Dear Annie: I’m hoping you can help me make sense of a situation that feels so small on the surface, yet so big in my heart. A few months ago, my closest friend, “Melissa,” and I fell into one of those quiet, accidental distances. Nothing dramatic happened. No argument. No betrayal. Just life. She got busy with her kids’ sports schedules, and I got swallowed up by work and caring for my aging mom. Weeks turned into months, and suddenly we were two people who used to talk every day but now exchange the occasional “thinking of you” text that never leads anywhere.

I tried reaching out, a few calls, a couple invitations to walk or grab coffee, and she always replied warmly, but with that gentle “I’m so slammed right now” tone. I believed her, but each time I hung up, I felt a little foolish, like I was the only one trying to keep something alive that she wasn’t thinking much about anymore.

The strange part is, I’m not angry. I get that life pulls people in different directions. But I am sad. And embarrassed. And confused about how friendships evolve in midlife. Everyone talks about romantic heartbreak, but no one warns you how much it hurts when a friendship quietly slips out of rhythm.

I don’t know whether to keep trying or to gracefully step back and accept that this might be a season of distance. How do you know when a friendship is just going through a busy phase and when it is slowly fading for good? And how do you stop taking it so personally when someone you love seems to be drifting toward a different shore? — Missing My Friend

Dear Missing: People don’t often discuss how much it can hurt when a friendship goes quiet. We expect this kind of ache in love stories, not in the friendships that carried us through babies, career changes, heartbreaks and late-night phone calls.

From what you describe, I don’t hear a friendship falling apart. I hear two women doing their best in a season that is stretching both of them thin. Melissa sounds overwhelmed, not uninterested. If she were truly done, you’d feel a very different kind of silence — one that’s cold, clipped or dismissive. That’s not what’s happening here.

Still, you’re the one doing all the reaching, and that imbalance hurts. There’s a simple, gentle way to reset things. Tell her the truth without wrapping it in worry. Say something like, “I miss our easy talks, and when life settles a bit, I’d love to find our rhythm again.” It’s warm, it’s honest, and it offers connection without demand.

After that, loosen your grip just a little. Make space for her to come toward you. Most long friendships bend before they break, and yours sounds like one that will bend right back when the storm calms.

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