by Shae Marcus

Adult friendships are tender, complicated and sometimes downright mystifying. No one warns us that adulthood doesn’t come with a rulebook, a referee or even a heads-up when the game suddenly changes. As kids, friendships are shaped by proximity. As teens and 20-somethings, we move in packs, convinced the people sharing our late-night diner outings and questionable fashion choices will be with us forever.

Sometimes they are … until they aren’t.

A few years back, I lost the person I believed would be my lifelong best friend. She was my ride-or-die through the bar years, the baby years, the divorces and the quiet moments that stitched our lives together. We joked we’d grow old on a porch someday, complaining about our knees and deciding whether decaf was worth brewing. She wasn’t just part of my life; she was woven into the rhythm of it.

And then the rhythm changed.

It happened quietly. I’d call to see if she wanted to have dinner or a quick walk, and she was always unavailable. One by one, our little rituals disappeared. Eventually, I realized I knew her voicemail greeting better than what was actually happening in her world. I asked if everything was okay. She said yes. But something between us had already begun to unravel.

Losing her without an explanation felt like mourning someone that was still very much alive—a grief with no name, no obituary, no casserole from a well-meaning neighbor. If you’ve been there, you know how disorienting it is when someone becomes a memory without ever becoming a goodbye.

For a while, I searched for clarity I eventually realized she might not have been able to give. People’s emotional bandwidth shifts. Adults carry storms they don’t always speak aloud. I had to remind myself that not every unanswered question is a reflection of my worth.

There came a point when I realized the loss wasn’t just about her stepping away—it was also about where life was trying to move me. Sometimes the universe has intentions for us long before we’re ready to understand them. Growth asks us to stretch, expand and step toward new chapters. Not everyone grows at the same pace or in the same direction. As hard as it is to accept, some friendships fade because the paths ahead are no longer aligned. And even if our hearts resist that truth, our evolution rarely waits for permission.

Recently, over dinner, another friend shared that she was going through something similar: the unanswered messages, the sudden distance, the uncomfortable feeling of walking through the loss unsure of what even happened. Her confusion reminded me how universal this quiet unraveling can be.

The next morning, I revisited the familiar questions: What are the expectations of adult friendship? Does anyone owe us an explanation? And if they don’t offer one, how do we move forward with grace instead of self-blame?

That’s when the concept and essence of Mel Robbins’ recent book The Let Them Theory resurfaced in my mind. The first time I heard her speak about it, something in me softened.

Let them pull away.

Let them choose differently.

Let them walk their path, even if it no longer runs beside yours.

Acceptance isn’t giving up. It’s allowing life to reorganize itself without forcing what no longer fits. And in letting go, I found I was growing in ways I never expected.

Some friendships are meant for a season; others for the long road. The wisdom, I’ve learned, is in trusting the timing.

Maybe adult friendship isn’t about holding on tightly.

Maybe it’s about holding space—for ourselves, for others and for whoever we’re becoming next—because sometimes letting go is simply the first step in letting life surprise us again.

Adult friendships evolve, stretch and occasionally vanish like unmatched socks in the dryer. Here’s to giving ourselves grace as we grow and remembering that connection has a way of returning in surprising, beautifully timed ways.

Shae Marcus is publisher of Natural Awakenings South Jersey and Philadelphia editions.