I danced at my friend’s wedding, then I ghosted her – eight years on, I regret it

In 2016, I ghosted a friend. A very good friend. We’d danced in our bedrooms together, on the slippy floors of sweaty night clubs we’d wormed our way into just slightly underage, at our graduation and, finally, at her wedding reception. But shortly afterwards, the music stopped. It dawned on me that I no longer found our friendship a positive force in my life.

Jenny* and I had been friends since the second day of secondary school; when we bonded over being the only two girls in our year who hadn’t rolled their pleated skirts up above the knee. We understood each other, almost immediately, and seemed to share many of the same likes, dislikes and insecurities. She was the only person who could make me snort tea out of my nose as I laughed uncontrollably, come with me on late-night shopping trips, or to the cinema to watch romcoms that everyone else was too “cool” to see. She was my ultimate go-to – until she wasn’t.

Though my realisation that I no longer felt close to or aligned with Jenny was rather sudden, the build-up to it was longer than I understood at the time. We had joined the same university – her the year before me – and so I was excited to have a ready-made friend there when I arrived. But instead of making the most of those years there together, she instead wanted us to hole away, to stay in, to stick together, “just the two of us”. I was eager to soak up all the opportunities that university life had to offer. She wanted to go home every weekend. She’d walk to my student house to show me photo after photo on Facebook of what someone we no longer talked to from school was doing. She always seemed slightly put out if I invited someone else over – as it was somehow instead of her.

Once university had passed and we moved out and into the real world, I found I had less and less to talk to her about. I was excited by life and the world, but when I’d relay stories of things I was doing, she’d often smirk or seem uninterested. “You’ve become so odd,” she once said, in response to me describing my weekend.

Reluctant at first to let the friendship go, I tried to gently shift its parameters. I made a concerted effort to talk about the things I knew she was interested in or organise “nostalgic” activities for us to do together, but it was hard. We struggled for things to talk about and I’d leave feeling drained. “Just tell her what’s going on for you,” my mum told me when I broke down in tears during a shopping trip. “She’ll understand.”

But I didn’t agree – I was sure she would feel betrayed by my change in attitude. So, I stopped texting her back. It wasn’t easy. Her texts became more frequent and frantic as she battled with the idea that I no longer wanted to talk. I felt sick each time her name popped up on my screen, and sicker still as she began to leave voicemails begging to know what she had done wrong. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I’d gone too far, and I couldn’t think of another solution.

I’m not alone in this struggle. According to research from Gili Freedman, an assistant professor of psychology at St Mary’s College in Maryland who studies social rejection, 30 per cent of people admit to having ghosted a friend. Thirty-nine per cent of people report having been ghosted by a friend themselves. I imagine many of the people in the “ghosting” camp, rather than the “ghostee”, found themselves in a similar situation to me – perhaps cowardly, unable to find a way to convey their feelings to a friend about their friendship.

I ghosted Jenny almost nine years ago, so I’ve had a lot of time to think since. I’ve scrolled through her social media feeds (I still follow her, though understandably she’s unfollowed me), looked at pictures of her with her newborn son and read captions about her new job. I feel compelled to reach out and tell her how pleased I am for her – because I am.

I’m not the same person I was when we first became friends, nor am I the same person I was when I ghosted her. Neither is she. And, the truth is, I miss her. As time goes on, I find that more and more my mind drifts to her when something funny happens that I know she’d appreciate as much as me. Or when motherhood feels particularly testing, I can’t help but feel she’d have sage words and a comforting pep talk to offer. I think we could build a friendship afresh, as grown-ups, atop years of love and understanding and new boundaries that would hopefully mean we could both feel fulfilled.

I haven’t yet reached out to her, but should I? Is it unfair to get back in touch with her after I hurt her? Is it selfish of me? And crucially, is it a good idea to try and resurrect a friendship in a naive hope that it might be better this time?

“Reaching out to a friend you’ve ghosted can be tricky, but it’s definitely worth considering if the friendship was meaningful to you,” says Dr Carolyne Keenan, clinical director at Lotus Psychology Ltd. “Ghosting usually happens because we’re avoiding an uncomfortable situation. But over time, that avoidance can lead to regret or unfinished emotional business.”

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She advises that if you’re thinking about reconnecting, it’s important to approach it with honesty and humility. “Acknowledge the ghosting – own it – without making excuses, and be prepared for the possibility that your friend might still be hurt or need time to process,” she says. “If they’re open to talking, it can be a chance to clear the air, rebuild trust, and maybe even strengthen the bond. On the other hand, if they’re not ready or willing to reconnect, respect that and know that at least you tried to make amends. Ultimately, the decision should be guided by your intentions – if you genuinely want to make things right and reconnect, it can be a healing experience for both of you.”

As someone who can often rush into decisions, though, I want to take my time with this one. I want to know that I’ve ticked off each part of the necessary thought process before I do – and if I do – reach out. And so I ask Dr Keenan what this process should consist of…

“Before getting back in touch, think about why you ghosted them in the first place,” she says. “Was it a situation that you didn’t know how to handle, or were there deeper issues in the friendship that you weren’t ready to face? Understanding your own motives can help you figure out if reconnecting is the right move.

“Next, consider how much time has passed and whether both of you have had a chance to cool off or grow from the experience. Timing can be crucial – too soon, and the emotions might still be raw; too late, and they might have moved on completely.”

Dr Keenan is also clear that when we are reaching out to reconnect with someone we’ve ghosted, we need to be prepared for whatever the outcome is. “Your friend might welcome you back with open arms, or they might feel hurt or hesitant,” she says. “Finally, think about your intentions: Are you reaching out because you truly miss the person and want to make things right, or is there something else driving you? Being clear with yourself about why you want to reconnect will help you approach the situation with sincerity and respect.”

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Am I clear on why I want to reconnect? Not entirely. I have a sense that she is “missing” from my life in a way I didn’t when everything happened. But a part of me also questions whether I’m looking back at our friendship through rose-tinted glasses. I do also feel a visceral sense of regret, though, and I wonder whether we could have worked things out if I’d been able to approach it with the emotional maturity I possess now.

As I mull it over, though, the experts’ words ringing in my ears and no perceived hurdle left between me and my decision to make the move, I can’t help but feel I only have 50 per cent of the information I need to make an informed decision. I know that I’ve grown up, where my life is at and how I feel about things, but my impression of her and who she might have become is based entirely on my own imaginings. And it feels like a rather crucial factor to leave out of the verdict; like buying a house having only seen the outside.

I wonder if it’s rather like returning to an ex-boyfriend after years of romanticising the connection you had; often what was once familiar feels suddenly unfamiliar in reality. And on balance, that feels more painful than keeping our ending as it was.