To be precise—their first breakup was meant to happen.
I’ve been rewatching Friends recently. The first two times were back in college, the third time was during a relationship, and now—married with kids—I heard it was streaming again and decided to revisit it. This time, something felt different. So many moments finally clicked.
Years ago, I never understood why Rachel would break up with Ross when he clearly loved her so much. From my younger perspective, Ross seemed caring, devoted, even romantic. But watching it now, with more life experience, the story looks very different—especially when viewed from Rachel’s point of view.
At that stage in her life, Rachel had already walked away from her family and a pre-arranged marriage. She was working as a waitress, financially unstable, and still trying to figure out who she was. She hadn’t yet found her place in the world or fully recognized her own worth.
For Ross, the woman he once idolized in high school was now at what appeared to be a low point. That imbalance made him feel more secure—like they were finally “on the same level.” But the moment Rachel began to grow, everything changed.
When Rachel landed a job she truly loved—thanks to Mark—Ross’s first reaction wasn’t pride or happiness for her. It was fear. He worried that a confident, successful Rachel would outgrow him or choose someone else. Instead of supporting her independence, he tried to regain control: sending excessive gifts to her office, crowding her workspace with flowers and fruit baskets, hiring a band to make a grand romantic gesture, and ultimately storming into her workplace to confront her after mistakenly thinking she and Mark were hugging.
To many viewers, these actions looked like passion or love. But from Rachel’s perspective, they were humiliating and threatening. Her career—something she had worked incredibly hard to build—was finally giving her a sense of identity and purpose. Ross’s behavior risked undermining that.
Rachel didn’t leave her old life just to replace it with another relationship where her growth came second. What Ross failed to understand was that finding herself was not a phase—it was essential. Love, no matter how intense, doesn’t justify controlling or suffocating behavior.
Then there’s what happened next. After the breakup, Ross got drunk and slept with another woman almost immediately. Instead of reflecting on his role in the relationship’s collapse, he spiraled. Breaking up isn’t just a single moment—it’s a process. Emotionally, you don’t become “free” overnight. That choice made his earlier declarations of love feel hollow.
With age, relationships, work, and even marriage teach you something crucial: before a woman truly understands who she is—what she wants, what she values, and whether she can stand on her own—relationships will continue to define her instead of complement her.
Seen through that lens, Rachel’s decision wasn’t cruel or impulsive. It was necessary.
Rewatching Friends years later reveals something powerful: the show wasn’t just about romance. It was about growth. And in that moment, Rachel choosing herself was exactly what needed to happen.