Tag Archives: friends

Holding Back

If I could have the conversation I want to have…

Before I begin, you know the gory details of what I have been through in my life and, while I know that you cannot REALLY relate (and I am glad for that), I wish you would try.  Please try to understand that when I say my heart breaks, I mean that it crumbles and bleeds and falls to the floor in agony; after all, it is pieced together with tape and Elmer’s glue as it is.  Please try to understand that when I say that I have fear, it registers in my brain and my body in just the same way as the gut wrenching fear registered when my mother snapped her gun belt before a beating; sharp and quick.  Please try to understand that when I say I love, I love selectively and deeply, into the marrow of my bones.

I have not meant to withhold my feelings and I am sorry that everything came out in a messy texted torrent yesterday, but I have been anguishing over our friendship for months.  Your news uncorked a shaken bottle of champagne.

I have seen a pattern in the way that you have been treating people, the very important and permanent people, in your life lately and it has made me examine my own role there too.  In the last year, and over the past few months especially, whenever one of them doesn’t serve some need within you, disagrees with you or your life choices, or has a difficult time coping with their lives and inarticulately comes to you needing support, you you spout about the incredible difficulties of your own life and the zero fucks you give and you turn them away.  It has seemed so easy for you to let them, to let your love for them, go.  Where do I, a mere friend, a temporary fixture of life, fit into that?  I haven’t been sure.

My heart has been breaking for you over your recent choices.  My heart has been breaking because you are knowingly setting yourself up for future heartbreak.  My heart has been breaking because your children will suffer their own heartbreak when you do.  My heart is breaking because they will take on your burdens and they will carry them for life, because that is what children do.  My heart has been breaking because my heart (and so many others) will break right along with yours when this house of cards crumbles around you.

I have feared that by expressing my concerns, you would reject me as you did them (and I was kinda right).  I have feared that our friendship is as disposable as those relationships appear to be to you.  I have these fears because of my own past, because of our past, and because you and your friendship mean so much to me.

I have felt a real void where the much needed presence of your friendship used to be.  I have needed you for some real nitty, gritty and unpretty lately, but you been aware of little but yourself.  I have needed your help surviving the surge in emotion, flashbacks, and hormones since surgery.  I have needed you when I regretted the decision.  I have needed you in my walk through the hurt of ending my relationship with my mother.  I have needed you, and you are a cheerleader when things are going well, but our textversations all seem to end when the topic turns toward anything of remotely difficult substance about me.  I have felt increasingly rejected and ignored by it, but I have presumed that it was only because you, too, were going through your own heartbreak and could not bear mine as well.

I have struggled with all of these feelings, but I was confident that they would pass as your fog lifted and you got back to your happy.

Then you tell me that you have been happy.  So, while I could understand and process your absence from my life because you are hurting, I could not (and cannot) fathom your absence because you are happy.  Is this our friendship?  Is this what it means to be your “best friend” now that you give zero fucks?  To be there to support you through your darkness, but only have you around when my life is comfortable for you?  Is my ability to be involved in your life contingent on my faking a smile?

I am happy that you feel happy, but I fear that it is a right now kind of happy.  I fear that you have been overtaken by the intensity and intoxication that right now happiness is made up of.  Right now happiness will deceive you (please don’t forget how it blinded you to a narcissistic monster just a year ago).  You let people in so freely and, while I admire that so much about you, I am afraid for the way that you appear to be chasing that right now happiness like a drug.  I fear it because an addiction to that right now happiness will destroy you like any other, my friend.  Like any drug, right now happiness can only fill the holes in your heart for so long before it leaves a wake of devastation in your life.

Don’t be mistaken, that right now happy can last for years.  You, however, deserve forever happiness.  My fear is that you are risking your forever happiness for temporary glee; and it breaks my heart.

Holding On So I’m Not Alone

And just like that, he does something that makes me give up.

