You Hide That You Love Them, and Pretend You’re Their Friend

If you have feelings for someone but keep them hidden because you know they aren’t really available, pretending it’s “just friendship,” don’t be astonished when reality eventually knocks you back. People who experienced trauma as children are especially prone to slipping into that “just friends” role. Unhealthy people recognize that vulnerability — they notice how we downplay something hurtful and act as if it didn’t affect us. That makes us easy prey. Whether deliberate or unconscious, they’ll dangle just enough ambiguity and possibility to keep us stuck, because they feed off the energy of our hanging on, hoping, hiding, and going along with things. Today’s letter comes from a woman I’ll call Kathy. She writes, “Dear Anna, twenty years ago I had a casual affair with a man who was in a relationship — I didn’t know that at the time.” We’re now in our fifties, she says, and he lived in another city. After the brief fling they chose to remain friends. I’ve got my mental highlighter to mark parts I’ll revisit, but let’s follow Kathy’s story. She admits she shouldn’t have pursued it, but he was witty and entertaining, and because they’re both writers they long ago became each other’s beta readers. She began to notice a pattern: whenever she shared a project or a longing, he mirrored it almost exactly. She wanted to study photography; so did he. She endured a rare childhood illness; so did he. She meditates; he meditates too. She calls it flattery or mirroring, and admits it left her confused and flattered. A few months ago, during a pleasant phone conversation, he said he would give anything to sit on her porch with a glass of wine. They’d always dreamed of seeing the Aurora Borealis, he told her, and he’d take her there instead of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend from back then, though they now live in different cities in the same country. That remark sent Kathy into an obsession about a possible trip together. Then, a few weeks later, he called asking for advice — he’d fallen madly for a third woman. Kathy was incredulous. Because they were “just friends,” she told him to talk to his girlfriend before making any moves; the girlfriend didn’t deserve to live a lie. (And by the way, you didn’t, either.) A couple of weeks later Kathy texted to ask what happened after their conversation. He replied that talking to her had calmed him and the crush had passed. Kathy wondered whether he’d made the whole thing up to see her reaction or whether he was simply unstable — or whether they were both stuck in mutual limerence. She’d experienced platonic infatuation before during a period of betrayal in her marriage, sought therapy, and thought she’d healed. Now she refuses to fall into limerence again, yet she cherishes the friendship and dreads cutting him out. She asks what to do. Oh, Kathy — this is painful. Right away there’s a huge red flag: he started things by lying about his relationship status two decades ago. That may absolve you of culpability for what you didn’t know, but it utterly exposes his dishonor. He initiated intimacy by deception, which is manipulative. Then you stayed friends despite knowing you probably shouldn’t and despite that shaky foundation. His habit of echoing your interests is also troubling — it can be flattering, but it may signal problematic behavior. I’ll leave armchair diagnoses to others, but that imitation is worth a wary eyebrow. When he started making romantic remarks about wine on your porch and the Northern Lights while he had a girlfriend, that’s dishonorable. It’s not your responsibility to uphold his relationship, true, but if you’ll be complicit in lying to someone, you become part of the deception. If you want to live with integrity, don’t take part in affairs that require secrecy. We all make mistakes; I’m not judging you, just naming what’s true: that this situation forces you to be deceitful if you go along. Notice how you slid into the “cool girl” role — advising him to talk to his girlfriend even after your hopes were crushed. That’s not what a true friend does; a friend protects your interests, not use you as a sounding board for emotional turmoil. Trauma teaches many of us to go numb or to pretend nothing happened when something lands like a punch. We feel ashamed to be surprised or to have hoped for more, so we minimize our hurt: “Oh, it’s fine.” The honest response — “What? I’m hurt. I thought you liked me, and I need to process this” — would be bracingly clearer and would move the story forward. It might reveal the truth and allow you to move on, which is where healing happens. Truth is the only soil for healthy relationships; it’s also how we mend from childhood wounds inflicted by people who gaslighted us: “What are you crying about? Nothing happened.” Recovery often begins with small, brave steps toward clarity: practice asking, “Is this a date? I’m a bit confused.” It’s better to risk a little embarrassment than to drain your life force into a relationship that isn’t real because old wounds stop you from seeing the difference. Consider how many years you’ve already lost to such entanglements. Save your energy for someone genuinely excited to be with you, someone who floods you with attention rather than extracting it. You might think such people don’t exist, but another reason they don’t appear is that you’re emotionally entangled already — and perceptive, emotionally healthy people can sense that. There are nonverbal cues and life facts you broadcast that make others hesitate. If you truly want to meet a compatible partner, clear the decks: no more “friends” in quotation marks. It’s possible to have friends of the gender you’re attracted to, but not when one party harbors romantic longing. That dynamic drains everyone’s availability. I learned a metaphor recently: if you want juice from a lemon, you could cut it in half and squeeze hard, or you could roll it on the counter to soften it first. Some people “soften up” others emotionally — they stir romantic feelings without the intention of reciprocating. Bob Marley put it bluntly: it’s cowardly to inflame love in someone when you don’t plan to return it. That seems to describe your situation: someone who provokes romantic feeling, sops