You Feel like Someone I Knew a Long Time Ago — Why Are Friendship Breakups So Hard?

Somebody asked me if I knew you. A million memories flashed through my mind, but I just said, I used to.

— Unknown

This post was inspired by my friend Louise who sent me a short video from a day trip to Mallorca. After showing me the blue sky, sandy beach, and palm trees Louise focused on a magazine open beside her. “I’ve just been reading this article,” she said. “I thought you’d find it interesting.” The article was Why don’t we treat friendship breakups as seriously as romantic ones? by Michelle Elman. According to the magazine, the author “has had her fair share of heartbreak but when her best friend of eight years ghosted her, she felt a new, confusing kind of loss.”

Louise was right. Friendships, especially mutually supportive ones, are important to both of us. We’ve been firm friends since we met online in 2019. Coincidentally, her trip to Mallorca fell on the fourth anniversary of us meeting in person for the first time. That morning I’d shared social media memories of us at my local coffee shop and sitting together on my favourite bench.

Breakups and Emotional Honesty

But this blog post isn’t about close friendships. It’s about the ending of close friendships. Louise and I have yet to experience anything approaching a breakup. I don’t think we’ve had so much as a serious disagreement or argument. I hope we never do, but I’m not complacent. Over the course of my adult life many friendships have had issues and disagreements, up to and including total breakups. The breaks haven’t all been as permanent as they appeared at the time. Some have never been repaired but I’ve reconnected with several friends after shorter or longer periods apart. In a few cases that’s happened more than once.

A friendship which breaks and resumes can be stronger for the experience, but that’s not automatic and cannot be assumed. Growth requires a willingness to examine what led to the breakup in the first place. Simply picking up where you left off won’t address the underlying differences or issues. This isn’t easy work. There have been times I’ve held back from asking the important questions — What really happened? Did I hurt you? What do we need to guard against or watch out for? How can we do this better? — because I was scared to uncover the truth. As I’ve written previously, it can be easier to permanently end relationships — or allow them to end — than deal with the reality of them changing. A little more courage and honesty on my part might have saved a great deal of hurt over the years, for me and the other people involved.

Each breakup was unique to that friendship and to that time. In some cases the responsibility is easily attributed. I was largely responsible for some breakups, less so for others. Reasons and responsibility aside, how did it feel? How will it feel next time (because there will be a next time)? In my experience, there are three breakup scenarios. When it feels right, when it feels wrong, and when you don’t understand what’s happening.

When It Feels Right

As hard as any breakup is, there are times when you recognise things have run their course and separation feels natural, if not inevitable. The following insight came to me after one such parting.

In the end there comes a time when you are ready to let go. Not because you stopped caring about them. But because you started caring about you.

That breakup was no one’s fault but that’s not always the case. There are situations where the connection itself has become toxic. In that case, ending the friendship is not only appropriate but healthy. There’s wisdom in recognising that the toxicity doesn’t always come from the other person. As I’ve written elsewhere, “maybe you were an asshole and they needed to push you away for their safety and well-being.” I explored this further in a post discussing healthy boundaries.

Not all relationships are healthy, however. I have had to acknowledge the concept of toxic relationships: not as a label of judgement or blame, but as a valuable descriptor. This has been hard, not least because I have far more examples of me being toxic to others than of others being toxic to me.

This was often down to me being either overly attentive or insufficiently engaged. These scenarios are not unconnected. There were times when I overcompensated and held back from a friend for fear of overwhelming them or causing concern. There are echoes of this in two poems of mine from long ago. The first was written during a period of upheaval within my circle of friends. I navigated what was happening very poorly. Worse, I withdrew from people who had a right to expect my empathy and support.

Mothly,
how i ache to understand you,
neither comfort nor console
but holdyou .then a fiercer
flame repels: the memory
of another that my flutterings
confused (an age too long ago.

— from “Mothly”

The second was addressed to a new friend.

i feel i’ve found a newfriend
in you .someone to think fondly of
speak fondly to, afraid though i
might hurt you (like the rest)
by coming on too strong

— from “untitled three”

I hope I’ve developed some emotional maturity in the intervening years, but I’d never judge someone for exiting a friendship — with me or anyone else — that felt toxic or worrisome to them.

When It Feels Wrong

There are breakups which just feel wrong. Something happened between you but it feels like it should be fixable. Except it isn’t. Or wasn’t. Or it might have been but somehow a line was crossed. It feels worse because of that sense of injustice. Whatever happened, the consequences seem disproportionate to the offence.

If that’s how you feel, check your assumptions. You may have hurt your friend far more than you anticipated or imagine. Maybe they misunderstood your intentions. Maybe you meant nothing by it. But you don’t get to tell your friend how to feel or respond. Actions have consequences. Apologise if it’s not too late, but respect their right to act however seems appropriate to them, up to and including ending your friendship.

It’s not always your fault, of course. Maybe your friend crossed a red line and you’re not prepared to ignore it or set it aside. I’ve walked away from very few friendships in my life, but there have been a few occasions when it felt the only thing to do.

When You Don’t Understand What’s Happening

And then there are the breakups where you don’t understand what’s happening at all. Maybe it’s your fault. Maybe it’s theirs. Maybe there’s really no one at fault. Earlier today I checked my social media “memories” and was reminded of a day trip to the coast with a new friend, fifteen years ago. Nothing went wrong between us, but that excursion was never repeated and the friendship lapsed. It was the gentlest of breakups with no lasting hurt beyond my incomprehension. The day had seemed so promising.

The hardest endings are where there’s been a breakdown in communication. It’s hard to resolve things and move forward together, or part gently, when you’re scarcely talking. The mixture of pain and confusion is expressed perfectly by Taylor Swift in her song The Story of Us.

I’d tell you I miss you but I don’t know how.
I’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

Now I’m standing alone in a crowded room
And we’re not speaking and I’m dying to know
Is it killing you like it’s killing me?

The song triggers painful memories. In the midst of an emotional maelstrom forty years ago I told my best friend, “It feels like you’re someone I knew a long time ago.” The words were honest but it appals me that I said them to someone who meant the world to me and was both vulnerable and hurting. What made it worse was that my friend was attempting to reach out. Not necessarily to explain — some things are beyond explanation — but to reconnect. I was confused and upset, but that’s no excuse. I handled things poorly and treated my friend with far less compassion and understanding than she deserved. We moved forward, though it’s arguable if things were ever the same. (If you read this, I’m sorry. I will always be sorry.)

