Say hello to yourself. You are still here.
I remember that sometime last year, I couldn’t reach a friend for a while; we kept missing each other’s calls. Turned out she was going through a life-changing process, as I was, and we just laughed it off when we shared the news of our coincidences.
Another friend couldn’t get back to me because she was in the middle of a crisis at the exact time when I was fighting dark thoughts. I was offended that she wasn’t there for me, and that she wasn’t sorry enough when I shared my disappointment with her. It wasn’t until much later that I found out that she was battling grief, the kind where what you are grieving about cannot even be explained because it was yet to be made manifest. The kind where no one could empathise because they couldn’t know you lost something they didn’t even know you had in the first place.
The friendship continued, but something changed: the reality that life hits all of us hard and sometimes at the same time. Check on your strong friends; they could be smiling even though their laughter is silent.
Now, I have friends I have cancelled because they didn’t show up for me the way I expected, even when they had the capacity to. Now, I have learnt to make room for disappointment to preserve certain friendships, to reduce expectations, even narrow down my circle, to match energy, but none of this changes the fact that even friendships have seasons, and it is okay to wave it goodbye when the connection is no longer there. No drama, no angst, just thank God we had what we had when we had it. Hasta la vista.
Do you know what is beautiful, though? Those friends in the chapters who somehow do life with you, who are present through the tears and laughter, who share your pain as they carry theirs. The friends you can vent with, mourn with, commiserate with.
The type of conversations that go like, ‘girl, you won’t believe what happened to me today,’ and they say, ‘finish your own first so I can download mine.’ And you exchange awards for who has the most suffering for the week or month. The kind of conversations that feel cathartic. Unpaid therapy that you can’t even afford anyway. Friends that aid your bad character because they are also struggling, friends that validate, that correct you in love or just support your weaknesses.
Isn’t it beautiful when you experience this? Doesn’t this make you feel like you are not alone and can definitely successfully go through whatever you are dealing with. Friends who bear your shame before you feel the burden, who say your deepest fear and dispel it before you even have to. These people save marriages, jobs, and family, unsung heroes!
Okay, this post wasn’t even supposed to be about friendships. In fact, they were not supposed to be in it anyway; I let the words take shape as the story unfolds. If anything, this post was supposed to be about vulnerability and how having people lament around us could also be a way of coping with adversity.
Tell me why I was happy when a pastor said, ‘I acted undignified to my spouse and had to ask myself if I was truly born again’. Or why I read someone’s post and say, ‘I thought this only happened to me; thank God I am not alone’. These moments of relativity change everything. How we interact with our struggles and maybe how we position ourselves to confront them.
So when you struggle, find your version of misery loves company, it is okay to wallow, but don’t forget that joy also has an assembly.
In the end, life is like a big square; we all take turns in the dark, where everyone observes and waits. We might as well make it count by being honest, vulnerable, and willing to pass through storms together.
Xoxo,
Dcconoisseur.
