When I sat down to dinner with my close friend of 21 years at our favourite Italian restaurant, I was anticipating our usual genial get-together: two parts laughs, one part profound soul-baring. Despite being four years younger than me, Louise* was like the older sister I never had. Wise, clever and funny, she had a grounded, generous approach to life and had always been a provider of sage advice and support. We'd shared the best of times: exotic holidays exploring the beaches of Hawaii as well as throwing some wild birthday parties and whiling away rainy Sunday afternoons at the cinema.
Within 15 minutes of being seated, Louise was spelling out the myriad reasons why she felt our friendship was in serious peril. I slipped into slow tears, oblivious to the waiters and diners around me, as Louise shared a devastating calculation with me.
"Sixty-five per cent of the time you're the best friend anyone could have," she told me. "But 35 per cent of the time I don't know whether I'm going to get lovely Mandy, or her sharp-tongued alter ego. That makes it difficult to be around you. You never used to be like this, and I don't like it."
She had compiled a litany of my failures. Moody. Blunt. Ungrateful for her offering me a place to stay in town; I'd told her she had fat upper arms (I have absolutely no recollection of this), and had once left an unwashed porridge bowl in the sink. (Really? Shoot me now!) I listened, flabbergasted by Louise's character assassination.
Eventually, I said I had to go and headed swiftly for the street. At first I was too stunned by what had happened to process it, and felt disinclined to apologise for what had felt like a cruel ambush. I needed time to reflect and was relieved that silence fell between us.
But as the months passed, I came to see that Louise had been right in some of her accusations. I could be negative and critical, it was true, and I admitted to myself that I had taken her for granted.
The more I reflected, the more I realised my friendship with Louise had been adrift for a while. Despite having similar desires (we both wanted kids and settled relationships, although neither of us had found them), our lives had become too different in other ways.
We'd met as career-struck, pleasure-seeking 30-year-old women with acres of common ground. Since then, I've moved to the country and developed a love of homemaking, cooking and gardening, while Louise is still in the cut-and-thrust of a successful career in finance.
I realised she'd been brave to confront me, and that it was indeed time to let our friendship die. When she emailed me some months later to ask if we could meet and try to fix things, I politely declined. That was five years ago and, devastating as it felt at the time, it shifted the way I view friendships.
Instead of holding on to friends, often as a bulwark against loneliness, I came to see that auditing and editing friendships is a healthy way to ensure the people in our lives are there because we value them, and not by an accident of history. Like clearing out old clothes from a wardrobe, which leaves space for exciting new items, letting go of friends who no longer fit leaves space for fresh relationships that bring something richer to our lives.
Louise did me a favour, showing me that some friendships simply run their course. Founded at a certain point in time – school, uni, a job, an antenatal class – they can cease to be relevant or pleasurable. Instead, they become a drain, a bore or a habit.
We discard possessions we've outgrown and move on from jobs that no longer fulfil us. So why hang on to people from our past? I see now that as a younger woman, I clung to friendships because I was afraid of being lonely.
Five or six social nights every week with diverse friends convinced me that my life was rich and full.
As I grew older, though, I took stock. A close friend who had once been my boss was always competing with me, only ever generous in our friendship if she was in pole position. She wasn't pleased for me when something good happened and was always quick with a put-down.
The final straw came one Saturday when we met to play tennis and I shared the news that I'd been offered an exciting magazine role. Her response was: "But that's such a downmarket, dreary little rag!" I lost my temper, told her I was sick of her one-upmanship and that I was calling it a day. I spoke in anger and flounced off, but I never regretted letting go.
None of us relishes confrontation, and I'm not suggesting we engage in brutal culls, nor that we monitor every friendship for signs of wear and tear. Losing friends can be heartbreaking;
it leaves a huge hole and a lot of uncomfortable soul-searching in its wake. Nobody likes goodbyes, but if a friend puts you down or competes with you, why would you want them anywhere near you?
Far better, surely, to cherish the memories and move forward, as I had to do with a longstanding friend who, when she became a mother (which I am not), would never see me without bringing her husband and children along. Since her husband was dull and her children wild, we quickly drifted apart. She also only ever talked about herself in the context of motherhood, and I realised the different paths we'd taken had rendered our once-treasured friendship obsolete. We didn't fall out, we just let each other go.
A close friend I'd met at work in my early 20s, Sarah*, married a wealthy man and gave up work at 30. She quickly came to feel it was acceptable to make jibes about women, like me, who worked. When our occasional city breaks together became a tussle between her preference for five-star luxury and my admission that I couldn't afford that, our friendship slowly collapsed. Sarah didn't struggle to rescue it either.
As a latecomer to Facebook, I was fascinated by the flurry of friendships it reignited and, initially, flattered by the number of people from my distant past who wanted to reconnect. A couple of months later, though, I did a lot of unfollowing and unfriending, realising that the reason I hadn't stayed in touch with that person was that we had absolutely nothing in common.
Of course, unfriending an irritating blast-from-your-past on Facebook at the press of a button is nothing like navigating your way out of an entrenched friendship. That can feel like a terrible wrench, and to do it takes courage. Once out the other side, though, the path is clear for us to meet new people with whom to embark on new adventures – and life can only be the richer for it.
You need a friend-snip if …
By psychologist Sally Austen
1. They take advantage of your good nature or time. True friends take turns in being needy and giving support. If you haven't had a turn, and you've needed one, then this is less of a friendship and more carer/patient relationship.
2. They hurt you. If they regularly criticise or try to belittle you, and you've let them know but there's still no improvement, this could be a power relationship that's verging on abusive.
3. There's always chaos around them. If your friend is always involved in some sort of drama and trying to drag you into it, this can create an unbalanced friendship.
4. You're trying to avoid them. If you find yourself deliberately missing their calls, or you're avoiding meeting up with them, this might be a sign that the friendship is not working.
5. They never seem to be pleased for you. If you've achieved something special in your personal or work life, or are in a new relationship, and they aren't happy for you, then it might be time to re-evaluate the friendship.
How to do the ditching ...
It's always best to discuss the issues you're having with your friend first, as it can be hard to come back from breaking point. But if you've decided to pull the plug, then start by trying to see them less to avoid burning any bridges. However, a confrontation may be necessary.
* Names have been changed.