There are more recent examples. Other friends. Other breakdowns in communication. In each case things would have been easier if we’d been able to talk. To ask what was going on. To challenge each other as to what we wanted. It’s not always easy.

How to Handle Your Next Friendship Breakup

Until I met Fran I’d always considered a broken friendship to be a failure. She taught me that not every friendship has to last forever and that sometimes letting go is the healthy thing to do. Recognising that any friendship can end heightens rather than diminishes their importance. Good friendships don’t happen by accident and are worth fighting for, as is any relationship.

Louise offered me the following insight. “The magazine article was saying how we get kind of ‘prepared’ for the fact that in life we’ll experience relationship breakups; but not in the case of friendships. I see a lot of people struggle when this has happened.” I think that’s true. We have an idealised view of friendship. We believe that “real” or “true” friendships last forever. From that mistaken premise follows the unhealthy idea that a friendship which ends was never real in the first place, so there’s no need to dwell on it. Buck up and move on. Needless to say, I disagree.

It’s healthy to grieve the ending of close friendships as much as any other loss, including the breakup of romantic relationships. Recognising how much had changed during our months apart, one friend said to me when we reconnected, “You’ll always have your good memories. And so will I.” We broke up again shortly after but her gentle wisdom still means a great deal to me.

From Fran I’ve learned not to expect or push for reconnection, but to remain open to the possibility. I cited a conversation with her in a blog post on healthy boundaries. We were talking about how she manages to release her hold on difficult, even toxic, relationships without forever banishing the other person to the Forbidden Zone.

Fran: I don’t give up on people.

Martin: I have learned to let go.

Fran: Giving up is different than letting go.

Martin: I was just pondering that. I’m not sure. Maybe.

Fran: Giving up implies hopelessness. Letting go implies openness. Open handedness.

Martin: Closing the door vs leaving it open?

Fran: Yes.

Martin: It’s not always healthy to leave the door open. (That’s what I’m thinking, anyway, about me and my relationships.)

Fran: It’s ok to close the door but not the heart.

Years later, I’d revisit those words. During a prolonged breakup with a friend I wrote:

I didn’t lock the door. I just stopped watching at the window for your return.

The insight has helped me more than once. Whether we’ve reconnected or not, if I ever called you my friend I still care, and I’ll be here if you want my help or support. Those are not mere words on my part. That said, I’m wary of reaching out to former friends if we’ve spent considerable time apart. There is peace in closed chapters.

 

Over to You

In this blog post I’ve shared some of my thoughts about friendship breakups. How do you feel when close friendships end? How do you manage friendship breakups? Do you have friendships that have lasted decades, or do you tend to make new friends as older ones end or fall away? I’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Kateryna Hliznitsova at Unsplash.

 

Everyone Gets to Be Who They Are

I saw a social media post the other day which invited readers to share a quotation or piece of wisdom that had changed their outlook on life. The first that sprang to my mind was something I learned from Fran in the early days of our friendship.

Everyone gets to be who they are.

Fran had been telling me about someone she knew, and how their behaviour had irritated her. I made a half-joking comment to the effect that maybe she needed better friends.

“No,” she replied. “Everyone gets to be who they are.”

“Even the assholes?” I asked, now less than half joking.

“Even the assholes.”

Something about the exchange stuck with me. Along with other favourite mantras of ours such as no pedestals and baby steps are steps too, Fran and I reprise everyone gets to be who they are from time to time. Why does it resonate with me so much? I think it’s because it’s a healthy reminder that none of us is perfect. We all carry our share of hang-ups and issues around with us. Some of these might be classed as quirks or personality traits. Others are more problematic. We may be aware of them or not. We may be working to change them — or not. But in this moment we get to be who we are.

It’s important to emphasise that this isn’t an excuse for us to behave badly or inconsiderately. Neither should we tolerate abusive or otherwise hurtful behaviour in others just because “that’s how they are.” I’ve touched on this before, in a post titled Is Being “Too Sensitive” a Bad Thing?

[“Everyone gets to be who they are”] reminds me that we’re not responsible for (or able to change) other people, even those we find difficult or have issues with. On the other hand, we don’t have to excuse or condone behaviour that hurts us.

Fundamentally, I’m talking about accepting three things: people make mistakes; people can change but often don’t or haven’t done so yet; and we get to decide if we want people to remain in our lives or not. And it’s not all about other people. We are the “other people” in our friends’ lives. Sometimes, we’re the asshole. This is something I’ve written about previously:

A friend on Twitter shared a link today to her blog article about needing to let go of unhelpful, toxic people and relationships. Her words brought me face-to-face with the realisation that there have been many times in my life when, for one reason or another, someone has needed to let go of me. It’s not an easy thing to admit to oneself, but I don’t have to look too far, or too far back, to find examples.

Acceptance isn’t enough, though. Seeing ourselves clearly — and with compassion — is only the first step on the road to changing inappropriate or unhealthy outlooks, beliefs, or patterns of behaviour. We’re not required to hide or bury our true selves order to please others, but neither are we to use the “this is how I am” defense to excuse riding rough-shod over other people. As I’ve written elsewhere:

We’re each responsible for how we handle, or attempt to handle, the situations in which we find ourselves, but that doesn’t release us from responsibility for how we behave towards, relate to and interract with others. We may not know their histories, their pain, their needs, their triggers, and it is okay to get it honestly wrong sometimes, but we need always to be aware that our lives impinge on others and that good intentions don’t give us the right to wade in, unannounced or heedless of our impact on those around us.

That’s fair enough when it’s our behaviour that needs attention. It’s less straightforward when we’re talking about the impact other people have on those around them. Where do our responsibilities lie then? If someone is at risk of hurting themself or others, I believe we have a responsibility to speak up. Where that’s not the case, it falls to us to check our boundaries. Is this behaviour acceptable to us? If it falls within the allowance of grace we extend to those closest to us — and hope they extend to us — then all is well. They get to be who they are, and we’re ok with that.

Where we’re unable or unwilling to make such an allowance, we have a responsibility to protect our boundaries, ourselves, and our wellbeing. That might mean temporarily putting some distance between us and the other person or finding some other way of mitigating the effect their behaviour is having. A short break may be all that’s needed. In extreme cases we may need to part ways. Whatever happens, the important thing is to act in our best interests. No matter the situation or relationship, it does not serve us to sell ourselves short, make do, or accept less or worse than we deserve. In the words of Maryam Hasnaa At-Tauhidi:

Having compassion and empathy for why someone behaves the way they do based on their experiences, never means you have to tolerate the behavior or hold space for it. You can absolutely have compassion and set a boundary. This is what it means to also have compassion for yourself.

