Rating: NNNNN
The conversation starts out fine, but by the end I’m lashing out about her registering for online banking. This is the same girl who often arrived late for school or work because she didn’t trust bank machines and insisted on waiting in line for a teller alongside a bunch of little old ladies.
I sit fuming. Who has my normally feisty friend become since starting a relationship with this new guy?
Here she is making homemade whipped cream (okey-dokey) and whispering to me on the phone if her guy is in a bad mood. She’s saying things like “But he made me” (her rationale for registering for online banking).
A pattern is revealing itself though they’ve only been together for a month. She’s heeding the same advice from him that she dismissed from me and her other friends over years of friendship. I haven’t noticed it until now, but she’s become the kind of girl who’s always made me cringe.
It’s something many of us experience but deny because it’s a big no-no when it comes to friendship: “Thou shalt not judge friends by the choices they make in relationships.” But sometimes that’s impossible.
When I was 15, I had a best friend named Paula. In junior high, Paula was the epitome of the “all-Canadian girl.” She had ironed-straight blond hair and spent her summers at Christian camps.
She loved hanging out at my less-than-glamorous apartment building literally on the other side of the train tracks from her comfortable middle-class neighbourhood. Despite our completely opposite lives, we became best friends, creating our own language for writing secret messages.
But in high school we went separate ways. While I got mired in the treachery of cliques, Paula went wild, quickly losing her virginity and later becoming pregnant.
For months I tried to act as her voice of reason, but it was a losing battle. When I asked Paula, who’d been living with her 18-year-old boyfriend, how she got pregnant, she replied, “Jeff and I can’t even afford Kraft Dinner. How are we suppose to afford birth control?”
“It’s free at walk-in clinics,” I responded dryly. “And if you were so broke, how the hell did you have the energy to have sex?”
She said nothing, and though we tried, our friendship dissolved and we stopped speaking.
Now here I am again. I don’t want to feel this way, but I am judging my friend. She’s handed over all the control to her man but nags him about everything .
It feels like she’s playing a role and loving it. Her guy’s “house rules” conveniently include not making her friends feel welcome. He imposes himself on every aspect of her life (father knows best) but is very clear about where she can and cannot tread in his. I watch as my friend allows him to take over.
My attitudes toward men run to the opposite extreme, often to my detriment. I don’t even like to allow men to open doors for me. The biggest reasons I feel uncomfortable with the neediness and submissiveness I see in my friend is my fear of one day being that way myself.
While I play supportive pal, my resentment builds. I feel guilty for being disappointed and judgmental.
I seek advice from a much older and wiser friend. Her response is quick and blunt. “She wants a daddy, she’s got a daddy. Let her learn her way. It’s not about you, and if you can’t stand it don’t deal with it.”
I guess I’ve been playing mother with my friend for years, hoping to guide her and shape her into a happier person (as I had with Paula). I have to admit that this is my way of being in control.
Friendships can’t thrive when one person needs a saviour and the other needs to save. This only breeds judgment and disconnection. Friendship can only bloom in an environment of equality and acceptance.
I call my friend. It’s time for some honesty. After a dramatic conversation, we realize that we’re both hiding hurts. By the end, we’ve both made it clear where we stand. It isn’t easy, and as of now we’ve decided to take a much needed (maybe permanent) break.
My friend has a right to love any way she chooses (as do I), and I have a right to feel whatever I feel (as does she). People insist that being a good friend means sticking it out through thick and thin. But sometimes you must be a good friend to yourself, and that means being honest about your feelings even at the cost of risking the friendship.