Work and life have been crazy. Trying to get out and network more, lots of big firsts recently, bigger cases, new friends, therapy, writing, painting, back at church for the first time in, well really too long, just lots of things going on. My time is my livelihood. So when I set a date for a date night, I do my best to keep my schedule clear for it. I told people no, because I wanted to see him.

He forgot about me. Flaked on our date. I haven’t seen him in about 6 weeks again. I can’t keep doing this. I have been trying everything I can. He doesn’t value my time and refuses spontaneous dates pretty much 99.9% of the time. I’m pretty sure I’m worth more.

I feel in some ways he’s my last hope, though.

My other favorite is leaving after he gets out of the Air Force soon. He really makes me feel safe. It’s mostly physical, but there is genuine care for each other there. Im going to miss this one like crazy when he’s gone.

He’s so comfortable to be with. We have tried lots of fun things I’ll probably never try with anyone else. Things that require trust and patience and the right amount of tender aggression and release.

He swears we won’t stop texting when he’s gone. I actually believe that. He likes to travel, so I’m sure he’ll be back occasionally and I know we’ll be unable to resist each other.

Maybe I’m just not meant for one guy in the end. I certainly can’t seem to find everything I need (and want) in just one.

A Single Woman Among Moms

All of my friends are having babies.  I, on the other hand, am still single without any children of my own.  I have no prospects of having any children in the near future.  Quite honestly, I don’t know if kids are even in the cards for me.  I had piss poor examples for parents and I’m terrified of repeating their mistakes.  I’ve devoted my life to my career and am continuing to do so.  When would I have the time or energy to devote to children like I would want to?  With all that I have been through and all of the terrible things that happen in our world these days, if I end up not having any children of my own, I won’t be as disappointed as you might think.

Okay, I’d be a little disappointed; but if it doesn’t happen, I will still live a full and happy life, this I’m sure of.

It’s hard being the odd one out, though.  As my friends get married off and have babies, our friendships are changing.  It’s not unexpected, but it’s not easy.  The conversations are certainly a whole lot different these days.  We used to talk about our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our fears, our careers.  Now, I have to hear about your kid’s diarrhea for a week?  Please keep that shit to yourself.  Literally.

Despite the fact that I don’t want to know every detail of your child’s bowel movements, we can still be amazing friends.  I get that motherhood changes women in so many ways.  I knew that it would change you.  But unless you’ve suddenly decided to be one of those dysfunctionally obsessed with your children mothers (which you said you’d never do, by the way), you’re still you.  You still have the wicked sense of humor we share, you’re still a strong, fierce, independent woman, you’re still filled with all those hopes and dreams and fears we used to talk about (and many more with kids in the picture).  And, as soon as this new kid phase is over, you’re going to want to join me for a glass of wine or three now and again (trust me, it’s gonna happen).

In the meantime, you still deserve to have friends you can just shoot the shit with, about kids, about husbands, about whatever.  I can (and have and will) adjust to the fact that sometimes we won’t get to hang out or that the primary focus of our conversations will be about the kids.  So, while you think I’m not going to be able to understand or relate to you now that you’re a mom, nothing could be farther from the truth.

I do have to ask for one favor, though.

Please don’t act like I have no clue when it comes to children. Although I don’t have any of my own, I had a jacked up childhood and learned all about what not  to do with kids.   I have nephews and a niece who I babysat.  I used to babysit the neighbor kids.  As it turns out, that’s more interaction with children than you’ve had up to this point.  Does it mean I know everything?  No.  But neither do you.

I want to learn with you.  I want to know what it’s like.  I want to know what kinds of things to expect.  I want to see your kids grow up  I want to see what kind of parent you’ll become.  Even if I don’t have any kids of my own, I can be the coolest aunt out there.   Why risk ruining our perfectly good friendship acting as though you’ve moved up into the upper echelon of life for the mere fact that you popped out a kid?

Rant over.

I still love you, even though you’ve got this new puking, pooping, time and thought consuming, adorable little baby.  I just hope you’ll still love me back, even though I don’t.