And that is how we get to be who we truly are.

Over to You

In this article I’ve shared a saying that has had a major and lasting impact on my life. Does it resonate with you? What do you think about the topics it brought up for me? Maybe it conjures different ideas and meanings for you.

What are your favourite quotations or sayings? Has something you heard or read had a lasting impact on you?

We’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Jacek Dylag at Unsplash.

 

Brass Taps and Watering Cans: a Few Thoughts on Friendship, Duty, and Sacrifice

This post was inspired by a recent call with Fran, in which she described the house- and cat-sitting she was doing for a friend. The cat was no problem at all, but the house plants were a different matter. There were plants in her friend’s third floor apartment, on the balcony, and on the ground floor. Those on the ground floor were a particular concern. There was a hosepipe but it didn’t work. Keeping the plants alive in the hot weather would mean many trips up and down stairs to fetch water from the apartment in the watering can.

I listened as Fran shared how she was feeling about it all. I asked for clarification here and there, but I tried not to burden her with questions. (Fran will laugh when she reads this; to her it probably seems as though I do little but ask questions!) I agreed it was a lot to expect her to carry water down from the apartment, but didn’t pursue the matter. If there was a viable alternative, Fran would have thought of it. She was sharing her frustration at the situation, not asking me to fix it.

We were about to end our call when Fran said she felt anxious in case she hadn’t turned the garden tap off properly. I was confused. I’d assumed the hose couldn’t be used because the tap was faulty. Fran said no. The tap was fine, but she hadn’t been able to get the hosepipe to work. In that case, I ventured, could she fill the watering can from the garden tap?

A light came on for Fran. Yes! Of course she could do that! In her frustration and exasperation, she’d missed the connection; and I’d almost missed it too. If she hadn’t mentioned her anxiety, it might have gone unresolved throughout her friend’s time away. That moment changed everything for Fran. She felt relieved and far more confident about discharging her responsibilities. I felt relieved for her, and happy to have been of help.

You might wonder why I’ve chosen to write about what was — surely — a pretty mundane exchange. Significant to Fran and me, yes, but why share it? What’s the message? The bigger picture? I’ll let you judge if it was worth the effort, but even before Fran and I ended our call I knew something significant had happened, and that I’d blog about it.

To begin, it’s a great example of how Fran and I do our day-to-day conversations. We talk about what’s going on for us and share how we’re feeling, whether that’s good or not so good. On this occasion, Fran needed to share her frustrations. It’s how she processes things and lets go of them so she can move on. I do it too, although I mostly use my journal and blogging to process what’s happening for me. It also shows how important it is to pay attention, and to offer input and suggestions at the appropriate time.

More generally, the story explores three themes that are the foundation of our connection and almost everything I do in the mental health sphere: friendship, support, and responsibility. Being in a position to help someone is a blessing, but it does mean actually stepping up to the task. It might be something quick and easy, like a supportive phone call or a practical task you can complete and then get back to whatever else you were doing. Sometimes, though, being a supportive friend takes time and effort. Sometimes considerable time and effort. Sometimes, it gets in the way of whatever else you might be doing.

Mostly, you’ll know what’s involved when you offer help or accept the request for support. Not always, though. Maybe you didn’t think it through or ask the right questions. Maybe the full implications weren’t obvious to either of you at the time, or the situation changed in ways that rendered the request more time consuming or difficult than it seemed. Whatever the circumstances, support means stepping up (literally so, if your friend lives on the third floor!) and following through on what you committed to. That’s what friendship is.

That doesn’t mean you have to love every bit of it. It’s ok to find the task challenging, tiring, or inconvenient. You’re entitled to those feelings, and entitled to process them any way you need to, whether that’s sharing with someone you trust, or getting things out in the safe space of your journal. You process things, and move on. Maybe you learn something about yourself, your friend, and the nature of your friendship along the way.

Our conversation also reminded me of a short story I wrote several years ago exploring service, responsibility, and sacrifice. It doesn’t have a cat, but it does have lot of grumbling (usually I prefer to say someone is “sharing their feelings” but this is definitely grumbling!), plants, a watering can, and a temperamental standpipe. Here's a short excerpt:

William took a small plastic watering can from the holdall at his feet and made his way across to the standpipe. It stood a little way off beneath a tree where two of the gravel paths crossed. For some reason it always made him think of gallows: didn’t they used to hang people at crossroads?

Despite the sunshine the brass tap was icy cold in his hand. It was stiff and he gripped it tightly, straining to turn it on. His exertions were rewarded with the usual trickle of water. He held the can, another of his home gardening accessories, beneath the uncertain stream. From past experience William stood back from the spout as far as he could, leaning on it with one hand as he held the watering can in place with the other. The awkwardness of the stance made his neck ache to look about him and so it was that he heard their approach before he saw them.

There’s a moment of sudden enlightenment in the story which I’ve referenced previously in an article titled The Constant Gardener: How to Be Someone Your Friends Can Rely On. That article covers trust, dependability, and steadfastness, as well as some of the unhealthy sides of supportive relationships such as co-dependency and over-reliance.

The most fascinating thing for me about my conversation with Fran was how so many of these themes came together in the space of maybe fifteen minutes. Fran was frustrated that the task she’d taken on appeared far more arduous than she’d anticipated. She didn’t say so, but I imagine she was thinking she’d not have offered if she’d known what it would entail. She’d given her word, though, and was committed to fulfilling the task for her friend. At the same time, I fulfilled my role as Fran’s friend by providing space for her to process her feelings. I almost missed the opportunity to help her find a solution, but we got there in the end.

Beyond the conversation itself, it gave me an opportunity to examine these themes in a new light, not least the importance of holding and maintaining healthy boundaries. Fran’s. Mine. Other people’s. It’s helped me figure out a few things. Maybe I’ll share some thoughts on that in a future article.

I’ll close with another excerpt from my short story. As William discovers, those outdoor taps can be tricky.

Water splashed across his hand. He reached to turn off the tap but as he did so the breeze caught the last guttering stream and spattered it across his legs. He stared down at his trousers, watching as the material darkened in irregular patches. Clumsy sod.

