I wasn’t going to post more about the demise of my friendship, but, WOW, you all DID make me feel better—mostly because so many of you have been through the same thing and absolutely get the place I am, and have been, in over the past few months.
I believe I’ve written before about how often books echo what’s going on in my life and resonate with me deeply. This passage from Jodi Picoult’s, “Handle with Care,” was one such example:
Besides the obvious difference, there was not much distinction between losing a best friend and losing a lover: it was all about intimacy. One moment, you had someone to share your biggest triumphs and fatal flaws with; the next minute, you had to keep them bottled inside. One moment, you’d start to call her to tell her a snippet of news or to vent about your awful day before realizing you did not have the right anymore; the next, you could not remember the digits of her phone number.
There is nothing I could ever write that would come close to nailing it the way Jodi Picoult did—it really took my breath away when I came across it. The book blurb didn’t even give a hint that this book was about friendship, so it was almost eery.
Some of the things I learned from this experience are:
Not everything is about me—what happened in this instance was not about anything I did or said or didn’t do or didn’t say. For someone who never stops trying to make things right, this was a huge lesson.
A lot of people think it’s okay to walk away from a friendship without communicating why. I gleaned this from the comments at The Women’s Colony. I still don’t agree with or understand this sentiment; it’s not something I would be able to do, but I have a little more understanding of why people do this. That said, if you are inclined to do this, I think you should ask yourself if you’re doing it from fear of confrontation—if you are, perhaps it would be good for your personal growth to do the hard thing and share your thoughts—even if it’s just via email.
My family really does have my back. They were all very supportive as I worked through this—even though it did mean they listened to me say the same things over and over as I tried to understand why this was happening.
Not that I ever doubted it, but I am made of tough stuff—I get knocked down, but I always get up again!
In honor of all your awesome support, I’m going to give away that Jodi Picoult book—because it was a great book about friendship and I really treasure my blog friends. Next Monday I’ll pick from the comments on yesterday’s post.
Speaking of giving books away, the winners from last week’s post on 29 are commenters #7 and #16:
How about 17...that was a turning point for me, I would try a bit harder and make some better choices!!!!
I love cupcakes.
I'd be 22. No wait. That was the year I taught high school and (no offense) was miserable. Okay, 20.
Pick me. :)
and my brother worked in the Magnolia bakery for several years. He had an Engineering degree but worked as a cupcake froster. We joked he was the best educated cupcake froster ever!
Oh—to answer my own question, I think I might pick 32—nobody in diapers, but lots of kids running around having a great time. Summer meant the beach, the club, the neighbor’s pool, lots of games of long toss and nothing much more than that.