When Friendship Breaks: A Lesson in Ghosting, Boundaries & Cowardice

Some friendships end not with a fight, but with silence. And silence speaks volumes.

By Rahel Mwitula Williams

This is one of the most personal reflections I've ever written as I continue with “Breaking Silence Series” It’s about heartbreak—not from romance, but from friendship. If you’ve ever lost a friend without clarity, or if someone you once called “sister” suddenly became a stranger, this one’s for you.

I take the title of “girlfriend” seriously. I cherish my girlfriends. I love them deeply. I advocate for them. I invest in them and with them. I show up. I add value. That is who I am. At times, I feel like people don’t deserve me as a friend—yes, I said it.

I’m one of those people who proudly claims, “I don’t need to make another friend for the rest of my life,” because the ones I have are utterly amazing. But God has a funny way of humbling me, because I keep meeting incredible people who unexpectedly become a meaningful part of my life—and it always catches me by surprise.

Oh, and in case you’re into personality types: I’m an INFJ, often called the Advocate. We are deep thinkers, idealistic, intuitive, and fiercely loyal. We crave authentic connections but also guard our energy closely. I’m also an Enneagram Type 3 with a 2 wing, which means I’m driven, achievement-oriented, and motivated to succeed—but also deeply people-focused and nurturing. I want to be effective while building meaningful relationships along the way. Hopefully, that gives you a little insight into why this topic hits so close to home for me.

Because of all this, when conflict arises, I make it a point to address and get clarity. If necessary to walk away, I with understanding and not assumptions—especially when people are capable of communicating.

The Day Everything Changed

Four years ago, a 30-year friendship ended—just like that. And I still don’t fully understand why. Well... in hindsight, I’ve been able to piece together how it could have happened, but you might need to put on your 8th-grade hat for this one.

It was March 29th at 11:30 a.m.- I remember the day so clearly. I was working from home, and I got a call from my then best friend—my sister. Something in her voice didn’t sound right. I could tell she has been crying. I immediately asked, “Are the kids okay?” Then, “Is the husband, okay?”

She said, “Everyone’s fine.” I exhaled.

Then came the gut punch. She told me that someone—a so-called “trusted source”—had come to them and claimed that two years earlier, at a birthday dinner for one of our close girlfriends, I (Rahel Mwitula Williams) had said unspeakable and hurtful things about her husband. When she started sharing what I supposedly said, I laughed—because I thought it was a joke. But nope—the joke was on me. Yes, you read that right.

Right away, I went into "let’s get to the bottom of this" mode. I canceled all my meetings and asked her and her husband to join me on Zoom. I even requested that the mysterious source join us so we could clear things up. As Brené Brown says, “Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind.” Guess what? Her husband refused.

To this day, he has never spoken to me. Never asked for my side of the story. Never gave me a chance and the so called “trusted source was never revealed to me.

In hindsight, this is cowardice to the tenth power—thriving on mess at the highest level.

Yes, you were hurt. But refusing to have a conversation that could preserve a 30-year relationship—one that holds deep meaning for your wife, children, extended family, and community—is insane to me… unless, of course, someone had been waiting for this moment all along.

Honestly, cowardice aggravates my soul.

You can't accuse someone of betrayal based on a “he said/she said” situation and then refuse to face them. That’s cowardly—plain and simple. And I have no respect for cowardly behavior.

Grief in the Form of Betrayal

I recall my husband coming home that afternoon and found me in a fetal position on the floor. He thought he had done something to hurt me.

I said to him, “I wish it were you. At least with you, I know how to navigate conflict. But this? I don’t even know where to begin.”

For the next year, she and I tried to talk. I asked her, “Do you believe I could have done this?”

She said, “No. But I have to support my husband.”

I even offered to take a lie detector test. (Yes, I know—it sounds desperate. I was.) I spent months in therapy, going in circles over a story that never added up—and still doesn’t. Eventually, I stopped trying.

I let go of a one-sided reconciliation rooted in silence, not truth.

Thinking to myself this is the same person I met before we even spoke the same language. We built what I thought was an unbreakable bond. And now, we couldn’t even talk.

She began distancing herself. The photos of her children slowed. The conversations turned shallow and as someone who connects deeply and intentionally, I felt the weight of that shift right away. I knew it was over when she said, “he just needs time. This too shall pass.”

I replied, “Time without truth can’t heal anything; it’s just time passing” and that’s when I faced the hardest truth of all: Our relationship was over. And we would never be the same. Then, boundaries were set!

Honestly, the word “boundaries” still triggers me. These days, it’s used loosely and cheaply. Sure, you don’t owe everyone a full dissertation explaining your what and why—but for certain people, you do. People often used boundaries as a form of self-care, when in reality, many were just being cowardly and selfish. There’s nothing wrong with setting boundaries—but when you decide to set them, you owe it to the people involved to clear communication because after all clear is kind.

To adjust boundaries silently and privately with someone you’ve called a friend or a sister—without communication—is another form of avoidance, disrespect, and emotional harm.

Maturity is having the courage to let the other person know that the way things used to be—or how you used to interact—can no longer remain the same.

A Truth I Still Carry

I still want to believe that if the situation were reversed, my husband—who is not perfect—would never come to me with a “he said/she said” story about my best friend and refuse to engage in a conversation. I would need it before making a decision that could sever a 30-year friendship.

They never told me who the source was. I found out another way. And once I did, I gave the relationship a benediction—mentally, spiritually, verbally and the grief didn’t end with that one relationship. Four other friendships ended or dramatically changed because of this. The same way—without warning. Without communication. Just new boundaries. Built in silence. Family dynamics changed. Lines were drawn and things will never be the same.

What I Have Learned

• Don’t be a coward.

• Have the hard conversation.

• Your silence has a ripple effect.

• Stop hiding behind the word “boundaries” when what you’re really doing is avoiding accountability.

• Boundaries are important—absolutely. But boundaries without communication are just walls.

• Ghosting someone and calling it “protecting your peace” is not bravery—it’s cowardice in disguise.

Thank you for holding space for this reflection. I hope it encourages someone to choose communication over silence, truth over assumption, and courage over convenience. If you’ve ever had to bury a friendship without a funeral—I see you. We deserve better and we can be better.