Wave after wave… what happens when you leave

I am not fabulous when it comes to being social. Put me on a stage with a podium and a speech…..no problem. Put me in a room with strangers and I will need months to prepare. I’m awkward and I tend to say things that make people think “did she just say that?”.

I have to look hard for social cues. Before I go out to events, I browse for safe social topics that I can draw upon if needed. Cue cards. I’m a little clunky, somewhat stiff and feel intimidated with crowds. Once I get going it’s ok, it’s the starting that brings out hives.

This is why I am grateful for my friendships. The people in my life that see me for all of me. My sister is one of my best friends and she often holds my hands through situations that she knows are difficult for me. She is someone who I consider to be “lucky”. She walks into a room and is sunshine. She brightens everyone’s day and effortlessly engages with people. She makes it look easy and fun! She has gently suggested that I might find things less difficult if I don’t start a conversation with “how do you think we can achieve world peace?” Good advice.

I love my people who love me despite of me and because of me. I feel safe and accepted. Friendship is a soft space when the world gets rough. It is a sacred gift that I treasure and hold onto with all my heart.

Nine months ago, I lost a friend and I was left in pieces. I’m not over it. I don’t know if I will ever get “over” it. I still ache at the loss and the emptiness I feel. I walk through each day feeling as though a piece of me is missing. There are so many times when I go to pick up the phone to call and share something and then realize that they are not in my life anymore. They are gone. Except, I still see them across the room. They are not gone, they are just not wanting to be in my life. They have new friends. I have been replaced and each time I see them, what I thought had healed, breaks open.

I feel loss and I am grieving. I can’t imagine what people go through when a loved one dies. How do people muster the courage to even get up in the morning after losing someone that they love? My God. That is strength. To get up every day and face the world while missing a piece of themselves. Nothing is the same. Christmas, birthdays or just passing by a restaurant and thinking, “we used to be there together“. It’s those moments where there is a clenching of the stomach as the waves of pain start to rise and take hold. It must take every ounce of energy to stay standing and wait for the feeling to subside. Does it subside? I don’t think so. I think when our stomach starts to clench, we look for a place for our pain to hide and try and keep it out of sight. Pain can be messy. It’s why we invented cupboards; to tuck things out of sight.

My friend was very special to me. I felt we were kindred spirits in our awkwardness and we could expose our insecurities and be loved “despite”. I guess I was wrong. I will never forget the day that they called me and everything fell apart. I won’t bore you with the details except to say that I was called out for being several terrible things. A few of the highlights were being told I was “toxic” and a “bully” and I make a fool of myself and people roll their eyes at me behind my back. There were other things and it all brought me to my knees.

For the record, there were some things that were said that definitely need to be said. I wasn’t myself and hadn’t been for a few months. I was staggering under effects and impacts of COVID and didn’t realize that I had tilted out of balance. There was room to re-correct, I just wonder why I had to be hit so hard in the face and then punched so fiercely in the stomach? I thought we were friends. I thought we shared a safe space.

I cried all afternoon and into the week-end. I called friends and colleagues to get some additional feedback. In a single blow, I had been cut to the core, thrown to the ground and left. I needed to know how many others felt this way. Maya Angelou said “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time“. I had to ask, was my friend always this way or were they showing me who I have always been?

While checking in with people was hard, it was good. It was confirmed, I had tilted. No one else used the terrible names or was mean. In fact, I came face to face with kindness, even when something hard had to be said. It was one of my “best worst learning experiences.” I was given a doorway.

I dried my tears and tried to stand back up. It’s been a long nine months. I have gone to therapy, immersed myself in more books than one would think possible and have spent any additional waking moments listening to a million different podcasts. I was determined to learn to be better and learn from this loss.

And while I have learned and I think I have become a better version of me, I still don’t feel whole. I still grieve and I still ache. My friend and I still cross paths but it’s not the same. We pretend that “nothing” happened and therein lies the ache. It’s the drifting away…

Except from the song “Waves” by Mr. Probz

I know I am not easy. Just ask my husband. I think we all have quirks that make us endearing until we’re not. Perhaps character is like wine, too much of a good thing ultimately results in a hangover and a vow for moderation moving forward.

I wish I could be easy but I thought that my friend knew that about me. I thought they could accept that part of me. Yes, I challenge the status quo and love the vigour of debating ideas and ideals and push the envelope as we ask ourselves how we can do better as a society. I guess I didn’t recognize that the bottle was empty and they had had enough.

I wish I had the courage to face the rain and ask “can we start again?” or even “can we talk about what happened?. How can I let this just “slip away”? In my sadness, I feel like I am drowning.