Hopefully, Fran won’t get soaked while she’s watering her friend’s plants!

Over to You

So, was it worth the effort? For me, yes! You’ll have to answer for yourself! Have there been times when you’ve offered to help someone, only to find the task was much bigger, longer, or harder than you expected? How did you feel about that? What did you do? What are your boundaries concerning giving, or receiving, help? We’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or through our contact page.

 

Photo by Filip Urban at Unsplash.

 

Medicine, Morality, Personal Growth: Three Models of Illness and Wellness

If we want to support our friends and loved ones, it is important to understand what we mean when we talk about illness and wellness. It would be easier if everyone approached these topics in the same way, but this is not always the case. Our attitudes towards illness and wellness are heavily influenced by our lived experience, as well as broader societal values and beliefs. In this article I want to discuss three models of illness and wellness which Fran and I have encountered at different times in our lives.

The Medical Model

This is the standard Western medical, scientific approach, and is how I was trained to think of illness and its treatment when I studied pharmacy at university. According to this model, the body is a complex machine and illness occurs when components fail or malfunction. The patient is the owner or inhabitant of a machine which has gone wrong and needs fixing. Diagnosis and treatment are the responsibility of people trained in the medical specialties and the patient’s main role is to follow their advice and instruction. Treatments, including medication and surgery, aim to fix what has gone wrong, or where that is not possible to reduce the impact of symptoms on the life of the patient.

This approach can hugely benefit people living with illness, including mental illness. I have seen how dramatically lithium moderated Fran’s suicidal thinking, reducing it to levels she was able to deal with. I have also witnessed the stabilising effects of medication when she was in mania. Of course, outcomes are not always as precisely targeted as this, nor as positive. Fran has been prescribed a wide range of drugs over the years. Not all were effective and most brought unwanted side effects. Side effects are an unwelcome aspect of Western medical practice, and something many people who have undergone treatment for mental illness will be familiar with. This often leads to a number of different medications being prescribed, either to limit the dosage, and thus the side effects, of individual drugs, or to offset the side effects of one with the positive effects of another.

There is little or no moral or spiritual dimension to this approach, although science and the medical professions sometimes appear so elevated and “obviously right” that anyone doubting their relevance or wanting to try different approaches runs the risk of appearing ungrateful at best, misguided or dangerous at worst.

It is tempting to hand responsibility for the care and wellbeing of our loved ones to those who have been trained to know best. I remember feeling relieved when my mother was severely ill with depression and anxiety and was admitted to hospital. At the time she was probably incapable of making a recovery on her own, and the care she received in hospital was appropriate and supportive. Nevertheless, blind trust in professional “experts” can be disempowering, if it removes the patient’s responsibility, and that of their loved ones, to take a role in their path towards wellness.

The Morality Model

It is my personal view that there is no moral component to illness. Illness is not some evil thing to be overcome by the forces of good. Many “good” people get ill, as do many “bad” people. Guilt and blame can be debilitating emotions and may well interfere with how someone approaches their wellbeing and recovery but as far as I can tell, some “good” people and some “bad” people recover from their illnesses, and some do not. Nevertheless, a number of more or less related views place illness and disease within a moral or religious context. For someone who is religious, this might be helpful and constructive. Their belief in a higher power may help them feel supported, or that there is some deeper meaning to their experience of illness.

There is a line, however, beyond which the link between illness, suffering and belief can take on a darker, even sinister hue. Some maintain that a person becomes ill, or remains ill, because they have been bad in some way, or lack the moral strength to overcome their conditions. The patient may undergo conventional medical treatment but there is an assumption, whether implicitly or explicitly expressed, that they also need to atone or repent if they are to recover fully.

This kind of thinking can lead someone into agonising guilt and despair, not only for whatever wrong they imagine they have committed in the past, but for not atoning, repenting or believing sufficiently in order to be healed. A blessing from a priest or spiritual authority may be comforting to those who believe, but at its most extreme, this kind of thinking can countenance exorcisms on people whose mental health conditions would be better managed with less religion, more compassion, and an appropriate regime of psychiatric care.

Sometimes it is not the patient but the illness or disease which is described in moral terms, especially aggressive, debilitating or potentially fatal conditions. Cancer in particular is frequently portrayed as an evil invading force, which must be hated, resisted, fought, and overcome. The person with cancer is generally held to be a hero, bravely battling the enemy against overwhelming odds.

The situation for those attempting to deal with mental illness is likely to be very different. There is generally a poor distinction between bad behaviour and mental illness. On one hand, those affected by mental ill health tend to be treated with less generosity and greater suspicion than those with other conditions, and their symptoms may be poorly differentiated from immoral or criminal behaviour. On the other hand, those who perpetrate extreme, violent, or malevolent crimes are routinely and habitually assumed to be mentally aberrant, irrespective of evidence or clinical diagnosis. The extreme nature of their crimes places them so far outside the norm that society requires them to be mentally ill so as to place them at a safe distance from the well ones.

The Personal Growth Model

In the third of our models, illness is seen as the expression of issues and lessons that the person needs to become aware of, understand, and work through. I do not agree that all illnesses can be viewed usefully in this way: the approach seeks to attribute meaning and significance to all bodily symptoms, and excludes the possibility that some conditions are the simple result of malfunction in bodily processes. That said, I agree there can be much more to illness, including mental illness, than the symptoms which present themselves on the surface. Effective treatment is likely to involve a broad approach which may include, but is certainly not restricted to, conventional medical or psychiatric intervention.

In the time I have known her, Fran has followed a number of therapeutic approaches to wellness, building a composite approach which works for her and encompasses a number of different techniques. These include medication, but at different times have included hypnotherapy, acupuncture, osteopathy, Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), meditation, and mindfulness. She has also undertaken to explore the relationship between aspects of her illnesses and long standing issues relating to her childhood, body image, and sense of self-worth.

It seems to me that this kind of approach has merit, providing the person is open to deep and honest self-inquiry, and is able to accept responsibility for certain aspects of their illness without translating that into debilitating guilt, blame and despair.

