Phoenix Relationships

Reflections on cycles of endings and beginnings in adult friendships

During my holiday break, I’ve been reflecting on friendships. In this post, I want to explore a concept I’ll call “phoenix relationships.” It’s a term I created that I’ll explain after some context. I hope you’ll find it relatable and informative if you, like me, have faced any form of transition or loss in friendship this past year.

It’s no secret that adult friendships can be rough.

In early life, friendships aren’t easy, but they do seem to form naturally because of school. Big changes like families moving away can feel especially devastating in part because stability is the cultural norm. While early relationships are formative, college-age relationships can seem especially meaningful because there’s a strong element of shared choice and purpose. I’ve often heard peers reminisce about college years when friends lived down the hall, shared meals, and had a shared sense of purpose. Even for my friends who didn’t go to college, a job or volunteer opportunity in their early twenties may have introduced them to their spouse or longtime friend group.

After early twenties, friendship formation can feel like a no-man’s land. The socially designated “train tracks” of school, and possibly the expectation to get married and have kids, seem to just fall off and leave our train rolling on the dirt. There can seem to be no sufficient “protocol” to move forward, or the ones we’ve been given don’t cover all our longings and needs.

In speaking with peers and elders alike, I don’t know if we ever stop longing for stable, geographically close, and like-purposed friendships as the years go by.

But they seem to become harder and harder to maintain over time. In this particular phrase of life, friends often go in different directions. And that hurts.

I used to think pain or loss in a relationship mean I did something wrong or I wasn’t dedicated enough. But now I know pain really just indicates that a friendship matters.

Pain in friendships is inevitable. But I’m finding that it can help to try to make sense of the pain and find meaning in it. In this post, I’ll try to make meaning out of the pain by looking at common trajectories of friendships I’ve experienced in my own life and witnessed in the lives of those around me. Disclaimer: these categories aren’t exhaustive, but they help frame the concept I want to explore.

Three Common Trajectories of Friendships

1. Chapter Friendships

Some friendships are temporary, but I prefer to call them “chapter friendships” because they’re integral to specific periods of our life stories. These friendships often end not due to a lack of care but because of life’s natural limitations – changing geographies, evolving commitments, and finite energy. The limits grow the more commitments we make.

Commitments require us to say “yes” to some things and “no” to others. You can’t live in multiple cities, work numerous jobs, or fully invest in every relationship simultaneously.

Embracing these limits doesn’t make the loss of a chapter friendship easier, but it can help us grieve without unnecessary guilt or blame. A challenge for me in chapter friendships is naming when a friend chapter has ended. I feel lots of guilt for not keeping up the friendship. I’ve come to interpret this as an indicator that I need to just name to myself that this friendship has faded, that it may re-emerge in another chapter, but that it can be okay that this chapter has ended. We will both have to bear the loss, likely separately, and closure doesn’t need to happen with the other person.

2. Regrettable Relationships

Other friendships end with regret. These relationships might involve emotional unhealthiness—either in the other person, in ourselves, or both. They can blur boundaries, sometimes feeling like a mix of friendship, romance, or rivalry. When they end, the healing process is often long and difficult.

While painful, these relationships can be powerful teachers. They’ve helped me recognize unhealthy behaviors and reflect on why I was drawn to such dynamics in the first place. Understanding these patterns has been essential for my own growth.

In reflecting on my regrettable relationships, a wise friend once told me: “Going through this doesn’t mean you’re less wise now. It means you’re more equipped to help others facing the same thing.” If you’re coming out of a regrettable relationship, work to re-cultivate your self-esteem. You’re not dumb for having gone through this; rather, you know more now than you did then, so make the most of that wisdom.

3. Phoenix Relationships

Phoenix relationships start wonderfully. There’s a spark that creates a beautiful attachment and deep meaning. And they continue for some time. But then, significant changes come along and disrupt their sweetness.

The relationship seems to die, leaving one or both people grieving. Yet, unlike chapter or regrettable relationships, phoenix relationships have the potential to rise again – transformed and renewed.

For a phoenix relationship to be reborn, I’ve found there must be a willingness to let it go. This surrender creates the space for the relationship to transform into something new. But without this stage of total, sincere surrender (think Abraham’s total surrender of Isaac), the relationship can’t fully come to life in its emerging form.

Phoenix relationships have become a recurring theme in my life over the past five years – in work, friendships, family, and romance. Sometimes, I’ve been the one deciding whether to let the phoenix remain dead or rise again. Other times, others have made that decision without me knowing.

The Pain and Joy of Phoenix Relationships

Nobody told me phoenix relationships would happen, which is why I’m seeking to put words to this concept. They’re among the most painful relationships – second only to Regrettables – but they’re also the most rewarding. They last the longest because they’ve proven they can withstand the flames of transformation. And while there is proof of longevity, there is still not a guarantee that it will last forever.

I’ve loved many people in my life, and I’ve grieved the loss of many relationships. I miss friends from Boston, from campus ministry, and from my former living situations. Some of these relationships ended naturally, while others ended painfully. In each case, I’ve learned that pain in relationships doesn’t always mean failure or wrongdoing. It often simply means that the relationship held deep attachment, meaning, and love.

Pain in relationships is inevitable. Wisdom and moral uprightness can guide us, but they cannot eliminate relational pain. Accepting this reality frees us to love without avoiding, to disappoint with honesty rather than hide, and to let others feel hurt without demonizing ourselves.

Might Every Long-Lasting Relationship be a Phoenix Relationship?

I’ve come to theorize that perhaps any relationship that endures across chapters of life must be a phoenix relationship. For example: we never set out to marry the person our spouse becomes two years in. Parenting involves constantly grieving the loss of one stage to embrace the next. Friendships and professional relationships also evolve as people grow and circumstances change.

Perhaps I can think of a long-term relationship or two that hasn’t yet died and resurrected. But if that’s the case, maybe it’s that my friend suffered at a change in me in a way I didn’t experience the same as them. Or, maybe it’s that the great transition is still yet to come. Either way, assuming the “phoenix” quality may help me better prepare – to empathize with my friends as I change, and to embrace the inevitability of pain and joy that are to come.

We can’t control what rises from the ashes or what remains dead. But embracing grief, disappointment, and endings opens the possibility for surprising hope, newness, and longevity in some relationships. That, I believe, is enough.

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Do you resonate with the concepts of chapter relationships, regrettable relationships, or phoenix relationships? I’d love to hear in the comments below.