What are your obstacles to companionship—to connection and meaningful relationships? Is it that you’re isolated from your friends because you have moved long distances away, has work taken you away from them, or… do you need to put in more effort? Perhaps you’re on the receiving end, seeking out your friends. You’ve done the work and initiated conversations about spending time together, but plans always seem to fall through. They’re just too busy or distracted to be there for you.
And in my own experience, I can’t say I’ve ever really had a constant presence in my life who I could turn to when things were bad. But I am thankful for the people God placed in my life for a season—the people who replaced the friends that should have been there—the ones who were actually there for me during the lows. And I think that it maybe shows I’ve been friends with the wrong people for too long.
But we’re not really strangers.
I struggle with relying on others. I’m fiercely independent, headstrong, and rather particular about my likes and dislikes. It’s an attribute I’ve actively tried to overcome, but the environments for doing so haven’t been ideal. My problems with friendship and being in a community with others remain the same. I’d like to say it’s a given that when someone you love is going through a hard time, you make an effort to be there for them, even when it’s inconvenient. I get it though. Sometimes, it’s just not possible because life gets in the way.
But when you’re given the same excuses by the same people over a decent amount of time… well, I just don’t think it’s worth having to beg them over and over to show up for you. It doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. They could have every desire to be there for you, but even if the intention is there, they may not be capable of it. Or maybe they just don’t value you enough to make that effort. Truthfully, I think a lot of people lie to themselves so they can feel better about letting people down.
Your intentions don’t always line up with your actions. Consequences.
It’s a challenge trying to overcome myself when I’ve consistently been shown that I can only rely on myself. I don’t want to be disappointed anymore. But I’m still chasing after the image of community the bible has painted for me, and I’m still struggling against my own fears to believe in the words God has spoken to me. And it’s not easy. Because being alone isn’t lonely. It’s only when you’re forcibly made to feel isolated that you really feel that type of despair.
Just because I did it on my own doesn’t mean I wanted to.
So, I’m glad for the one little community that has been a constant joy. Of course, there have been frustrating times with them, but it has been worth it… at least, to me. I’ve definitely had apprehensive feelings of wondering whether I was the only one willing to put in the effort to spend time together, and they’ve even articulated that I was the glue of the group. But I’m hopeful that things are slowly changing—that I’m not the only one making the plans and giving it my all. I don’t feel so alone in this.
We had tentative plans to go on a road trip earlier this year, but plans fell through. And yes, I was upset. But there was an alternative: beach episode! We spent an afternoon and evening together at the beach, at rockpools, and in a new home. There was an ample amount of chaos getting down to the beach and then to the rockpools, having to engage the muscles in our legs for the descent and eventually navigate through a garden of rocks. Spending the day together was the biggest high for me this year, even if I ended up in tears close to the end of it.
I was glad to be surrounded by the people I love. Some time ago, I visited a fish and chip shop with another group of friends, but circumstances have dictated I won’t ever be able to go back with them. I lament this because it was a happy memory for me. But it’s okay. I was glad to revisit this place and make new memories with others.
The fun we had together was incomparable. I’m glad I get to be my most chaotic, goofy, disorganised and imperfect self around them. And I suppose that’s possible when most of us are the eldest children—we get to take turns being irresponsible because we cover for each other like that. It’s my favourite group dynamic. And I’m so thankful.
I like that we’re all such different people. There’s no doubt we rub each other the wrong way sometimes, but there’s so much to learn from one another. So many opportunities for growth. Connection. And more (reasonable) chaos! I have been encouraged and challenged well by them. Even more so that evening when playing a card game that required a lot of vulnerability.
I have no problem being truthful about my struggles, but sharing information doesn’t require vulnerability. It was only when I had to confront certain feelings in front of people—the memories, the pain, and all the betrayals—that I experienced the anxiety and absolute dread of being completely exposed.
I handed you that card because I wanted to know what you went through. In the many hints dropped by your former friend about your loneliness, I was curious. Having known you for long enough and how you normally are, If I had bluntly asked, “Are you lonely?”, you would have half-jokingly responded, “Singleness sucks”.
It was overwhelming. Terrifying even. But I was grateful for the opportunity. I just didn’t think I’d relate to someone else’s pain so well and be reminded of the loneliness I endured. And I hate that someone else had to go through it too. We both suffered a great ordeal.
You were completely alone, caught in the crossfire of people’s selfishness, forced to keep secrets. I have no idea what that kind of loneliness does to a person.
As for me, there was one person I could talk to, but they kept siding with the perpetrator of all the hurts, handing out their sympathy and support without any accountability. Meanwhile, I was left livid and alone. And what I witnessed in the long-suffering of my friend in her relationship, I saw the same problems manifesting in my own.
The avoidance of problems and lack of integrity. Another woman. Blurred lines. The deleted messages and secret meetings. The denial of the truth. It’s no wonder he protected him. He was trying to hide his immorality too.
But I don’t mean to compare our pain. There is no competition in who suffered more. We both endured something deeply hurtful, and I wish we hadn’t. I’m angry. And sad. And I feel a lot of uncomfortable things thinking about it… I’m clearly still very traumatised.
I wish we could have gone through it together. That’s what friends are for. I feel some kind of shame about not being there for you, and I hate that you were alone during that time. But I’m glad I took a chance on the game, and I‘m thankful that you put yourself out there. Though, I knew I could rely on you for that.
I can’t say I have many relationships that are as open as ours is. But it’s really because of who you are. I’m glad that you’re emotionally intelligent, creative, and… bit more Pentecostal. And, like me, an elitist (HAH). But all jokes aside, I hope you’re completely out of that place of forced loneliness and that you’re navigating life well in this season. Now that we’ve escaped our circumstances, I’m excited to see what we do next. We’ll make that cruise work.
Through all the painful memories and traumatic experiences, I am really glad that I have friends who see me, spend time with me, and try to understand me. It’s friendships like these that challenge me to fight the compulsion to push people away. They’re encouraging in word and action. Reliable and trustworthy. I’m excited about our future, and for the many more chaotic food adventures we’re yet to have.
Because we’re not really strangers.
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