Bringing It Together

No matter what views you and your friend or loved one hold towards illness and wellness, it is vital to respect the differences in emphasis and approach. No single model is wholly right or totally wrong. Discussing where you agree and disagree will bring you closer together and can lead to a greater understanding of who you are and how you can work best together. As Fran has expressed it:

One can either be actively supportive and compassionate of an ill one.. or judgmental and condemning.. Why I am ill.. I do not know.. I do take responsibility for being as well as I can be.. I have accepted there is no cure and finally that gives me peace and grace.. instead of when I was desperately seeking healing, which created enormous anxiety.. and fear about what people think about me.. those who would judge me judge themselves.. and i pray they don’t have to get ill to learn the lessons..

I have shared my thoughts on three models of illness and wellness, but there will be many others. How do you think about illness and wellness? Do you have the same or similar thoughts about it as your friends and loved ones? Have you ever discussed these topics with them? We’d love to hear your thoughts, either in the comments below or through our contact page.

 

This article is adapted from material original written for our book High Tide Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder but not included in the final editions.

Photos by National Cancer Institute, Jaclyn Moy, and Jared Rice at Unsplash.

 

Safety, Responsibility, and Trust: Thoughts Inspired by a Drive with a Friend

I took a drive with a friend the other day. It was the first time I’d been in a private car in over a year and the first time my friend had driven me anywhere. She has yet to pass her driving test and I was there to supervise so she could gain additional practice. We had a great time and I felt completely at ease in the car with her. Thinking about it afterwards, it occurred to me how important safety, trust, and responsibility are in our lives.

Trust and Physical Safety

I was supervising but I was very much in my friend’s hands. I trusted her driving ability and sense of responsibility. If she felt confident behind the wheel, that was good enough for me. No matter how experienced we may be, every driver understands what’s at stake when we start the engine and pull out into traffic. We are responsible not only for our own safety but that of our passengers, other road users, and pedestrians. Many of us drive so frequently we take this for granted but it’s worth reminding ourselves every now and then.

We stopped for lunch, which raised further questions of safety and trust; this time from a covid perspective. Back in March as England began to emerge from lockdown I shared my fears that things would never be the same as in pre-covid days. A few months later, I was struggling mentally, in part because it seemed I had little or nothing to look forward to. I’ve taken a number of steps forward since then. I’ve met with friends a few times, including an urban ramble around Newcastle. I’ve revisited some of my favourite places and spent a day in Edinburgh.

Nevertheless, as we entered the restaurant I felt on edge. Was it covid-safe? Were the tables far enough apart? Were customers and staff wearing masks? Now that rules have been eased, safety is much more a question of responsibility and trust. My friend and I are fully vaccinated. We felt safe in the car without masks but kept the windows open. We wore our masks inside the pub until we found a table, and when ordering at the bar. The place was fairly busy but the tables weren’t too close together and we felt safe. Had we not, we would have gone elsewhere.

Later that day I called into one of my favourite bars. I expected it to be busy but it was literally heaving with people. I used to love the atmosphere but on this occasion, I was uneasy. It may not have been unsafe, but it felt so. I trusted my instinct and came away.

Safety and Challenge

There’s a flip side to all this talk of safety. Many of us deliberately put ourselves in situations where we are — or feel — unsafe or in danger. Whether it’s scary movies, roller coasters, extreme sports, or pursuits like mountaineering or skydiving, we challenge ourselves for kicks or personal growth.

Fran told me recently of a time she was on a wilderness trail and felt unsafe navigating the rocky terrain. It reminded me of the time in the early 1980s when a university friend and I ascended Snowdon, Wales’ highest mountain. Our route included Crib Goch which I’ve since learned is “an adrenaline-fuelled gut-wrenching scary arête [...] not to be undertaken lightly.” My friend was a seasoned hiker and I’d trusted him to choose our route, but I was out of my depth as we picked our way along the ridge, with mist filling the valley on one side and on the other, a clear drop to the rocks below. I’ve never felt as unsafe as I did that day.

A few years ago I did two zip wire slides for charity from Newcastle’s Tyne Bridge. Friends praised my bravery, but in truth, I felt perfectly safe. I trusted the event organisers to know what they were doing and I trusted the safety equipment and procedures. It was scary, but it was safe-scary. Challenges help us expand our horizons, as long as we choose them wisely.

Feeling Safe to Be Ourselves

Another important safety is feeling we can be open and honest without being judged or rejected. This requires trust, in other people and in ourselves, but also the responsibility not to share indiscriminately. As Brené Brown puts it in her book Daring Greatly, “Oversharing is not vulnerability. In fact, it often results in disconnection, distrust, and disengagement.” You can read more about vulnerability vs. oversharing in this excellent article by Hannah Braime.

Our ability to share appropriately can be compromised by illness. Fran experienced this during a period of mania, as we describe in our book High Tide, Low Tide:

In the grip of mania, Fran clamoured for attention, and pushed her ideas at people whether they wanted to listen or not. She was capable of presenting herself with stunning clarity, but at other times her thoughts could be hard to follow. Such behaviour disturbs, worries, and alienates people. Some approached Fran with kindness, but from others there was mistrust and misunderstanding.

I’m fortunate to have friends with whom I feel completely safe, and trust implicitly. I wrote about some of these recently in a post I titled Team Marty because that’s how it feels to have them on my side.

Safety and Trust in Professionals

We have a responsibility to look after ourselves, but our health also depends on our doctors and other professionals. Trust is essential. If we trust the people involved in our care we’re more likely to follow their guidance. That doesn’t mean we should accept things naively or uncritically. As in any profession, mistakes can and do happen and need to be challenged.

When we met in 2011, Fran’s mania was poorly controlled by her prescribed medication. No one was necessarily to blame. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are prone to change over time, requiring adjustments in treatment. Despite all she’s been through, Fran has never lost trust in her clinicians. This is nowhere better expressed than in the open letter she wrote to her psychiatrist when he retired.

Not everyone’s had a positive experience with the medical profession, of course. Chris Good shared his experience with us in a guest post titled Twenty-Plus Years of Misdiagnosis and Incorrect Treatment. Another friend suffered due to a serious dispensing error, as I’ve described previously:

[The] pharmacy stopped dispensing one medication altogether. This wasn’t spotted for some weeks, during which my friend’s stability and safety were severely compromised. It was an error with potentially serious repercussions. Even after the mistake was corrected it took time to restore the full protective benefits of the medication. It’s fair to say my friend will pay very close attention from now on to what is dispensed.

You can read my friend’s account of the incident here.

