When Caring Doesn’t Mean Staying: Letting Go of Unhealthy Relationships

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t noticing that a relationship feels off. It’s accepting that caring about someone doesn’t mean you have to stay connected. Whether it’s a friend, coworker, or partner, there are dynamics that slowly wear you down. You start bracing before conversations. You overthink your tone. You leave interactions feeling more drained than supported.

Sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes it´s very loud. A tendency to make you. And if you are like me (a recovering people pleaser) over time, these patterns can dysregulate your nervous system. You stop feeling safe. You start questioning your reactions. You wonder if you’re being too sensitive.

Therapists like Nedra Glover Tawwab and Dr. Nicole LePera talk about how relationships that consistently activate stress responses (fight, flight, freeze, or fawn) aren’t just emotionally exhausting. They’re physically taxing. Your body starts to associate connection with tension. And that’s not something you can fix by being more patient or more understanding.

Letting go of an unhealthy relationship like that doesn’t mean you’re cold or unforgiving. It means you’re choosing regulation over rumination. It means you’re honoring the signals your body has been sending for a while. And yes, it might still hurt. You might miss them. You might doubt yourself. That’s part of the process. But missing someone doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision. It means you’re human.

One of the most courageous things you can do is tell a friend, "Hey, this isn’t a healthy dynamic for me anymore." Not with anger. Not with blame. Just clarity. Saying, "I care about you, but I need to step away", is not easy. Especially when you genuinely care about them. But clarity is not cruelty. It’s care with boundaries.

I caught myself once in a friendship where every time they sent a message, or even when I saw the typing bubble ... my heart would race. I’d brace for another emotional whiplash. They were probably struggling with a lot, and I wanted to be there for them. But I realized it wasn’t my responsibility to manage their emotions. My responsibility was to self-regulate and be present. Not as a punching bag, but as a support system.

And what happens when one side of that system is too dysregulated to engage with care? When simple things spiral into complaints, accusations, or emotional escalation? That’s the moment we get to hold our own space. And sometimes, it means leaving.

It hurt, and it implied a massive jump out or my usual "handle things to maintaing oveall peace"... but I didn’t leave with resentment. I told them the raw truth, and owned my parts. I stopped trying to explain myself into safety. I stopped hoping that if I just showed up with enough softness, the dynamic would shift. It didn’t. And that’s okay. Some cycles aren’t meant to be lifelong. Some are meant to teach us how to listen to ourselves more closely.

I still care. I just care from a distance now. And that feels honest. That feels safe again.