddenly you find yourself cut off and bewildered as to why.

Finally, when you got some difficult feedback, your mind leaped to the harshest and most extreme conclusion: I must be intolerable. That story gives form to your pain. But the thing is, that’s a story, not a fact.

What you know is this: You experienced the vacation as easy and companionable. Your friend experienced it as tense and unpleasant. His reality doesn’t cancel yours. It just suggests that there were dynamics between you that you didn’t see. J. seems to be extremely conflict-avoidant and unable to speak up in the moment, while you may have blind spots that create tension you don’t perceive.

But instead of considering your friend’s part in this (his failure to bring up issues during the trip and the cruelty of inexplicably ghosting you upon your return), you’ve become stuck in a shame spiral. While it’s worth hearing the feedback J. eventually gave you, there’s a difference between shame and reflection. Shame says, “I’m bad”. Reflection says, “Something about how I showed up didn’t work for him. Can I be curious about that?”

People who ask these questions of themselves are the opposite of jerks. The fact that you want to take responsibility for any part you might have played shows that you’re a compassionate person who values connection. J., on the other hand, shut down. He refused to answer your texts or engage in a conversation for two years, leaving you feeling confused, hurt and isolated.

Which brings me to the group. While this situation seems to be about J., it’s also about a decades-long circle of friends who have been your chosen family. But when J. made his ultimatum – he wouldn’t come to a mutual friend’s birthday party if you were invited – the others went along. They didn’t say, “That’s not how we treat one another.” Nor did they try to help you understand what might be going on. They let you be excluded.

It’s understandable that people in a friend group sometimes want to stay out of it, but when a friend is being ostracised, neutrality isn’t neutral – it’s participation. Their passivity allowed one friend’s grievance to become your exile. What might have felt to them like protection (of themselves, of you) created even more emotional turmoil.

So what now?

First, resist the urge to make sweeping judgments about your friendships based on one person’s account. Instead, ask your friends for feedback on whether others share his view.

You could say, “I don’t want to be blind to how I come across and would find this very helpful,” and even ask something like “Do you perceive me to be sensitive to feedback in ways that make you hesitant to be direct with me?”

You can also invite them into a conversation about how you as a group want to handle conflict moving forward. After all, a group that’s lasted decades is worth preserving, but preservation requires honesty, not avoidance.

Second, see if it’s possible to have a more productive conversation with J. This might sound like: “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I didn’t realise I came across as mean. That was never my intention. If you’re open, I’d like to understand more.” If you can hear – and he can deliver – information not as character assassination but as compassionate and actionable feedback, this can help you process what’s happened and find a path forward.

But even if he’s not capable of honouring this request with the sensitivity it deserves, or if he avoids it altogether, you can still feel good that you’ve shown care for the friendship you had, and demonstrated a courageous willingness to be accountable and grow.

Finally, remember that every one of us has traits that some people find endearing and others find challenging. Maybe you speak more bluntly than you realise, or you joke in ways that don’t land for everyone. None of this makes you unworthy of friendship. The work is to become more aware of your impact in certain contexts and with certain people so you can decide which qualities to soften and which to keep as they are.

Above all, please know that you’re absolutely not “that guy.” You’re a friend in pain, asking hard questions, trying to grow and calling on your group to live up to the friendship that’s sustained you all for 30 years.

Friendship isn’t about being flawless; it’s about showing up, being willing to listen and repairing when you misstep. In fact, it’s this willingness to evolve, especially during hard times, that makes someone worth keeping close.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

Written by: Lori Gottlieb

Photographs by: Marta Monteiro

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