Safety, Suicide, and Self-Harm

The final aspect of safety, trust, and responsibility I want to discuss is safety from self-harm and suicide. It’s a subject close to my heart. Fran and I devote an entire chapter of our book to it (“The ‘S’ Word: Being There When Your Friend Is Suicidal”). Suicidal ideation is less present for Fran than it used to be, but we remain vigilant. Suicidality and the urge to self-harm are an ongoing or recurrent reality for many, including several of my friends. Information, support lines, and training courses are widely available. I’ve previously pulled together a list of suicide awareness and prevention courses, and you can find further information on our resources page.

Strategies for staying safe are necessarily personal but may include a Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP), Dialectical Behavioural Therapy (DBT), or other techniques. Fran has a personal care manual and travel wellness plan. My friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson has written extensively on her use of DBT, including this detailed guide.

What matters most is that the strategies work for the person concerned. For many years, Fran kept a stash of medication. Others might disapprove, but she considered it protective because it filled a need that might otherwise have found expression in more dangerous ways. In her words, “I needed the insurance to escape. Perhaps because this was the only thing in my life I had control over and I needed to do it my way, not everyone else’s way.” As I trusted she would, Fran voluntarily relinquished her stash when the time felt right.

Trust distinguishes caring about someone from worrying about them. These terms are often used interchangeably but there are important differences between them:

When we care about a friend we are expressing our trust in their abilities, strengths, and resilience. We trust ourselves to support them as best we can, and others to contribute as they are able. We don’t feel we have to do it on our own, fix everything, or find all the answers.

When we worry about a friend we express fear that they lack the resources to meet whatever challenges they are facing. We fear we don’t know what we are doing, that we will be found lacking, or not up to the task. We fear others won’t be around to contribute, and we will be left doing everything ourselves.

There Are No Guarantees

It’s worth reminding ourselves that trust and responsibility are no guarantee of safety. All we can do is our best, and all we can expect of others is that they do their best. For me, the clearest example of this is my relationship with Fran. She trusts me to be there for her, to be on her side, to fight her corner, and to always have her best interests at heart. For my part, I trust that I will handle whatever might come up. That doesn’t mean I can or have to handle everything on my own. I’m one member of a team of people — professionals and other friends — Fran trusts to help her stay as safe and as well as possible. I nevertheless accept that no one and nothing can guarantee Fran’s safety. This is nowhere better expressed than in this excerpt from our book:

Fran has told me many times I help keep her alive. There is no objective way to know if that is true, but I take her words at face value. I cannot explain my lack of fear when she is suicidal, but trust is fundamental. [...] It is not that I trust Fran never to try to harm herself, or imagine our friendship guarantees her safety. She has never attempted suicide, but she knows what to do, and I take very seriously any hint she is thinking about hurting herself or ending her life. But I trust her to not hide her suicidal feelings from me, and to be honest with me about them. Ultimately, I trust Fran to allow me to help her stay alive.

Responsibility and Self-care

We all need a hand to hold and people to trust, but it’s important not to rely on the same people all the time. Fran is happy I have others in my life I can turn to because meeting all my needs would be too much. There are times when she needs all her focus and energy to take care of herself, or is simply unable to help me deal with what’s going on for me. She trusts me to do whatever I need to keep myself safe.

Afterword

This discussion might appear to have come a long way from its inspiration in the passenger seat of my friend’s car, but I believe it shows how important safety, trust, and responsibility are. How do these themes play out in your life? Do you have any safety strategies you would like to share? Who do you trust most, and why? We’d love to hear from you.

 

Photo by takahiro taguchi on Unsplash.

 

How to Be There for a Friend When No One Else Is

Always have a willing hand to help someone, you might be the only one that does. (Roy T. Bennett)

Fran and I write a lot about having a supportive team so you’re not relying on one person all the time. I’m proud of my place on her team, amongst the other friends and professionals who help her stay safe and well. Knowing I’m not alone helps me focus on being the best friend I can be, confident there are others for Fran to call on if I’m unavailable or can’t offer what she needs. It’s the same with my other close friends. I’m part of their support teams and they’re part of mine.

But sometimes a friend is hurting, distressed, or in need, and I’m the only person around. Perhaps the other members of their team are unavailable or can’t offer what my friend needs. Maybe there isn’t anyone else. Not everyone has a team. What do I do then?

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer. A lot depends on what my friend needs; how available I am to help; my relevant knowledge, skills, and experience; my other responsibilities or commitments; and my personal boundaries. I find it helps to remind myself of the options: saying yes, saying no, or saying no, but. We have these options all the time, of course, but the decision is more important when there’s no one else around.

Note that I didn’t include saying maybe. There’s no place for uncertainty when a friend is in need. Be honest about whether you can help or not, but don’t defer the decision or give false hope. And, whatever you decide, follow through. I remember Fran telling me years ago how she needs people to be straight with her. She asks only that people respect her enough not to promise what they have no intention of delivering. (“Yes is OK. No is OK. Not right now is OK.”)

I tell my friends: no matter what time it is or what you think I might be doing, if you need me, ask. I’d much rather be asked and have to say no than for my friend to stay silent for fear of bothering me. This works because I trust my friends to be honest about their needs and they trust me to be honest about whether I can help.

Let’s look at those options in a little more detail.

Say Yes

Saying yes is my default response. What is friendship, after all, if it’s not being there for one another? Far from feeling used or put upon, I consider myself blessed when I can use my skills, abilities, and experience to help another person. In the words of Ruth Bebermeyer:

I never feel more given to
than when you take from me –
when you understand the joy I feel
giving to you.

That said, being a good friend doesn’t mean saying yes to every request, even when you can.

Say No

Saying no isn’t just about being honest if I’m busy or can’t meet my friend’s request for some other reason. There’s a crucial difference between helping someone in positive ways and enabling unhealthy actions and behaviours. In the early months of my friendship with Fran, I helped her pursue a very unhealthy, mania-fuelled project because I didn’t see how dangerous it was. We realised before any lasting harm was done, but it would have saved a great deal of anguish if I’d recognised sooner what was happening and said no to her requests. Fran would have hated that but it would have been better for us both in the long run.

Selflessly acquiescing to other people’s demands is also unhealthy for the giver. This is something I’ve learned over the years, most painfully by witnessing what it did to my mother. Decades of putting other people before herself led to depression, anxiety, and despair. At her funeral, the priest eulogised, “She was a saint. Literally, a saint. She always put others first.” I wanted to scream “Yes she was. She did. And look what it did to her.”

