Friendships: A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime

Why Some Friendships Don’t Last Forever

 There’s a phrase I’ve always found comfort in: *people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime*. The older I get—and the more I work with people navigating change, grief, and personal growth—the more I see how true this is.

Friendships don’t always last forever. Sometimes they drift, or end abruptly, or slowly fade away without closure. That can feel painful, confusing, or even like a failure. But when we look more closely, many of these connections served a purpose—some we can name, and some we may only recognize in hindsight.

Friendships That Serve a Purpose: A Reason

Some friendships arrive when we need support, encouragement, or guidance. Maybe it’s the friend who helped you through a breakup. The colleague who stood by you during a hard year. The neighbor who brought soup when your world was falling apart. These are connections that often burn bright but brief. Their role was to help us in a specific moment—and that’s okay.

When Life Aligns: A Season of Connection

Then there are friends who walk with us for a chapter of life. College roommates, coworkers at a job we’ve long since left, neighbors we once saw every day. These relationships are often rich and meaningful, shaped by shared routines or life stages.

Some of the deepest friendships I’ve experienced were with other parents while raising children. In those years, our lives were so interwoven—playdates, school events, late-night texts about fevers or frustrations. We leaned on each other. We trusted each other. We often became each other’s chosen family.

But children grow up. People move. Marriages change. And suddenly those connections can loosen, or even disappear. Not out of conflict—just out of the natural evolution of life. It can feel bittersweet. A little like leaving a job you once loved, or saying goodbye to a neighborhood where you knew every face.

When a Friendship Circles Back Later in Life

I remember one friendship from my internship in Michigan—someone I met during that intense and transitional time. She wasn’t in medical training with me, but she became a deeply important part of my life. We were there for each other in a way that only happens during vulnerable chapters. After several years, I moved to Washington, D.C., for a more competitive residency, and the relationship quietly faded. I hoped it would continue, but it didn’t—at least not then.

Years later, she reached out again. The intensity we once shared wasn’t there, but the warmth was. It reminded me that even a “seasonal” friendship can carry echoes of a deeper bond. And sometimes, unexpectedly, a season can circle back into our lives. Maybe not in the same way—but still with meaning. Still with love.

Lifelong Friends: The Ones Who Stay

And then—if we’re lucky—we have the lifetime friends. The ones who know the whole messy, beautiful story. They evolve with us. Forgive. Celebrate. Show up. We don’t need a dozen of these to feel fulfilled; even one or two can be a gift beyond measure.

Short Friendships Can Still Be Transformative

It’s important to honor the connections that were brief but still meaningful. A friendship doesn’t have to last decades to be “real.” Sometimes, even a short-lived bond can be healing, joyful, or transformative.

One walk. One conversation. One season of being truly seen.

Instead of only mourning what ended, we can ask: *What did I learn from this person? How did they shape me? What will I carry forward because of them?*

Letting Go of Friendship Without Guilt

Friendship changes can be hard, especially when we feel left behind or unsure why it ended. But with time, we can hold the gratitude and the grief together. We can wish people well—even from afar—and release the idea that every connection must be lifelong to be valuable.

Final Thoughts on the Changing Nature of Friendship

You don’t have to hold on forever for something to matter. Some friendships were never meant to be permanent—they were meant to be powerful. And they were

What Am I Really Hungry for?

A midlife reflection on food, freedom, and letting go

A Dream About Coffee

Last night, I had a dream that I was drinking a sweet, creamy coffee — more like a dessert than a drink. It came in a plastic cup with a straw, and I knew it was full of caffeine. I also knew it was late, and it would likely keep me up. But I drank it anyway. And in the dream, just as in real life sometimes, I found myself lying awake — overstimulated, restless, and regretting the choice I’d made for comfort. The dream stayed with me.

When Food Isn’t About Hunger

That dream mirrored something I’ve been grappling with for a while: my relationship with food. I eat when I’m not hungry. I know I do it. I love food, but the kind of eating I’m doing isn’t always about nourishment — it’s about soothing. It’s about giving myself something sweet in the midst of a life that often demands too much. I know this pattern is keeping me from feeling the way I want to feel — lighter, freer, more in sync with my body. And yet, I reach for food the way someone might reach for a comforting blanket, or a distraction from the weight of care.

Caretaking Has Been My Rhythm

So much of my life has been shaped by responsibility. I’m a psychiatrist — I spend my days tending to others’ minds and emotions. I’m also a mother. And for the last 12 years, I’ve raised chickens. These creatures, small and unassuming, became part of my daily rhythm. Feed, water, collect, protect. But chickens — like children, like aging parents, like patients — need you. They need you consistently, daily, without fail. And lately, I’ve been asking myself: Do I want to start that cycle over again? I’m down to a smaller flock now. My son, now in college but still living at home, helps. But he may leave in a few years. And when he does, I’ll be alone again in the daily task of tending to these small lives. Just like I was when he was younger and too little to help.

Motherhood in All Its Forms

Recently, I saw my neighbor with her new baby. She looked tired. She had longed for this child, but I could see in her face what I’ve seen in my own life: the moment when the fantasy of caretaking meets the reality. She said to me, “I just want to eat a meal without nursing.” I told her that yes, it would get better — but even older children still want you all the time. And I realized: I don’t want to be wanted that much anymore. Not by chickens. Not by my mother, who still adds to her list after I’ve agreed to one or two errands. Not by anyone.

What Freedom Looks Like Now

I want to travel without stress. I want to eat when I’m hungry — not when I feel I should. I want to make choices that don’t stimulate me past the point of rest. I want sweetness, yes — but I want it on my terms. And that includes stepping away from things I used to love, or things I thought I had to keep doing because they made me who I was.

I Am Enough Without Being Needed

This is what midlife is teaching me: that I don’t have to be constantly useful to be worthy. That I can stop. That I can say no. That I can rest. My job is about caring for others — but my life doesn’t always have to be. I’m learning to feed myself with compassion, not just food. I’m learning to ask, “What am I really hungry for?” The answer is becoming clearer: Stillness. Space. Sovereignty. Peace.

To Others Standing at the Same Threshold

If you’re there too — standing at the edge of old patterns, wondering whether to keep mothering something that drains you — know this: it’s okay to want a different life now. It’s okay to step back. It’s okay to feed yourself first. We can honor what we’ve built, and still choose freedom.