I want to have the courage to ask hard questions but I don’t think I am strong enough. I don’t think I can bear any potential rejection. Not again. Not yet. My scars need to form and I need thick skin. In my fear, I choose the easier path. I hide my pain, scrub my questions and keep up the pretense that everything is “fine”. The path of least resistance; a mere illusion to keep the peace.

This is the “big lie”. Pretending that everything is ok when it’s not. A cut that bleeds and when anyone asks we wave it off and say “it’s nothing“. We ignore the signs until we slowly bleed out.

It’s not just friendships, it could be all relationships. What else is there in our life that we “pretend” is fine? Am I the only one that wants to avoid the big conversations for fear of what might happen? Why does it take so much courage to face the pain and ask what weighs heavy in our hearts? How do we cross the bridge of vulnerability and open ourselves up to potential rejection? The questions are hard. Sometimes it is hard to be brave.

Do you still love me? Is this job really what I want? Is my relationship over? Is my marriage over? Are my kids going to be ok? Could I leave? What has to change for it to work? When did it all slip away? Who am I and can I find myself again? How did we become friends when we used to be lovers?

And while those are some of the hard questions, what about the more difficult actions? Admitting error, apologizing despite a feeling of shame and being willing to sit in discomfort for the sake of creating meaningful change. Facing criticism and not flinching, despite the sting.

It is said that while exercising, normal muscle soreness is a sign that you are getting stronger. During exercise, you stress your muscles and the fibers begin to break down. As they fibers repair themselves, they become larger and stronger than they were before.

Ugh. Exercise. Everything hurts.

Winston Churchill said “when you’re going through hell, keep going“. I always associated that with the realities of WW2, not my life. I now see it as a strong and relevant metaphor. I was hurt but I kept going and my fibers are repairing themselves and becoming larger and stronger. I hate it when exercise proves itself to be beneficial.

Nine months ago, my heart was broken by someone I loved deeply as a friend and I blamed myself. I figured I was the problem, the “issue”, the “thing” that needed to be fixed. I tore myself apart in hopes of rebuilding a better me.

These past months have taught me a great deal. I feel “more”. I feel more at ease with who I am. I feel like I “fit”. I ripped down walls that I had built to protect myself and now love an open concept with bigger social spaces and comfy chairs and more honest conversation. The hurt was a gateway to a healing. Until it wasn’t.

The other day, my “friend” wrote me and the words stung. My eyes welled up and my heart started to feel that horrible, terrible ache. Didn’t they know that I had worked hard to be better? Couldn’t they see it?

After pain, comes the rising. I looked down to see if my stitches had split apart and to check for bleeding. Nothing. I was ok. I was better. Even if they couldn’t see it, I could see that I had become better.

I don’t know if this is a comma or a full stop. What I do know is that I am different because of what happened. I looked at what they wrote to me and hit delete. I closed the door and turned to open the window wide and looked out at a different version of the future that I hadn’t contemplated before and it felt awesome. I saw a new world of possibility. I am sorry that this person is no longer part of my life. I miss them everyday but I am also grateful to them. They pushed me and while it felt like falling, it forced me to spread my wings and and learn how to fly.

Growth often comes with pain and maybe even the need to let things go. Life is perpetual change, we are in constant motion and inherently we are called to bloom. We know this but sometimes we aren’t ready so we ignore the little voice that tries to get our attention. We “pretend” that everything is ok and numb ourselves with perceived sensibility and false comfort that being “fine” is the best we can expect. But what if there is more? What if walking through hell is just a way to burn the ropes that hold us back?

I promised to “jump” and sometimes my “jump” is nothing more than a hop but it is motion forward. It’s been a hard year for all of us. I have been afraid to let go. What I realize is that by holding on, I was also holding back. This week I jumped and let go. What’s interesting is how that vision of “letting go” changed. I used to think of “letting go” as holding onto a rope and dangling over the edge of a tall building. I thought by “letting go”, I would fall to my peril. This week, I let go but it was different. This time, I was standing on the roof letting go of the rope that was holding all of my “shoulds”. I watched it all fall away while I stood strong and felt free.

I raise my glass to all those who have walked with me. Thank you for your friendship, thank you for walking as far as you did. While some of us part ways, for those that are still walking with me, thank you for holding my hand.

Here’s to friendship, growth and letting go of what no longer fits or holds us back. Here’s to those that love us and those that push us. I wish you the time and space to live the life that whispers to you. You can do it, even if it first starts with a hop. It’s a call to courage. If I can do it, you can too.

With love,

Shelley