up the energy, then everyone pretends nothing is wrong. So stop pretending. Complain loudly if you must, say how you feel, or pull back. You deserve love, and there are many people who would love you well; don’t let those who consume your emotional energy for sport keep taking it. Some of the best friendships can weather attraction, but only when people are honest about their feelings. When honesty is absent, what looks like friendship often functions as an emotional affair — feeding romantic excitement without real commitment. How can you know whether a relationship is an innocent friendship or an emotional affair? Today’s next letter is from a woman I’ll call Una: “Dear Anna, what are the signs of being in an emotional affair, and how do I get out of it? Years ago I was diagnosed with C-PTSD after severe school bullying, abuse from my father, and emotional neglect from my mother.” I’ll mark details with my mental pencil, but let’s explore Una’s situation. She explains she developed an anxious attachment style. Over a decade ago her fiancé died in a car crash. Recently she joined an online writing group and clicked with someone there; they started chatting privately. He’s kind and funny, and she confided in him about her past. He disclosed he’s married with three children — two biological and a stepdaughter — but claimed his marriage is failing. He told her his wife is unkind and possibly looking elsewhere, and he feels stuck because of the kids. Una appreciated his transparency and said so. She adds that, as a Catholic who experienced her father’s serial infidelity, she vowed never to have an affair, never to be “another man’s sloppy seconds,” and she tells potential partners she’ll cut ties if they lie about marital status. When she described the new friendship to someone, they warned she might be in an emotional affair. She was stunned; she only wanted to be a friend. How can she tell if it’s more than friendship, and how should she end it — ghost him, confront him, or something else? Una, I don’t love what I’m about to say, but you are in an emotional affair — and he is too. A married man pouring out marital misery to someone he’s been privately conversing with three weeks is a classic red flag. If we had a dollar for every workplace or online colleague confiding marital dissatisfaction, we’d have many dollars and a strong statistic for how often it becomes an affair. You seem a little in denial — there’s pride in the “I’d never do that” stance — but your contact with him is unethical if his wife doesn’t know about it. I’m betting she doesn’t. He’s likely testing the waters for an affair, and you’re participating, even if it’s not physical. You said you wouldn’t be “sloppy seconds,” and that attitude reveals the tricky reality: you’re at risk of being the other woman emotionally. The good news is that since it hasn’t become sexual, you can stop it cleanly: cut off contact. You can say, politely but firmly, that you’re not comfortable maintaining a friendship with a married man who’s sharing this level of marital detail. Thank him for his candor and step away. People do this all the time. If you fear losing this friendship or think you’re merely helping him, consider instead your future. One day, you may want a healthy marriage of your own, and in such a relationship partners preserve their romantic energy for one another. When someone pours theirs into someone else, it undermines the marriage and hurts children who need stability. If his behavior with you continues, his marriage likely won’t survive well. Let him resolve his marriage on his own. If, years from now, he is genuinely single and emotionally available, then perhaps you can revisit a friendship or dating. But for now, find a suitable friend who isn’t a married man trying on emotional intimacy. That’s not helpful for anyone. Turning now to a broader point: look at the comments under any of these videos and you’ll mostly find two kinds of responses — people stuck in their early trauma, and people actively recovering. The stuck group came to therapy to talk about what happened: the family dynamics, the betrayals, the pain. That awareness helps, but it can only carry you so far. Real change occurred when the focus shifted off past perpetrators and onto present symptoms — thoughts, behaviors, and emotions that govern your life now. I’m not a clinician here to diagnose; I speak from recovering from childhood PTSD myself and from working with many who’ve survived neglect and abuse. Over the years I’ve noticed patterns: who heals and how, and who stays trapped. If you’re not getting the progress you want, stay with me so you can see what the people who change are doing differently. I observe two broad self-concepts. The first belongs to those actively trying to understand their wounds and find solutions. They experiment, notice what helps, and keep the helpful practices. They begin to get along better with others, feel more comfortable alone or in groups, and their talents start to emerge. They talk about what worked and what didn’t and are uplifted by practical, experience-based advice. The second group is discouraged despite effort. They’ve tried many treatments, but healing hasn’t arrived. They become bitter and fixated on external wrongs — family members, exes, society — and they can vividly recount the hurts. But they lack a clear vision of who they might be without the pain; the suffering becomes their identity, and they can’t imagine a different future. That’s what I mean by stuck. Being stuck is understandable in trauma, but if you want out you must “break the wheel”: the repetitive churn of negative thoughts and feelings, the blaming and ruminating that spins and spins. The wheel behaves like a centrifugal force, flinging away relationships, opportunities, joy, and stability. It’s seductive, too — so you can’t reason it away gently. You need to jam a metaphorical stick into it, shattering the cycle. Don’t worry — the wheel is illusory; when you break it, it vanishes like a bad dream. You are not helpless. With even a small pause from that cycle, new experiences of yourself open up. Healing begins when you redirect attention from the past and from other people to what you can change: yourself, here and now. Practical steps can create breathing room