Ending A Tangled Friendship: Grieving a Friends With Benefits

By Sofia Marie

They say let ye without judgement cast the first stone, but when it came to friends with benefits relationships, I had unintentionally been throwing stones. I’ve had many friends vehemently declare that they don’t have feelings for a FWB, only to become devastated when they get a monogamous partner, or it ends. It wasn’t the FWB relationship I was judging; it was continuing to have casual sex with a person you know you have feelings for who doesn’t want a relationship. Surely that can only end in pain. 

It was with great surprise, therefore, that I found myself, a few months ago, ugly snot-nose crying over a boy who wasn’t even my boyfriend. 

I’d first met James* six years ago at work. After I’d left we’d stayed in touch and, one drunken night, ended up having sex. Back then, no part of me was looking for a relationship. I’d recently come out of a very abusive one (my first), and even the word boyfriend made me want to stick pins in my nipples (and not in a good way). James was just one of a string of men I slept with around that time. 

Over the years, we slept together again in between his relationships. It was usually after I’d been on a night out. James was nice, safe, calm, clean and comforting – a haven to my chaotic life. It was pleasant but infrequent. 

That all changed last year. 

I’d been working on healing from my abusive relationship and felt more connected to myself than before. I’d decided to give up alcohol. Sober, sleeping with men I didn’t know seemed terrifying. Meanwhile, sex with James (who I’d known for years) felt familiar and safe. We started having sex a lot more frequently. The more we had sex (and sober sex, remember), the better it got. We grew closer, sexually and emotionally.  

It was within this dynamic that I ended up staying at his. I was in the process of moving and due to the dates things were happening, I wouldn’t have anywhere to live for a week. When James offered to let me stay in his spare room, it was a full gut yes. Except, of course, I didn’t end up sleeping in the spare room. 

I stayed in his bed every night. With our trust established over many years, we became more experimental and creative. The sex was incredible; it was a lot of fun. I hadn’t had a boyfriend for six years – sharing a bed with a man and having regular sex felt amazing. 

One day, after I gave him a massage, James fell asleep and I decided to go for a walk. As I skipped along, it seemed like the world had suddenly gotten brighter, more beautiful. My mind turned to James. Maybe I should buy him some food for a surprise when he wakes up? 

I stopped walking as clarity hit me like a ton of shit. Fuckity fuck fuck. I’d done it; I’d fallen for a dude that wasn’t even my boyfriend. And I hadn’t seen it coming. 

Once I’d moved into my new flat, I put my big girl pants on and did the right thing. I told him (over text) that I had feelings for him. The response was as I expected: he had feelings for me too but didn’t want a monogamous relationship. He wanted ethical non-monogamy. This wasn’t a surprise – he’d told me when we were friends that after his last relationship, he’d decided that monogamy wasn’t for him. 

As lovely as ethical non-monogamy sounded, I knew (for sensitive me) that it would be the equivalent of having my heart slowly cut to pieces with a cheese grater. I did what I knew I had to do, and even though he pleaded we stay friends, I blocked James on everything. 

Despite the fact that we hadn’t even been going out, despite the fact that he hadn’t been my official boyfriend, it felt a lot like heartbreak. I realised we’d still had a relationship. Not an official one, but a human one. We’d shared things with each other, shared a bed, cuddled, given each other massages, kissed, and had sex. We cared about each other. 

I could see that the odd ‘tangled friendship’ (his words) we’d shared had served me. The FWB situation had made me feel safe when my life had been chaotic and I’d been recovering from abuse. In our container of friendship, I’d learnt to trust men again in a way that I hadn’t been able to do through romantic dating. 

But as I’d healed, the FWB agreement we had signed years ago suddenly became small, constricting, and painful. I wanted more, and he didn’t – or at least not with me. Unintentionally, he made me feel not good enough. 

 I knew I had to let him go. But I still missed him. And that is okay. 

When we break up with boyfriends, the world acknowledges our pain and our friends rally around us. When it's a non-official relationship, we can often not give ourselves the same space to grieve and hurt. We sometimes judge ourselves for hurting at all. 

It’s okay to grieve the end of a friends with benefits situation. As I learnt: whilst the mind likes to neatly put relationships and feelings into labelled boxes, our hearts are often far more tangled.