Saying no is never easy for me but it’s hardest of all when the other person has few or no alternatives. As long as it doesn’t become a habit, I think it’s okay to convert what might otherwise have been a no into a yes. Making the other person a priority is pretty much what it means to be a friend. I’m not interested in being someone who’s only there for others when it’s convenient.

Some talk to you in their free time, and some free their time to talk to you. Learn the difference. (Unknown)

But what if you really can’t say yes? Let’s look at the third option.

Say No, But

Being the only one around doesn’t make you responsible for meeting your friend’s needs, but it does mean you’re part of what happens next. If at all possible, leave your friend with a way forward. That might mean confirming they can take that next step on their own, or suggesting alternate sources of support. This may not be the answer they were looking for, but an honest and engaged no, but — rather than simply dismissing them out of hand or turning your back — can be just as helpful in the long run.

Most fundamentally, make sure your friend is safe. If they’re in acute distress or you believe they may be at risk of harm — including self-harm or suicide — consider escalating to professional services or signposting them to an appropriate crisis or support line. If that’s not appropriate or necessary, maybe there are other ways you can help rather than simply saying “sorry, you’re on your own.”

I once took a call from a friend who was lost, scared, and alone. I didn’t have a car so going to pick her up wasn’t an option, but I stayed with her on the phone until she was safely home. On other occasions, I’ve arranged taxis or loaned friends the cost of a ride to get them where they needed to be as quickly and safely as possible. Sometimes the issue isn’t the request itself, but the timing. If so, I’ll offer to meet or take their call as soon as I’m free. Work with your friend to find a solution that works for you both.

Be Kind Always

Fran and I wrote a whole book about being a supportive friend but I still get things wrong. I described how my mother’s health suffered from always putting other people’s needs before her own. I’m far from blameless in that. On many occasions I failed to offer her the support she needed. I said no when I needed to say yes. I’ve failed other people too, either by not being there when they needed me, or by being overbearing — effectively saying yes when I hadn’t even been asked for my assistance or support. I believe I’ve learned from these mistakes, although the people who are part of my support team now, and who accept me as part of theirs, are better placed than me to assess that.

I can’t be there for everyone who calls on me at all times, no matter how much I’d like to be, but where there is honesty and trust, I know the friendship isn’t at risk just because I can’t always say yes. What matters is that I feel empowered to make those decisions, and supported in doing so.

[My friendship with Fran] has taught me to be more aware of others who may be struggling. That doesn’t mean I try and help everyone, but I offer what I can and neither absent myself nor run away. To do this, I need people prepared to support me in moments of confusion, frustration, and self-doubt — and they do occur — without imposing limits on my capacity to care.

Above every other consideration, if I find myself in a position to help someone when no one else is, I remind myself of the words of the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso:

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.

 

Photo by Kato Blackmore on Unsplash

 

Faking Fine: Why We Fib about How We Are

Today we’re talking about “faking fine,” that thing we do when we pretend we’re doing better than we actually are. Why do we do this? Is it a good thing? What happened to being honest? Let’s start by looking at a few scenarios.

Fake It Till You Make It

This popular aphorism “suggests that by imitating confidence, competence, and an optimistic mindset, a person can realize those qualities in their real life.”

This is faking fine to ourselves, although its impact may be felt in our interactions with others. It’s an example of positive or affirmative thinking; of facing your fear and doing it anyway. If you are interested in learning more, I recommend Susan Jeffers’ book Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway.

Faking Fine as an Escape Hatch

Faking fine can be a way to escape awkward social situations or explaining yourself. Fran expressed this with characteristic aplomb in her essay “Lessons of the Night.”

“How are you?” Another hated and seemingly innocuous question. The simple answer is F–I–N–E. F**ked up, insecure, neurotic, emotional. Most friends really don’t want the long answer. This way I can simply smile and be honest gracefully.

Faking Fine as a Buffer

We don’t always have to share what’s going on for us. Sometimes we want to keep things to ourselves, either permanently or for a while. This allows us to process fleeting or temporary thoughts, feelings and situations without getting others involved until we are ready to.

Honesty and Vigilance

Let’s step back a little. Surely faking fine is kind of, well, fibbing? What happened to being honest with each other? What happened to trust? How does all this work out in practice?

Trust, honesty, and openness are vital to the friendship Fran and I share, as we describe in chapter 1, “The Caring Friendship: Key Skills and Attitudes,” of our book High Tide, Low Tide:

We believe it is healthier to be open about our thoughts and feelings than to hide, dismiss, or avoid them. We share what is happening with us, discuss things if we need to, and then move on. In doing so we hold a safe space where we can “let it all out.” We sometimes get upset or angry with each other, but we deal with discord promptly if it occurs, recognising there is no need to fear even powerful emotions when they can be explored safely.

We know each other so well it’s difficult to hide things from one another even if we want to. It’s not just a case of trusting each other. There are specific benefits to this kind of honesty.

I’ve written elsewhere about bipolar red flag behaviours. Fran’s physical appearance, her tone of voice, what she wants to talk about, and how engaged she is in the conversation all give me a handle on her mood. Secondary clues include what she’s been doing since we last talked, whether she’s been socialising or has plans to, who she’s been in touch with, and how physically active she’s been.

Fran’s equally well-versed in my moods, and often picks up on what I’m thinking or feeling, sometimes before I’m aware of them myself. The same is true with other close friends who know me well. All that said, we recognise that we are responsible for what, when, and how much we share. And as we've seen already, there can be very valid reasons for not disclosing exactly what's going on.

Fran sometimes pretends she’s less depressed than she is because she doesn’t want to deal with the anticipated response, or fears not being heard if she’s completely honest. It’s not easy for me to accept, but sometimes she needs to do this with me too.

Like you said the other day, Fran, you often do your best to “fake it” when you are with people so they don’t get too worried, or so you can give yourself a break from it all. And yes you do that with me too sometimes, and that’s okay. I think generally you’re more honest with me [than others] because you don’t feel you need to pretend as much. That means we are more real with each other than with pretty much anyone else in our lives. And mostly that feels good and sometimes it feels shitty. But it’s why we are here. It’s what we do.

I believe it’s important to acknowledge that faking fine happens, rather than becoming defensive or accusatory. I’d go so far as to say respecting each other’s need for boundaries — including faking fine when necessary — is the sign of a healthy relationship.

