Lisa O
Some friendships don’t break. They just start to drain you. You still care, but the balance quietly disappears. Every talk turns into advice. Every message feels like another crisis to manage. You stop feeling like a friend and start feeling like a lifeline. Here are the signs your friendship has turned into therapy you never agreed to.
They Only Call When They’re Angry or Upset
You can guess the mood before you even pick up. It’s another bad day, another problem to talk through. It’s never a quick hello or a funny story. The light check-ins stopped a while ago. You’re the person they call when something’s gone wrong. You answer because you care, but it’s hard not to notice you only exist in the heavy moments.
You Listen More Than You Speak
You start a story, and they cut in before you finish. Sometimes they change the topic completely. After a while, you stop trying to add anything. You nod and let them talk. It’s not that they mean to take over—it just never occurs to them that you might want to be heard too. You leave the chat realizing they know everything about their life and almost nothing about yours.
You Feel Tired After Talking
After hanging up, you stare at the wall for a minute before moving. The conversation runs in your head like background noise you can’t shut off. It’s not anger—it’s depletion. They don’t mean to take so much, but somehow, they always do. Even quick chats leave you heavy, as if you’ve been realizing something invisible the whole time.
They Confuse Support With Therapy
You try to listen, but they expect more. They ask what to say, what to do, how to handle it. You now advise out of habit. When you hesitate, they sound lost. It’s not friendship anymore—it’s caretaking. You start realizing they don’t want understanding; they want repair. And you’ve become their go-to fix even when nothing can be fixed.
They Struggle Without Your Validation
You notice how often they ask if they’re overreacting, if they said the right thing, if you’d do the same. Your reassurance has become their crutch. It’s no longer about guidance—it’s about permission—their corealizing depends on your response. You catch yourself hesitating before you answer, aware of how much power they’ve quietly handed you.
You Downplay Your Own Problems
You tend to leave out parts when talking about your life. They’re already overwhelmed, you tell yourself. So you edit, filter, and shrink your stories until they sound manageable. Over time, you stop sharing altogether. It’s easier that way. The friendship becomes a one-way mirror—everything reflects on them, and you disappear behind the glass.
They Vent Without Checking In
They text paragraphs before asking if you have the capacity to listen. Their thoughts spill out fast, like a dam breaking. You read, respond, reassure, while your own mood slips somewhere in the background. It’s not the venting itself—it’s the assumption that you’ll always absorb it. You realize they never pause to ask how you’re holding up.
They Ignore Emotional Boundaries
They call at odd hours, message repeatedly, or unload when you’ve said you’re busy. It’s not malicious—it’s self-centred. They can’t see the line between closeness and intrusion. You used to think it was loyalty, but now it just feels invasive. You realize they don’t notice the difference between you being kind and you being tired.
They See You as “Strong Enough”
They tell you you’re good at handling things, that you don’t need help the way they do. It sounds like a compliment, but it’s a dismissal in disguise. They don’t check in because they assume you’re fine. That’s how imbalance hides—in admiration that excuserealizect. You start to see how being “the strong one” turned into being alone.
They Never Reflect on Their Behaviour
They circle through the same stories—same mistakes, same regrets—without pausing to see the pattern. You point it out gently, but it never lands. They nod, agree, and then repeat it the following week. You realize you’ve become part of their cycle. The friendship stopped growing the moment they stopped listening.
You Feel Guilty for Needing Space
You skip a call one night, and they ask if you’re upset. You take a quiet day, and they wonder what they did wrong. It’s never meant to guilt you, but it still does. You find yourself texting back just to ease the tension. Wanting space starts to feel selfish, as if you’ve broken some unspoken rule of closeness. You shouldn’t have to explain rest, but somehow you do.
They Depend on You for Perspective
It starts small—asking what you’d do in their place. Then it’s every little thing. They wait for your take before deciding how to feel. At first, it feels nice to be trusted. Then it becomes constant. You realize they’ve stopped thinking things through on their own. You’re not just their friend anymore—you’re the person who’s supposed to make sense of everything for them.
You Start Avoiding the Conversation
You tell yourself you’ll text them back later, but later never feels like the right time. The unread messages sit there like something you’ll get to when you have more agency. Days pass, and even the thought of replying feels heavy. It’s not dislike—it’s fatigue. You know the moment you answer, you’ll be pulled into another long talk about the same worries. You start realizing that silence feels like peace, not avoidance.
They Call You Understanding Instead of Equal
They tell you you’re patient, kind, and easy to talk to. It sounds warm, but it keeps you in a corner. You’re the steady one, the listener, the calm voice. They never call you fun, curious, or anything beyond comforting. You start hearing the gap in every thank-you. They no longer see you as a friend.
You Miss Having Fun With Them
You catch yourself thinking about how it used to feel. You’d spend hours talking about nothing and laughing at things that didn’t matter. But now everything has changed. There’s always something to fix or analyze. It’s not bad—it’s just tiring. You still pick up when they call, but it’s not the same. You miss the easy parts, the kind that made everything else feel lighter.