Last year, I felt as though I should be mourning a
friendship. No one died—not mourning a
friend. But mourning a friendship. Someone whom I had thought had been a really close
friend for many years had been giving me signs to the contrary. Why the hell can’t we act our age, especially
as women, and either speak what’s on our mind or just be nice?
I’d seen signs for awhile, really, when I think of it. Bad-mouthing of other friends from her. I should have known this was coming. When she repeatedly commented on the vanity
of another woman we knew in common, one who was supposedly one of her very best
friends, I started realizing that everyone must be fair game. Why the hell belittle your best friend? Why the hell belittle anyone? Is anyone perfect? I know I’m not. I try to own my flaws, hard as it is. And if someone would like to point out a new
one to me, I usually sit quietly and listen rather than defend myself
foolishly. Obviously, if someone else
sees something in me that’s negative, that’s a problem.
Or maybe it’s just a problem for that person.
Flawed though I am, I consider myself to be a pretty decent
person. I try to help others, often at
my own expense. I’m often nicer to
strangers than I am to my own husband.
And I have readily admitted that to my husband when we’re having a down
point in our marriage.
This gal and I had been working on a project for awhile
together. She told me that the rest of
the board was “concerned” with the way I was running things, and that “things
were being discussed behind my back.” Because
I don’t want anyone to feel things are unfair, I started calling each board
member, one by one, to remedy what I thought was a Situation. Unfortunately, it didn’t take me too long to
figure out that she was the one discussing things behind my back. What the hell? I’d always considered us good enough friends
that I would have hoped she would have talked to ME about her concerns or
issues before going to someone else. I
was wrong.
So I thought back over the last few months. I had listened to her so often, telling me
how another friend has done her wrong, or hurt her, or been thankless. And there I was on the being-hurt-end
now. It made me wonder how many of those
other broken relationships she seemed to be experiencing regularly had been the
Other Friend’s fault. Started to
think…perhaps it’s her.
I’d been there to hold her hair all freakin’ night when she
drank too much and couldn’t even move from the bathroom. I’d been there to bring her some requested
soda to drink to nurse a hangover. I’d
brought over nice expensive organic teas when she had been sick. I’d given her little gifts I’d found when I’d
thought of her—personal touches on what I thought were moments of our deep
friendship. I’d invited her on vacations, planned nights out, brought food over
when her child was injured.
Then I realized there were too many “I’s” in this
conversation in my head.
When my Dad died—where was she? Trying to tell me maybe a night out that we’d
had planned with a group of women would be “good for me.” My Dad had died three days prior, mind you,
and I was trying to figure out how to juggle my family with young children with
having to go out of state to sort through the details that go along with a
death. She did send flowers. I’ll give her that.
When I had surgery—where was she? Not coming over to keep me company, or
bringing me a meal, or offering to help with my kids.
I’d seen her Mom shortly before the friendship’s demise, and
I was taken aback by the cold shoulder I’d gotten from her Mom. I asked my friend if everything was ok—I’d
met her mom before—why the hell was she acting like that? I brushed it off to thinking she must be
having a bad day. My gut now tells me
I’d been the topic of discussion at some point and her mom didn’t know how to
react to me other than in a protective manner toward her daughter. I totally get it.
Shame on me for not seeing it coming. Shame on me for mourning this like I did. But my energy is mine—I took it back. I’m a good person; I try to do good things;
it’s ok for me to own that. MoJo—be mine!
Friendships all have ebbs and tides. All relationships do. My marriage has evolved tremendously with my
husband—and we’ve been married almost two decades. Neither of us are the same person as we were
when we met and married so long ago, but I wouldn’t change that. My relationship with my kids has
changed. It’s a normal part of
evolution. Change. But a true friend will throw the life ring
out to you in that changing tide, and she will keep you afloat, even if you’ve
drifted from her. When someone throws
the anchor out to you and starts to sink you, you should probably consider
cutting ties and calling it a day.
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