I didn’t plan to write about this. Honestly, I would’ve rather written a post about holiday elf antics or the importance of good lip gloss while prepping holiday meals. But after almost a year of repeatedly being called a few choice names I won’t print on my blog, and—my personal favorite—being told I’m “going to hell” via LinkedIn, I decided it was time to put pen to paper (or keyboard to blogosphere).
Not because I want to rehash drama, but because I realized something: we talk a lot about emotional abuse in dating and marriage, but rarely admit that it can happen in friendships too.
And if I, a grown ass, therapy-loving, boundary-practicing woman, can still get blindsided by it—maybe someone else out there is quietly grieving over a friendship they can’t explain.
So here we are.
This isn’t a rant. It’s a release.
A little truth-telling with a side of grace (and maybe one raised eyebrow).
A love letter to every person who walked away from a friendship and wondered, “Does this make me the bad guy?”
You’re not. And if no one’s said it yet… welcome to the conversation we should’ve been having all along.
The Friendship No One Warns You About
Almost a year ago, I confronted a friend about some things that had been bothering me for a while: negative, critical comments directed at me and my relationship. Thinly veiled jealousy. Small jabs. Sarcastic digs. The kind of comments that leave you feeling a little smaller every time you walk away.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t attack. I scheduled a sit down and simply said, “This hurt me.”
The response? Textbook deflection. Minimized my feelings. Flipped it. Ghosted me for a few weeks.
Texted me “I’m sorry you think I’m negative.”
Hmmmmm….
So, I asked for space. Set a boundary. And quietly walked away from a relationship that no longer felt safe.
I kept waiting to miss the friendship. Feel sad or any emotion. But none came. I actually felt better without someone actively popping holes in my balloon on a daily basis.
And then things escalated in a way I honestly never saw coming.
Her husband began sending harassing messages to both me and my boyfriend. For months. Texts, voicemails, and even LinkedIn messages after I blocked him on my phone. Under the guise of “clearing things up,” the messages were full of pressure, guilt, and accusation.
Nine months of it.
Recently, we ran into them. We were still at a distance when my boyfriend and I looked at each other and silently agreed: Let’s bail. So, we turned around and walked out. (I had received another crummy message only the week before from him)
That night, our phones lit up.
We were called cowards. Pathetic. Cruel. Horrible people. Bad words were used. It was ugly. I was told I abandoned her and threw away the friendship “like trash.”
I cannot tell you how disorienting it is to be harassed, attacked, and then portrayed as the heartless one who walked away.
I felt misunderstood, slandered, and honestly—emotionally battered.
It took me a minute (okay, more than a minute) to realize:
This wasn’t just “a conflict that got out of hand.”
This was emotional abuse in a friendship.
Wait… Can Friends Be Emotionally Abusive?
Short answer: yes.
Friendship abuse doesn’t always look like screaming or threats. Often, it looks like that kind of “friendship banter” that isn’t actually banter?
Like when every hangout includes at least one “harmless joke” that lands somewhere between ouch and did she really just say that?
Or the sneaky little jabs about your ex, your life choices, your faith—wrapped in a smile and the feeling that somehow you are the “project”.
(Translation: I get to say something rude, you’re not allowed to react.)
Then you finally set a boundary—and suddenly you’ve committed a felony. Cue the silent treatment, guilt trips, or the unofficial Friendship CNN segment titled What’s Wrong With You and Why Everyone Should Know About It.
Try to express how you feel, and faster than you can say “emotional maturity,” they’ve shape-shifted into the wounded party.
Or they tag in their spouse like it’s WWE’s Monday Night Friendship Smackdown.
You ask for space, but instead of space you get monologues. Long ones. Delivered across multiple platforms. Sometimes even LinkedIn—because nothing says emotional stability like spiritual threats sandwiched between job endorsements.
You pull back, and within days there’s a brand-new storyline starring you as The Cruel, Unstable, Possibly Demonic Former Friend Who “Changed.”
And here’s the kicker:
If this were a romantic relationship, every woman you know would immediately start Googling therapists and divorce attorneys on your behalf.
But when it’s a friend?
Suddenly it’s:
“Oh, she’s just lashing out.”
“He’s protective of her.”
“You’re being too sensitive.”
“Come on, you’ve been friends for forever…”
Meanwhile, your nervous system is in the corner waving red flags like it’s trying to land a plane.
