Friendship

I am not a natural friend. I am mistrustful and yet I find it hard to maintain boundaries because I have a belief that speaking my needs will make me unlikeable. It is an unfortunate combination. In addition, I am historically attracted to people who have little respect for me, a familiar relationship pattern learned from childhood. 

Most of my friendships fell away when I became ill. The job had to go, and with it, my entire social scene. I couldn’t travel and I was unreliable, never knowing when I might have a bad day. It was for the best. It is not that the people were mean, only that the culture was misaligned with my soul, and the people are the culture. 

Now, the friendships I appreciate the most are the ones that ask the least of me. And I wonder about the nature of this. Do I prefer this because I have so little to give while I am still healing? Or is my nature in fact, much more solitary than I ever could have imagined.

I have seven siblings and ours was a noisy house full of erratic emotion and unknown meanings. I was bullied through most of my school life, but when I did, very late, learn the rules of fitting in, I collected friends like candy. As a curious people pleaser, I think most people were happy to have me around. I clutched my friends fearfully, hoping that they liked me best, always worried that I might breach some social contract I was unaware of, always fearful they might find out my true nature and turn against me. When chronic fatigue forced them away, it was first painful and then later, a relief. I didn’t have to offend them by stepping back. I had a good reason to say goodbye. 

Being unwell forced me to prioritise myself, an attribute I am grateful for. I am a different person now and I no longer need to abandon myself to make others comfortable. Most of the time… 

I was recently transported back into my younger self when I went away as part of a group and was viciously reminded of the anxiety and insecurity I feel when I am trapped, without my safe spaces and safe people. It was a humbling experience. I, who felt I had grown so much was cowed again, feeling alone and desperate for acceptance. My body reacted badly. A week in bed and I am still reeling. It is disappointing and also a very good reminder of what I want for myself, what I need. 

It turns out I only need one (human) best friend. That best friend is my husband. I love his steadiness, his confidence and his straightforwardness, masculine traits perhaps, that make me feel safe, that help me to relax. If he has a problem, he confronts me and we talk about it. There is no awkward middle part where I feel confused and shameful, where I ruminate and fret. I love too the friendship of dogs; a companionship of closeness and contact with soft fur. No questions, no explanations, only love. Safe, calm, priceless (My goodness Gracie, I miss you). I know now that it is better to have one or two people in your life that you know love you, that you know would support you and who make you feel whole, rather than many people who make you feel small. 

There is a wonderful camaraderie that comes from being with other women. The knowing, the understanding, the shared experiences and the laughter. I would never give this up for good, it is pure gold. Perhaps there is a place in my future for a new version of this, one in which my own elevated confidence meets a new breed of safe and loving women. I hope this is so. Until then, I will retreat, into my small family and into myself. I need safety more than I need fun right now. Perhaps when I trust myself deeply, this trust can expand to include other people. New horizons and good fun with real friends.