I Still Haven’t Pressed Call

This isn’t a story about blame. It’s about the slow, unspoken ways we drifted apart.

Some people enter your life like a sentence you never finish, because you cannot remember how it started. Years later, the echo of their name still lingers somewhere between memory and meaning.

Schi was there in every corner of my growing up, stitched deep into the fabric of my days. We were inseparable. We played, imagined, explored, fought and we forgave. 

She was present every time those shadows emerged. The tightness in my chest, the flurry of thoughts, and the suffocating dread that wrapped around me like a second skin—I was painfully aware of my panic, even though it seemed as if no one else noticed or experienced it.

But Schi? She knew.

She’d hold my hand, whisper that it would pass, sit beside me until it did. Sometimes she got impatient—rolled her eyes at my insecurities, told me to snap out of it. But she never left. Even in her frustration, she stayed.

We didn’t label it at the time. Terms like “therapy jargon” or “diagnostic checklists” weren’t part of our vocabulary back then. However, in hindsight, Schi was always present when the weight of the world felt overwhelming. Today, we recognize this experience as Anxiety.

Schi glided effortlessly through the air. I paused to assess the situation. If any trouble arose, Schi was already en route, without hesitation, seatbelt, or GPS, but armed with a “shovel“. I was eager to uncover what had transpired, who was responsible, and I would never consider carrying the “shovel.” Don’t misunderstand me; I’m fiercely loyal, but not “loyal shovel.” I craved for the details, while Schi immersed herself in her feelings. She chased her heart amidst the chaos, all the while sporting a brilliant smile. I diligently scrutinised the facts at every single turn. 😜

Schi embraced a ride-or-die mentality, whereas I wasn’t ready to “die” for anyone, and I definitely preferred to know the destination before starting the “ride.” there. This difference likely contributed to our strong bond. I would support Schi when she was about to slip, and she encouraged me to let my hair down more often, enabling me to enjoy some adventurous moments and even take risks as we grew up together.

Then life happened.

Schi has tied the knot and has two lovely children. On the surface, it appears to be a complete and fulfilling life filled with family breakfasts, coordinated Halloween costumes, a supportive partner, and a home that echoes with laughter. A lifestyle that attracts numerous followers on social media. However, something shifted when she met him. Initially, I assumed I was in my feelings because I missed her absence—life can become quite busy after all, right?. Yet, after a while it became clear that she was truly distancing herself, not only from me but from the world…

I took a different path. I dedicated myself entirely to my career, striving harder and reaching new heights. I achieved titles, promotions, and recognition in various cities. By all conventional standards, I found success. However, I’ve mastered managing and thriving in every aspect of my professional life, but I still struggle to let people close. The reality is that forming genuine relationships and experiencing true closeness has always been challenging for me.

Yes, we both moved forward, but we stopped moving together. 

We have both perfected the art of performance. We sure did. Schi represents the joyful wife and mother, while I embody the high-achieving professional. We wear our smiles, as the planet earth expects, and diligently fulfil our responsibilities. Yet, beneath the surface, we often feel lonely and drained. A sense of sadness and, at times, fear still lingers within us.

What happened to our connection? To begin with, we ceased having genuine conversations. Our communication turned into sporadic texts filled with superficial exchanges—a birthday message here, a heart emoji there. We moved away from those deep, raw, and messy conversations where we once thrived and felt secure together. Perhaps life became too overwhelming. Or maybe society, as it often does, pressured us to grow up, get it together, and abandon our authenticity in favor of being “normal.”

Whenever we met up in person? It was… different.

We smiled. Talked about our jobs, our partners, the chaos of life. We laughed at memories. We looked happy. We sounded happy.  We spoke about finding happiness.  I do not know about Schi but I felt it—that unfilled space. That quiet pause between sentences where the real things used to live. That discomfort where honesty used to be easy.

Recently, I learned through a subtle chain of whispers among mutual friends that Schi is not as well off as she appears. Her relationship has been taking a toll on her. Her husband has already moved on. The “moving on” that doesn’t wait for legalities. Meanwhile, Schi finds herself caught in a limbo between holding on and letting go.  Struggling to sign the papers. Struggling to sleep. Struggling to be okay.

And me? I’m no better.

I hate my job. It gives me the life, alright. But I hate how it drains me. My team sucks, the work is hollow, and every day feels like I’m slowly shrinking. But I’ve never had the courage to walk away. I’ve convinced myself this is what stability looks like. That quitting would mean failing. 

Schi and I are probably convinced that staying miserable is just what grown-ups do sometimes, as long as we fake “ we are doing fine” 

What truly happened between us, Schi? When did we stop lowering life’s volume to truly hear one another? Perhaps a more significant question is: What happened to me? Where did I lose my sense of self? Losing you made me realize that I had lost a piece of myself somewhere along my journey. Maybe my longing for you has grown because I miss the version of me that I once was. We are expected to be fine, to perform happiness, and to portray success. The world desires to see us smiling, accomplished, and stable. However, there is little room for the chaotic middle ground where most of life genuinely takes place. We both find ourselves trapped—silently battling our struggles in our own individual ways.

Indeed we are performance.

Did life get just too loud?. Or maybe society did what it always does—told us to grow up, to pull it together, to be normal.

When did we stop US, Schi?

I miss you… because I miss me. We were once very close, then with no drama, no betrayal, we drifted….

Her name is still in my contact list.  I haven’t pressed call yet.  But maybe I will….

Have you ever lost touch with someone who shaped you? Someone whose name still lives quietly in your contacts?

Let’s share.