How My Ex and I Created a Beautiful Friendship

When my ex-wife and I separated in 1999 and divorced two years later, I never imagined that we would one day spend a week together as friends.

Over the past quarter century, our lives had rarely crossed, except on the day our divorce was finalized and at our daughter’s wedding in 2012. Yet here we were, sitting across from each other, talking not just about the past but about the paths that had brought us here.

It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was an excavation. Over the course of our week together, I realized that my memories of our twenty-year relationship had become skewed over time, focused on the fractures that led us apart rather than the ties that had bound us together.

Through conversation, we began unlocking memories from our youth. She reminded me of the nine months we lived with my father after both of us contracted mono during our first year of college. Her stories filled in missing pieces and added new depth to my memories.

We also revisited the challenges and events we’d both experienced during our time together—moments of joy, struggle, and growth that had shaped us in ways we didn’t fully understand back then. Time and distance gave us the clarity to piece these moments together in ways we couldn’t have before.

For me, the first step back to friendship came about three years ago. I needed her permission to restructure an old pension, which required a detailed financial agreement. I sent her a carefully crafted proposal. Her swift response caught a mistake I had missed, but what stood out was her immediate assurance: “I trust you implicitly.”

That moment—her trust, so freely given—meant the world to me. It marked the beginning of a slow rebuilding of the mutual respect that had once been the cornerstone of our relationship.

Since then, life has brought us together in unexpected ways. Two years ago, our daughter asked for financial help, and I was the one who reached out to her mom on our daughter’s behalf. That conversation, the first in over a decade, felt like opening a door that had been closed too long.

More recently, I’ve been there to support her through her father’s passing and the end of a long-term relationship. In turn, she has listened as I’ve processed the unraveling of my second marriage and found my footing in a new relationship.

This week together felt like clearing away the rubble of a collapsed house to find that its foundation is still solid. We talked about the ways we had both changed, the lessons we had learned from failed relationships, and the new awareness that comes with time.

In helping each other process our shared past, we laid to rest ghosts that no one else could have exorcised for us. These were moments only we could give one another—unspoken truths we now had the tools and perspective to understand.

I’ve come to realize that healing isn’t always about finding closure—it’s often about finding new ways to hold the past with compassion. It’s a pattern so many of us fall into—hoping things will improve instead of addressing the reality. Recognizing this in ourselves isn’t easy, but it can be the first step toward living more authentically.

At sixty-three, I’ve come to see that life is rarely black and white. It exists in shades of grey. Relationships—whether marriages or friendships—are rarely all good or all bad. I carry immense gratitude for what we shared in our youth, the growth we’ve both achieved, and the chance to rediscover the friendship that lay beneath it all.

Reconnecting with my former best friend has been a gift. As the years pass, those who share our early chapters become rarer, making these connections all the more vital—not just as a link to our past, but as a reminder of how far we’ve come. These shared histories remind us who we were and help us understand who we’ve become, anchoring us in ways that feel irreplaceable.

We’ve already begun planning the next chapters of this friendship. She’ll visit me in the US soon, meeting my current partner, and doubtless, we’ll spend more time together when I’m next in the UK. What we’re creating isn’t just a rediscovered connection—it’s a living, evolving bond that carries us forward.

Sometimes, healing doesn’t mean repairing what’s broken to its original state. Instead, it means clearing away what collapsed and discovering something new in its place—a friendship that can stand the test of time.

In clearing the rubble of our past, I found a friendship that could endure. I wonder how many of us might discover the same if we found the courage to begin.