Latest / The Friendship Project: Women, Friendship & Modern Life / When Their New Love Leaves You Out: Finding Your Place Again | The Friendship Project
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of hollow ache that settles in your chest when you realize you’ve become the third wheel in your own best friend’s life. It happens so quietly, you almost don’t notice it until you’re staring at your phone, wondering if you should even send that text. Let’s sit with that for a second. That feeling of being invisible. You know the scenario. Maybe you used to be the person she called after her bad day. The one who knew all the inside jokes. The anchor. But lately, those calls have stopped. Or they’re shorter. More rushed. And when you do see her, there’s this new energy, this glowing intensity that seems to leave no room for anyone else. Especially you. It doesn’t feel like malice. It rarely feels like malice. That’s what makes it so confusing. You aren’t angry because she’s mean. You’re hurting because she’s happy, and you’re not part of the picture. And that guilt? It’s heavy. It sits right behind your ribs. You start questioning everything. Did I say something wrong? Am I being clingy? Is my life just too messy to invite into this pristine new chapter of hers? Let me tell you something right now, from one woman to another: none of those questions are fair to you. You are not losing her because you failed. You are navigating a shift that thousands of women face every single day. It is normal to feel sidelined. It is normal to feel jealous, even if you love her. Especially if you love her. Because jealousy isn’t always about wanting what someone else has. Sometimes, it’s just grief. Grief for the rhythm you had before. Grief for the ease of it. We need to name that grief without shame. I want to take you back to an episode we did a while ago, 'When You Outgrow Your Circle,' where we talked about how our social circles naturally shrink as we get older. Well, this is an extreme version of that shrinking. When a new romantic partner enters the frame, biology kicks in hard. Our brains release oxytocin and dopamine in response to that new connection. It’s a chemical high. It’s intoxicating. And for a while, it rewires your priorities. Your friend isn’t trying to exclude you out of spite; she’s literally intoxicated by this new source of joy. She might not even realize she’s pulling away. She thinks she’s just busy. She thinks she’s just happy. But the effect on you is real. You feel the distance. And here is the hard truth we often avoid talking about: friendship requires maintenance, but romance often demands consumption. In the beginning, a new relationship eats up time, emotional bandwidth, and mental space. It’s not personal. It’s structural. Think about it. If you were starting a business or training for a marathon, you’d also be distracted. You’d be less available. So why do we hold our friends to a different standard? Why do we expect them to remain emotionally constant while their entire world is tilting on its axis? They can’t. Not yet. This phase is temporary, usually. But it feels permanent when you’re standing on the outside looking in. Understanding that it’s temporary doesn’t make the loneliness go away instantly, but it does change the narrative. It stops being about rejection and starts being about transition. But let’s dig deeper. Because while we acknowledge the biology and the transition, we have to look at what this triggers in us. What is this friendship asking of you right now? Often, when a friend gets swept up in romance, it highlights a void in our own lives. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe you’re stuck in a rut. Maybe you’re waiting for your own turn, and watching her have it feels unfair. That’s okay. Be honest with yourself. I remember when my college best friend got engaged. Suddenly, I was the single friend. The 'free' friend. The one who could drop everything. And I resented it. I didn’t admit it then, but I did. I felt abandoned. I felt like my value was tied to my availability. If I wasn’t needed by her, who was I? That question is dangerous. It ties your identity to your utility to others. When she started excluding me, it wasn’t just that I missed her. It was that I lost my reflection. I lost the person who knew my history. Who saw me as I was, not as I am now. And that loss stings. So, I ask you gently: who are you when you aren’t supporting her new journey? Who are you when you aren’t the listener? This is the moment to turn inward. Not in a self-pitying way, but in a reclamation way. Use this space. Yes, it’s empty. Yes, it’s quiet. But it’s yours. Fill it with things that belong only to you. Hobbies you dropped. Books you ignored. Friends you haven’t seen in years. This exclusion, painful as it is, can be the push you needed to build a life that stands on its own, independent of her happiness. You don’t have to choose between loving her and loving your own solitude. You can do both. So, what do you do? Do you ghost her? Do you lash out? Do you pretend you’re fine when you’re crumbling inside? None of those options serve the friendship. Here is where we practice radical honesty, paired with deep empathy. You need to talk to her. But the way you talk matters. Avoid 'you' statements. 