and hope. Imagine reducing your PTSD reactions a little: picture a stressful situation where you normally get triggered and spirals follow. Now imagine your symptoms are half as intense. You feel the sting, but you keep choice over your words and actions. Would that change the outcome? Yes. Imagine they’re only twenty percent of what they used to be. You’re hurt but not overwhelmed; you can stay present, speak calmly, and preserve relationships that previously would have frayed. That reduction would ripple through your life — relationships, career, health, and creative expression would become more accessible. People who can envision such change are the ones who usually get there: they shift from feeling helpless to recognizing agency and making choices, however small. Life will keep throwing stress at you, but you can learn new ways to respond. The first step is to believe that a better, easier future is possible, then talk to yourself differently about your trauma. Stop telling yourself the catastrophic story that traps you. When that negative wheel hum quiets, others can sense the difference; they’ll respond more warmly rather than pulling away. Your life matters. To begin, take a tiny, manageable step: imagine what it will feel like when your PTSD reactions are reduced. Visualize a stressful-but-real situation and practice seeing yourself reacting with more composure. Those shifts create hope and momentum. If you want more support, there are courses and resources you can consider, but even this small change in perspective starts the healing. You may have a friend you secretly love and have pretended to be “just friends” to avoid scaring them off, assuming they couldn’t possibly return your feelings. That could be real, or it could be low self-esteem deciding for you. Maybe they’ve also been play-acting friendship. Should you risk revealing your feelings? Today’s next letter is from a woman I’ll call Selena: “Hi, Anna. I’m looking for insight into a relationship with my neighbor that began last year. It’s only ever been a friendship, but sometimes I want it to be more. Other times I’m content with his support and don’t want to lose him because he’s one of my only friends.” Back in September, a childhood friend visiting showed Selena a dating app where her neighbor’s profile popped up as single and straight. Encouraged, she knocked on his door and invited him thrifting — terrifying, but he said yes. Later he texted asking if his friend Sarah could join; she felt disappointed because she’d hoped for a date, but she never made that intention clear and said it was okay. In the end Sarah didn’t come and it was just the two of them. He asked about plans for the weekend and wanted to hang out again. She notes she hasn’t seen him with another woman since, and while he has some female friends he seldom mentions them. He’s had just two past relationships — a high school girlfriend and a college girlfriend who cheated on him, which affected him. He’s sweet, reserved, unflashy — the kind of person who doesn’t need to impress. At first she mistook his quietness for disinterest, but over months she realized that’s simply his nature. Over the year he’s become central to her life: walking her to the gym, supporting her health goals, weekly dinners, movies, daily texts, and occasional unexpectedly sweet messages that brighten her day. He even gave her a thoughtful Christmas present with a note she rereads often — the note used the word “friendship.” Selena worries that because she frequently uses “friendship” to shield herself from rejection, she might have influenced him to call it that. Who friend-zoned whom? They talk about similar futures: kids, simpler living, maybe a business and a house together. They dream together but are too afraid to act. Selena admits she’s watched many videos about getting out of fantasy and into reality, but the mixed signals are maddening — sometimes she deletes dating apps when she feels secure, then redownloads them when doubt creeps in. She asks if there are subtle ways to find out his feelings without fully confessing hers. Is she too far in to risk awkwardness with someone she’ll see daily? Does she need to know if they’re heading the same way? Selena, your letter is beautiful. Many people would assume you’ve simply been friend-zoned, but I read your situation differently. This feels like a real, solid friendship with a fair chance of mutual feeling. I don’t think a sneaky tactic will serve you — honesty is the way forward. Because he is an important person in your life, think beforehand about how you’ll respond if he says, “No, I don’t feel the same.” Be prepared to preserve the friendship if you can. Tell him in a light, straightforward way: “There’s something I need to say and I feel a little nervous and embarrassed, but I want to be honest. I’m attracted to you. I have feelings that go beyond friendship.” See how he responds. If he says he doesn’t feel the same, acknowledge that it hurts but that you value the friendship and will try to adjust to keep it. Give yourself permission to step back if staying friends is too painful. You risk awkwardness and possibly a period of discomfort, but living indefinitely pretending you’re only a friend when your feelings are deeper will freeze a potential life-long opportunity. From all you describe, the relationship has many of the fruits of a real connection — shared values, consistent kindness, thoughtful gestures like that Christmas note. He may mirror your “friendship” label because you introduced it, or because he’s also fearful of rejection and frozen in place. I give it roughly even odds. The fact that he agreed to go thrifting, later canceled bringing a friend, continues to be present, and gives thoughtful gifts suggests genuine care. So when you disclose, keep it honest but easy, not dramatic or fatalistic. If he says no, allow for the friendship to continue and see how you handle it emotionally. If you can’t stay, that’s a real cost to weigh. But if the relationship might be meant for you, it deserves the chance of realness. Nothing grows in secrecy; real things require openness. Stop the mental gymnastics and take the risk now, with the intention of preserving the friendship regardless of the outcome if possible. That’s my counsel to you.