In our formative years, having a best friend was a huge part of our identities. In the same way people refer to partners as their “other half”, the value we placed on the label of “best friend” was paramount – you were nobody unless you had one.

My best friend at school and I weren’t inseparable in that living-in-each-other’s-pockets way, but we were very close. We spent big chunks – important, life-bonding chunks – of time together. We were, and are to this day, inherently different. We liked different things (pro: we never fought over the same boys), we behaved in different ways and we prioritised different life choices. At its most primitive, she was outdoorsy and I was an inside kind of girl. But our closeness remained over the years through mutual respect, and we were fiercely loyal. Like you, we travelled and lived together. And like you, we too have grown apart.

Can I still call her my best friend? No, and I wouldn’t want to. Not because it would be doing a disservice to those people who are as close to me now as sisters, but because I don’t really believe in the notion of best friends at all. This is where you need to start to decipher what your friend means to you now. Because what comes with a best friend is pressure to be the best for them and, in return, they’re expected to do their best for you. And can you guarantee that? Judging on my own performance, no. I can be a thoughtful, fun, supportive friend – but the best? Probably not. Removing that expectation might help you emotionally untangle yourself.

Ask Billie: “Should I break up with my best friend of 15 years?”