Do you trust your friends enough to let them be your friend?

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

At least, so the saying goes.

I have been thinking a lot about friendship lately, wondering about what it is and what it isn’t.

What characterises it?

What reinforces it?

And what erodes and depletes it?

The thing that prompted this particular line of enquiry is the upcoming 10th anniversary of me leaving my marriage and the attendant family home; and in so doing, moving into a nearby apartment that had the dual advantage of being situated near to my kids’ school and right above a bakery.

I learned in the depths of personal upheaval, when everything seemed to be falling apart, that the delicious smell of bread baking on a recurring schedule set like clockwork 7 days a week was like a salve to the soul, a semblance of sense-making and structure when all around me felt like chaos.

It was a period where I learned the invaluable skill of self-reliance. In a lot of ways, it was a chapter of life where I finally finished the growing up that circumstances had neither allowed nor required me to do before then.

When I first moved out of the marital home and into my apartment, I did it pretty much alone. I didn’t tell friends or family until it was done, mainly because I knew some or all of them might try to talk me out of it. My reasoning was that I already had enough of a load to carry with adding in the weight of unsolicited third-party judgment and opinion.

And while that strategy served me in a lot of ways, it did also cause some unexpected collateral damage.

I knew that certain people were apt to be irate when they discovered that they had been denied what they tend to misguidedly consider their ex-ante right of reply on matters that don’t directly impact them in any way. I had made my peace with that, considering that I had plenty of genuine “me” problems to take care of without assuming responsibility for what was undeniably a “them” issue.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the unintended hurt I caused by denying one of my closest friends the chance to help me.

This realisation emerged one day a few months after the move.

I was more or less settled in. The apartment had begun to feel like home. And life was tentatively moving forward on a hopeful ascendant towards a more contented equilibrium.

One of my girlfriends called around for a cuppa and a chat one Saturday afternoon. We hadn’t spoken in a while and she hadn’t seen me since the break-up. I could see her looking around the apartment, appraising the space and my change in situation. But she didn’t say anything.

Until we sat down. And the tea was poured.

There’s something about sharing a brew with someone. If only we let it, it releases truth.

She looked at me with an earnestness that entirely disarmed me, her eyes shining with a suspicion of tears and a depth of emotion I had rarely seen in her.

“Your new place is beautiful. It really is.”

A complimentary assertion followed by silence.

The pause was pregnant, heavy.

“But why did you not let me help you move?”

Caught off guard, I had no words, and I was suddenly also on the verge of crying. Time suspended as we looked at one another, each willing herself to not let the welling surge of tears to spill over.

There we were, two women in their late 30s and early 40s, connected by the gossamer thread of shared history and compassionate complicity that is friendship, a steaming pot of Lyon’s tea on the table between us and Nicolas Mosse mugs that serve to remind me of where I am from when nothing else is certain.

After a few seconds that felt like eternity, I finally found my tongue and stuttered and stammered a few words to the effect of “It wasn’t a big deal… there wasn’t much to move… it didn’t take all that long”.

Lies, of course. Damn lies.

She knew it. As did I.

There are crucible make-or-break moments in pretty much all relationships – be they romantic, companiate, familial, or professional – where, in the space of a split-second decision the relationship either comes out galvanised or it takes a hit that may prove fatal with the passage of time.

This was one of those moments.

In more usual circumstances I would have been the one to lead the dance of our conversations. But not that day. That day, I was spent.

In spite of her innate reserve, she went first, an uncharacteristic act of courage that was testament to how much she cared. Her words, while gentle, came served with an edge that I felt acutely.

“But why did you not let me help?”

And this time her question demanded an answer.

So, I bit the bullet and told her the truth because she meant enough to me to be worth enduring the momentary discomfort of honesty and raw vulnerability.

I looked as straight at her as the salt water in my eyes would allow.

“I didn’t ask anyone for help because I couldn’t take the risk in that moment of finding out that my friends weren’t actually my friends. I couldn’t carry anything more.”

I saw her face soften. I saw her feel the truth in my words, the barely veiled pain and strife that loaded them. She understood in that moment that my resolute and self-imposed solitude in self-moving was not an indictment of her person, her character or the quality of her friendship, but rather a desperate act of bravado and self-preservation borne out of a fear of rejection and abandonment.

“You know something”, she said, “I never would have judged you. I would never have made you carry that.  But my God, I wish you would have trusted me enough to let me carry some boxes for you.”

Those words are almost ten years old, and they ring in my ears today as clearly as they did then. I think about them often. And the lesson I take from them is that our friends can only be the friends we allow them to be.

Of course, if we open ourselves up, we may be disappointed. We may find our trust abused and our hearts wrought asunder.

Yes, that’s the risk. It could happen.

Worst case, we realise that some of our “friends” are little more than acquaintances with no substance. For my part, I now prefer to provoke opportunities to gather that data-point rather than assume in blithe ignorance that goodness reigns the hearts of all those orbiting my circle.

But best case, we find ourselves warm in the shining light of the rare beings who are true friends as they offer us the strength of their arms and their hearts to cheer, champion, console, and comfort.

If we never take a chance on friendship, if we never do our friends the kindness of allowing them to support and show us who they are in both our times of need and times of plenty, we are denying ourselves and them the rich potential of soulful connection and joyful companionship.

Every single one of us needs it, like we need air and food and shelter.

Today, dear friend, my invitation to you is this. Take the risk of opening yourself up to the possibility of the kind of friendship that nourishes and revives the best part of us.

Trust that someone will catch you. They are your people. Allow them that privilege.

And if indeed someone lets you fall, better that you know it sooner rather than later.

Offer your real friends the chance to show you who they are and who you are to them.

When we shoulder some of the burden of those we hold dear and allow our friends to take a share of our own struggle, somehow all our loads begin to feel a whole lot lighter.

©️AJ