Issue #81: I hated my best friend's boyfriend.
And I'm still not sure if I handled it correctly.
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Today’s issue talks about one of my (Aja’s) closest friends and what happened when — to put it bluntly — I hated her boyfriend. I put out a call to our readers several weeks ago to get more perspectives (and maybe some closure): Have you ever disliked a friend’s partner? What did you do? What happened to the relationship? The responses confirmed what I’d suspected many of us have struggled through…
Written by
. Edited by and .I disliked Ben before I’d even met him.
Nadine,1 one of my best friends from high school, was working part-time at a non-profit to help pay for college; Ben was a full-time employee nine years older who asked her out her first week. By week two, she was unofficially living with him. By week three, they were discussing what they’d name their future kids.
She was over the moon, but I was wary. It sounded like Ben was love-bombing her. Plus, he’d just gotten out of a four-year relationship. Didn’t he need some time before diving head-first into another one?
Neither of us had dated anyone seriously before — which meant our friendship had never been asked to handle a third person. Was I just jealous? Annoyed that she now had way less time to text and FaceTime? Or was my gut telling me something important: that Ben was bad news?
This happened years ago, but I still think about it all the time. I replay what happened in my head, asking myself whether I should have said something sooner, what I would have said… if there was any way the situation could have unfolded differently.
My initial misgivings around Ben quickly turned into full-blown animosity. Their first year together, Nadine casually passed on a few details that I saw as huge crimson flags.
Ben had gone over to his ex’s house to pick up his stuff when a storm had hit, so he’d been forced to stay the night. (Nadine thought this was the practical decision. I thought he should’ve called a friend or gotten a hotel.)
Another time, Ben got upset when she mentioned she might go the corporate route. He believed all big companies were evil and working for one would corrupt her. (Nadine thought this was evidence of his strong morals; I thought she should pay off her student loans.)
Most upsetting, maybe, of all: Ben had thrown a tantrum when she’d bought a sex toy. He saw this as interference or competition with their sex life. Nadine thought this was ridiculous. I thought it was grounds for a break-up.
By this point, I was positive it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness that was turning me against Ben. But apart from asking strategically probing questions — “Wait, doesn’t he have friends in that area he could’ve crashed with?”, “So he’s saying he never masturbates?” — I hadn’t told Nadine how worried I was. Every time I played this conversation out, it ended in her saying, “But I love him, and I want to be with him.” Then what? How would we move forward?
Because she did love him. And even though I hated him, I could still understand why Nadine was with him. He was smart, well-read, and funny. He always wanted to spend time with her. They’d quickly developed a wealth of inside jokes and traditions. He made her feel loved.
Nadine saw the best in people — a quality about her I appreciated and admired — but I was hopeful that, once we graduated college and began our real lives, she’d become more discerning. That she’d get exposure to healthy adult relationships, which would reveal by contrast what hers was missing. (It wasn’t surprising Ben looked good next to a frat guy.) She’d realize she could find someone with Ben’s sense of humor and love of literature who didn’t sulk every time she took a few hours to text back.
But this didn’t happen. After graduation, Nadine and Ben only got more serious. They moved to a foreign country together and started mapping out their timeline for marriage and children.
Nadine, unaware how I felt, kept asking me to visit them. “We’ll meet you anywhere!” she said. “Tell me your schedule. We’ll plan around it!”
I’d still spent less than five hours ever in Ben’s presence; first, because Nadine had gone to college far away, then, because they were living abroad. The distance had helped me conceal my true feelings about him — it was much easier to pretend I liked him when Nadine and I were texting than when Ben and I were face-to-face. (In fact, one of the only times we’d all hung out, he’d complained about being too broke to buy organic produce, and I, thinking of his legendary bar tabs, had said unthinkingly, “Well, whose fault is that?”)
I knew I wouldn’t be able to pretend I liked him for the length of a trip, so I kept putting Nadine off, saying I was too busy. It started getting awkward every time I visited other friends. I could feel her thinking, but not saying: You can swing a trip to see Grace? Kate? But not me?
The length of time between our calls grew longer. Eventually, she stopped asking if I’d visit. I sensed her hurt from thousands of miles away. But I couldn’t tell her the truth, so I pretended like I was oblivious.
