Great conversation, fiery attraction, a library of books we’d both read. When I met James* last year, I felt like I’d met myself in magnetic male form. But after a few dates, it transpired that we weren’t so similar. Different religious beliefs, life circumstances, and communication styles made it clear it probably wouldn’t last. So, after an abrupt ending followed by a short back-and-forth, we decided, after some time apart, to be friends.
To some, this probably sounds ridiculous. Why, you may ask (as some of my friends did) do you need to be friends with someone you’ve only known romantically — and only for a few months? Social norms suggest that specific connections belong in specific boxes. A romantic partner, for example, is either a partner (in your life) or an ex (banished from your life). Then there’s the (mythical, btw) ‘friend zone’ that’s impossible to get out of. And somewhere in the grey zone is a fling: someone you’re either casually seeing romantically (or sexually) or not at all. But none of this is real.
When James and I ended, the sadness didn’t come from the fact we weren’t romantically compatible, but that this apparently meant we couldn’t be in each other’s lives at all. It seemed wasteful to completely discard someone I’d clicked so well with. Our conversations were simply too good to let go of. So we’ve kept in touch; this is mainly via social media — after all, adult life is busy, and we’re not clearing our schedules to see each other. But we have met up a couple of times to catch up over coffee, and it’s always just as fulfilling as it was when we were romantically involved.
James isn’t the first ‘ex’ I’ve stayed friends with. Last week, I met up with my friend Callum*, who I went on a single date with last year, to eat pizza and drink beer in the park. My other (completely platonic) guy friend told me it wouldn’t be possible to stay friends. “It’s just not how these things work,” he said at the time. But Callum has a girlfriend now and we still talk often and deeply, even though we also live in different cities. He’s funny, we bounce off each other, and our lives have strangely collided in a way that makes it easy to stay in touch.
Taboo talk
For some, staying friends with an ex, no matter the severity, could be seen as a red flag. On one level, I get it. Some ‘friendships’ with exes are marred with hidden agendas, while others are rooted in inauthenticity or a lack of self-awareness about what either of you actually want.
But if intentions are pure, and everyone is on the same page, I think there is beauty in staying friends with those people who’ve seen us at our most vulnerable; in accepting someone for who they are without measuring whether they are ‘right’ for you romantically. There’s an intimacy there that can’t be replicated in other relationships, even if the relationship was short-lived.
For me, it’s about seeing somebody as a person before whatever role they might be playing in your life. A ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’ is just as much a person as an ‘ex’ or a ‘friend’, and a connection is a connection regardless of what it means. When you like people for who they are and not what they do, it isn’t difficult to have a more fluid approach to your relationship with them. Yet, in my experience, it’s controversial to try to bridge the gap between friends and lovers. What is it about heterosexual norms that means these connections have to go to waste?
I say heterosexual because it’s well known that people in the LGBTQ+ community are more likely to stay friends with past flings. While this may partly be a consequence of logistics (LGBTQ+ communities tend to be smaller and more close-knit), it’s something that isn’t questioned in the same way as in heterosexual dynamics. People already have a difficult time believing that a straight woman and a straight man can really just be friends — let alone if they’ve had sex.
Missed connections
Beyond that, though, the disposable modern dating culture doesn’t operate in a way that inspires lasting connection — romantic or otherwise. Omri Gillath, a psychologist who studied post-relationship friendships in 2017, agrees that the unclear boundaries of modern dating culture may contribute to the dynamic. “We didn’t look at this back in 2017, but these days fewer people are having committed relationships, [opting instead for situationships or friends with benefits],” he tells me.
While this could translate to less rigidity in how we define our relationships, trying to build a friendship on rocky, confusing foundations likely won’t be very fruitful. “If you had a good, stable relationship, then it may not be a problem, but if it wasn’t that stable to begin with, it’s probably going to fall apart,” says Gillath.
Then there’s the way our dating lives are now siphoned off from the rest of our lives. As sociologist Dr Marie Bergström suggests in her 2021 book The New Laws of Love, dating has become an “individual practice” — a shift that has happened in tandem with (or as a result of) the proliferation of dating apps.
Gillath notes that our compartmentalisation of romance is a result of how busy we are, particularly with the time we invest into work. This means that the people we date often have no connection to our wider lives, making it more logistically difficult to stay in touch. And considering how wide our social circles are these days, thanks to social media prolonging relationships that may have fallen away without it, it can feel unnecessary and even overwhelming to add someone else to the mix.
With so little time for self-fulfilment, having any friends at all can feel difficult, and it’s no secret that navigating a friendship with someone you’ve slept with might be tricky. Future relationships might create tension, either by dragging up feelings of jealousy or creating a natural distance, especially if new partners don’t understand the friendship. And, of course, there may be feelings of disappointment to ride out before entering into any serious, genuine friendship. After all, a lack of compatibility doesn’t always coincide with a lack of feelings. When James and I stopped talking, I had to accept that our relationship would be something different than I wanted it to be.
Making it work
So, if you’re planning on taking a connection from lovers to friends, what do you need to know? Firstly, be honest with yourself about your feelings and remember they don’t always map neatly onto a chronological timeline.
In fact, Gemma Nice, an award-winning sex and relationship coach says that it may actually be harder to disentangle our logic from our feelings in shorter relationships. “The shorter the relationship, the more intense the emotional rollercoaster can be,” she says. This is because we experience a surge of hormones like oxytocin and serotonin (associated with love, attraction, and happiness) at the beginning of a relationship. “So, if you’re only dating for around two months, [those hormones] are still going to be there,” says Nice. These feelings persist even when we know that things won’t work out. Not to mention, sexual attraction may persist, and this could prove confusing, especially if you’re ovulating.
The remedies, of course, are time, boundaries, and self-control. Before moving on to a friendship, says Nice, “allow time and space for each other to just grieve the relationship… and allow one another to deal with things in your own way”. Boundaries, such as deciding how often you’ll stay in contact and how often you’ll meet up, will be important to help the transition, as will open communications about any feelings that develop. And, as a wise woman once told me, you don’t have to sleep with everyone you want to. Not every feeling needs to be acted on.
Perhaps this seems like work, but when the pay off is connection, I’d say it’s worth it. At a time when our attachments feel more fractured than ever, the people we click with are precious — and so, even though it can be bumpy and awkward, these relationships are worth holding onto.
*Names have been changed
Ella Glover is a freelance writer based in London. She mainly covers social affairs, youth culture, addiction, technology, mental health, and their intersections. Her work has appeared in Women’s Health, Glamour, the Observer Magazine, Prospect Magazine, Dazed, Vice, and more. She is also the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the counterculture magazine Ordinary.