Why It’s So Hard to Call It What It Is
It feels dramatic to say, “My friend is emotionally abusive.”
We’d rather say things like “She’s just intense,” or “He can be a lot sometimes, or even sugar cookie it up with “We had a falling out.” Meanwhile, you’re losing sleep, replaying conversations in your head, and second-guessing your own reality.
Part of what makes this so hard is that, deep down, most of us are terrified of being seen as the bad guy, especially when the other person is already out there telling people you’re cruel or abandoning them. And it’s not like you didn’t care. You’ve got years of shared history… inside jokes, holidays, birthdays, even vacations together. There were real laughs, real connection, and losing that hurts.
Plus, many of us—especially as women—have been conditioned to keep the peace at all costs, to smooth things over even if it means swallowing our truth. And to complicate it further, they’re not awful all the time. There are good moments, which makes it so tempting to minimize the hurt, explain it away, or tell yourself “maybe it wasn’t that bad.” But what I had to accept (through tears, not toughness) was this: the way someone reacts when you set a boundary tells you everything you need to know about the health of the relationship.
And that truth is loud, even when spoken quietly.
Healthy friends might feel hurt or confused, but they don’t harass you, insult you, or recruit others to attack you.
They aren’t angry because you’re cruel—they’re angry because you didn’t give them unlimited access to you anymore. That is not friendship. That is entitlement.
Red Flags of Emotional Abuse in Friendship
If you’re wondering whether a friendship has crossed the line into emotional abuse, here are some signs to pay attention to:
- You feel anxious or tense before seeing them or answering their messages.
- You leave interactions feeling smaller, ashamed, or “less than.”
- They mock your feelings, partner, faith, job, or dreams—and then say you’re “too sensitive.”
- They never genuinely apologize—only deflect, minimize, or blame you.
- They make you feel guilty for having other friends, interests, or boundaries.
- They use information you’ve shared vulnerably as ammunition in conflict.
- When you pull back, they escalate—bombarding you with messages, insults, or pressure.
- They twist the story with others so they look like the victim and you look like the villain.
If you see yourself in this, please hear me:
You are not weak for feeling hurt. You are not bad for stepping away. And you are not “un-Christian” for protecting your heart.
What It Looks Like to Protect Yourself
I’m still working this out, but here are some things I’m learning:
1. You’re allowed to go no contact.
You do not owe anyone unlimited access to you—especially someone who is actively hurting you or sending in their hit man to guilt you into submission.
Blocking someone after months of harassment is not petty. It’s self-protection.
2. Document the harassment.
Screenshots. Saved voicemails. Dates. Platforms.
If things escalate, this becomes important. Emotional abuse is still abuse. Repeated harassment is still harassment.
3. Resist the urge to defend your reputation to everyone.
Let people think what they want. The ones who truly know you will ask, “Hey, are you okay? What happened?” instead of assuming the worst.
You don’t have to send a group statement. You don’t have to build a case. Your life, character, and consistency will speak for you over time.
4. Remember: their reaction is a diagnosis, not a verdict.
They may call you horrible, selfish, unstable, or “going to hell on LinkedIn”
That doesn’t make it true.
Often, the things abusers call you are projections of what’s going on inside them.
5. Let yourself grieve.
You did lose something. Even if it was unhealthy, it was still real to you.
Grieve the friend you thought you had. Grieve the future you imagined with them in your life. Let those tears come—they’re part of healing, not weakness.
Moving From “Why Me?” to “Thank God I’m Free”
I won’t pretend this process is neat and ted up with a pretty bow.
Some days, I feel strong and clear thinking, I did the right thing.
Other days, I feel shaky and misunderstood: How did we get here?
But underneath the swirl of emotions, one truth remains:
God is not in the business of guilting you into staying in emotionally abusive spaces.
Peace is often quiet. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just a deep knowing: I am finally safe enough to exhale.
If you’re reading this and realizing, I think I’m in an emotionally abusive friendship, I want to gently say:
You’re not crazy, you’re not overreacting and you’re allowed to step back or even walk away entirely.
You are worthy of friendships where:
- You can share your heart without it being weaponized.
- Apologies are real, not manipulative.
- Boundaries are respected, not punished.
- Disagreements lead to deeper understanding, not character assassination.
That’s not asking too much.
That’s what healthy love looks like—even in friendship.
Blessings-Sam