By this point, we were talking about Ben a lot less. She’d reference him — “Ben and I went to a wedding,” “Ben’s still looking for a job” — but always quickly and obliquely, never long enough for me to probe. I suspected she didn’t want to deal with my questions. It meant there was now a huge part of her life we didn’t touch. That made it harder to talk about other, non-Ben things — our easy intimacy was fading.
Ugh, I thought. I should’ve been subtler. I pushed too hard. Now I’ve pushed her away.
It was on one of our less frequent calls, a few years later, that Nadine said out of nowhere: “I think I’m going to break up with Ben.”
“Woah,” I said, immediately standing up from the couch. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“We’ve just grown apart,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m building this new life, you know? I’m making new friends, I’m applying to grad school, I’m exploring different interests… and he just feels stuck in place. And that might even be okay if I didn’t feel like he actively resented me for focusing on anything that isn’t us. I still love him. He’s still my best friend. But I’m starting to feel like he’s holding me back.”
I took a deep breath. Even with this opening, being honest felt risky. But it was the first time she’d admitted any doubts.
“If I’m being honest,” I started, “That tracks with some concerns I’ve had for a while. You know I think Ben is great in many ways” — a lie to make the next part more palatable — “but it’s always seemed like he views your independence or growth as a threat. And that makes me sad! You’ve got such a cool life ahead of you. You’ve got such a cool life right now. And I want your partner to be endlessly supportive of everything you do, the same way I know you’re endlessly supportive of Ben.”
For a long moment, Nadine didn’t say anything. I clenched and unclenched my hands while I waited.
“You’ve felt this way for a while?” she finally said. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“You should’ve told me. I wish you’d told me.”
To my relief, Nadine did break up with Ben. We finally talked — about everything, starting with Ben and what I’d truly thought and then running through how it’d impacted our relationship and the sadness we’d both been carrying. It felt like we’d been erecting a wall between us for years and years that, in a few short months, we completely tore down.
We started calling each other whenever we had news or gossip or a spare thirty minutes, just like we’d used to. We planned a trip together, in honor of all the trips we didn’t take during the Ben era.
It felt like we’d been erecting a wall between us for years and years that, in a few short months, we completely tore down.
I still don’t know if I should’ve said something sooner. Nadine says yes; it took her a long time to process the hurt and confusion she felt about my silence. At the time, I’d been worried that I’d been too vocal. I thought speaking up earlier would have driven the same wedge between us — but more quickly and permanently. But it’s always easier to justify the decision you’ve made. And my answer might be clearer if Nadine had stayed with him. If, instead of planning a joint trip, I was booking flights for their wedding.
Recently, she started seeing a new guy. The red flags came out quickly: She said he was a little too smooth; he told her best friend about a recent situationship that he hadn’t mentioned to Nadine.
When she shared this last detail, my toes curled. My first instinct was to say something neutral. Then I reconsidered.
“Can I be honest?” I said.
“Yes!” Nadine said.
“I’m getting a bad feeling…”
She listened closely and thanked me for my transparency, and I could tell she meant it. She’s still going to see him — but says she’ll proceed with caution.
And more importantly, when I hung up, there was nothing I hadn’t said.
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The names and some identifying details of the people in this essay have been changed to protect their privacy.
This one is hard because people say in hindsight they wish you had said something. But I have said things to friends & it’s significantly impacted our friendships. When people are in denial about a partner they usually want to stay there & don’t want someone pointing out that their fairytale might not be so magical. And the majority of people prioritize romantic love over platonic love. I’ve learned to (mostly) keep my mouth shut unless asked.
You're such a good friend and this is NOT an easy situation. I am just getting out of a 12-year (!!) situation with a Ben and I had 1-2 friends that showed similar concern and I essentially stopped talking to them because I didn't want them to "judge" me.
This year, when it finally ended, I realized what I had done and called my best friend to let her know that I had essentially been avoiding her and lying to her for years because I knew the truth and I didn't want to hear it.
I think the best thing you can do is be open and show loving concern, which is exactly what you did. I'm glad it has worked out for her in general, and for your friendship!