'You never call me.' 'You’re always with him.' That sounds like an attack. Instead, use 'I' statements. 'I’ve been feeling a bit disconnected lately, and I miss our chats.' 'I’m happy for you, but I’m missing my friend.' See the difference? One is blame. The other is vulnerability. Vulnerability invites connection. Blame invites defensiveness. She might not even know you’re hurting. Men and women in new relationships often have tunnel vision. They think everyone is celebrating. They assume silence means peace. You have to break the illusion gently. Say, 'Hey, I know you’re in the honeymoon phase, and I want you to enjoy every second of it. But I also need to know I’m still a priority in your heart, even if I’m not in your daily schedule.' That is firm. That is compassionate. It sets a boundary without demanding she change her happiness. It asks for reassurance. Most friends will respond to that with relief. They’ll realize they’ve been neglecting you unintentionally. They’ll make a plan. A weekly coffee. A bi-weekly walk. Something small, consistent, and sacred. Don’t ask for hours. Ask for minutes. Consistency beats intensity. Five minutes of real presence is worth more than three hours of distracted scrolling together. Give her permission to be imperfect. Give yourself permission to ask for what you need. While you navigate this conversation, I want you to actively build your own tribe. This is the practical step. When one source of connection thins, you must thicken others. Look around your life. Who are the people who show up for you? Who are the people you haven’t reached out to because you assumed they were too busy? Reach out. Send the text. Make the plan. Join that class. Volunteer somewhere. Belonging is a practice, not a concept. It requires action. You cannot wait to be included; you must create inclusion. Find women who are in similar seasons of life. If you’re single, find other singles. If you’re married, find other wives. If you’re career-focused, find other ambitious women. Shared context creates shared understanding. These new connections won’t replace your best friend. They will supplement her. They will remind you that you are loved in many ways, by many people. And when your friend finally emerges from her honeymoon phase—and she will—she will find you stronger. More grounded. More whole. You won’t be the girl who waited by the phone. You’ll be the woman who lived her life while waiting. That is a powerful transformation. It changes the dynamic from dependency to partnership. You become two whole people choosing each other, rather than two halves trying to complete one another. That is the goal. That is the healthiest form of friendship. Autonomous, yet connected. Independent, yet intimate. This season will pass. It always does. The fog lifts. The new partner becomes routine. The excitement stabilizes. And your friend will look up and realize she’s left you behind again. She’ll panic. She’ll try to fix it. And this time, you’ll be ready. You’ll have your own rhythm. Your own joy. Your own stories to share. You won’t be desperate to be included because you’ll already be included—in your own life. This experience is teaching you resilience. It’s teaching you that your worth is not determined by your proximity to her happiness. It’s determined by your ability to stand firm in your own light. So breathe. Let the hurt be there. Don’t suppress it. Acknowledge it. Then, take one small step toward your own joy. Call a sister. Go for a walk alone. Buy yourself flowers. Reclaim your time. You are not alone in this. Thousands of women are sitting exactly where you are, feeling the same ache, wondering if they’ve done something wrong. You haven’t. You’re just growing. And growth is uncomfortable. But it’s necessary. Keep showing up for yourself. Keep showing up for her, but from a place of abundance, not lack. Love her from afar if you must, but never stop loving yourself closer. That is the secret. That is the key. When you fill your own cup, you don’t have to beg others to pour into it. You overflow. And that overflow is what true friendship is made of. Thank you for letting me into your heart today. I’m holding space for you, always. Until next time, keep showing up for yourself. With love, Kari.