We All Do It

I have my own reasons for faking fine, although Fran found this hard to believe when I pointed it out to her. She assumed I rarely needed to, or would have anything I needed to fake. I understand why she might think this. I don’t live with illness the way Fran and many of my friends do. There are no serious traumas or crises in my past or present. Fran knows me so well that she can often tell if there’s something up with me, whether I mention it or not. But not always.

Mostly, I want to share things with Fran, to vent and get it out into the open. She’s my best friend. I value her perspective and honesty. Sometimes, though, I need to work things through on my own, or let go of them without engaging too deeply, like the hot coals technique Fran taught me long ago. I might be working with things Fran has little knowledge of, that she might find triggering or that could impact our friendship itself. I may need to process them myself, or with other friends, before I’m ready to bring them to Fran.

At other times what Fran is going through (good or bad) leaves little opportunity for me to share my situation. It’s not that her needs are more important than mine, but I’m mostly content that they take precedence when we are together. Sometimes I simply choose not to bring my troubles into her day. I kept the fact I was feeling low to myself a few weeks ago because it was Fran’s birthday and I didn’t want to spoil her special day.

It’s not solely a question of opportunity. Fran sometimes needs me to take responsibility for handling my issues because she needs every portion of her time, energy, and focus to manage what she’s going through. We discuss an example of this in our book:

About this time, Fran began talking about managing more on her own. (“I need to learn how to be myself and stay healthy, without you.”) Although hard for me to hear, this was a healthy and necessary impulse. Writing my diary one evening, I recalled a favourite saying of ours: “Give people what they need, not what you need to give them.”

Fran has so much going on right now. I need to be here for her, but not push too hard or lay my own stuff on her too heavily. Now really isn’t the time, with only chat and intermittent phone calls. I want to be the friend Fran needs me to be.

I had my own share of concerns, including work, family, and other friends who were struggling in various ways. If I was not to burden Fran with my problems, I needed to take responsibility for my self-care, and involve my wider support team if need be.

That excerpt highlights how valuable it is to have more than one person you can share with. Different people can help in different ways. Depending on what’s going on for me I might choose to share it with someone other than Fran, at least initially. The same goes for Fran and other friends, of course. I know I am a trusted and valued friend but I will not always be the first person they turn to or need.

The Downside

There are downsides to faking fine, of course. The most serious for me and Fran is that it’s harder for me to help her stay well if she’s less than honest about how she’s doing. This came up for us last year. Fran had been depressed for several months. We’d been talking less on our daily calls than usual, and less deeply, but I believed I understood what was going on. I was wrong.

Fran snapped at me a couple of times for not paying attention to what she was saying, or responding the wrong way. I was confused because her frustration and anger seemed out of step with how I thought she was feeling. It took a heated exchange where Fran was blisteringly honest with me for the penny to drop. I messaged her afterwards:

Maybe you could be more explicit about what you mean when you are sharing things with me and want me to understand things in a particular way. [...] Because as much as I love you, I am not psychic and I will hear what you tell me in ways that make sense to me at the time.

Other downsides include the possibility of upsetting or alienating friends and loved ones who expect unwavering honesty at all times. Hiding too much makes it hard for others to understand how things are for us, and can lead to mistaken assumptions and unrealistic expectations.

Let’s Be Honest About It

Faking fine (or not) is a balance of honesty, respect, and responsibility. Being honest about our need to fake fine sometimes is the antidote to misunderstanding and the most straightforward answer to the charge of fibbing, lying, or mistrust.

Do you ever fake fine, or hide how you’re really feeling from others? How do you feel about that? How do you feel about loved ones faking fine with you? We’d love to hear from you.

Afterword

I began writing this article over a year ago. In June 2019 I met up for a day out in Morpeth with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson. As we walked through the park, I shared my idea for a blog post about how people sometimes fake how they’re feeling. I asked Aimee if she ever faked being better than she actually was. She said not really, because when she’s happy she’s so genuinely happy she can’t imagine ever being able to fake it. She went on to talk about when she’s feeling low or poorly, but after a minute or two, I realised I wasn’t following what she was saying. I don’t think she was either, because she suddenly stopped walking and looked at me.

“Do you know what I mean?”

I hesitated.

“I thought I did...”

Perhaps you needed to be there but that cracked us up and it’s become a treasured memory we recall from time to time. So much so that when I told Aimee I was (finally) picking up the threads of the article I’d started so long ago she wanted to be sure I included our conversation in the park. I’m happy to do so.

It’s a nice way to end, and the perfect example of a totally unfaked fine.

 

Photo by Shaurya Sagar on Unsplash.

 

No Sorries

Fran and I have a “no sorries” rule, which means that we don’t apologise to each other for things we do or say. There are times when we need to talk about things we know will be difficult for the other to hear, and we trust each other to handle what comes up.

This might seem strange. We are brought up believing we should apologise when we’ve done something which – deliberately or not – has upset or harmed another person. An apology, “Sorry I hurt you”, is how people generally acknowledge the damage they’ve caused and seek to set things straight. Refusing to do so might appear counterintuitive and disrespectful, as though we are refusing to take responsibility. In fact, the opposite is true. It’s far too easy to say “sorry” and expect the other person to move on, or demand an apology as though that will wipe the slate clean.

Don’t get me wrong, “sorry” has been known to escape our lips, although the other person tends to respond with a “no sorries” reminder and a smile, recognising that something important is happening. Because, of course, I do feel bad if something I say or do results in Fran feeling hurt or distressed, and she feels the same way.

Many years ago I reacted without thinking to Fran telling me she’d been drinking more heavily than usual. I leapt on her with the dangers of relying on alcohol to get her through difficult times, when what she needed was for me to listen. She wasn’t hiding her drinking from me, in fact she brought it to me precisely because she needed me to help her remain aware of what was happening. My instinctive response, however, was unhelpful and I realised so immediately.

Frannie, I know we don’t do “sorries”, but I am sorry for leaping at you like that!

It’s okay, Marty. No worries. No sorries.

I’m listening now. What were you trying to say?

The point isn’t whether or not we feel bad, it is how we deal with those feelings and what we take responsibility for. Fran and I take our personal responsibilities very seriously. If Fran says something which I find hard to accept or deal with, she will take responsibility for saying it, but I take ownership of my response.

Our triggered reactions are often only superficially related to what the other person said or did. It is my experience that there can be huge therapeutic value in triggered responses. More often than not I end up grateful to the other person for playing their part in the process.

“No sorries” does not mean that Fran and I get to blunder about with no awareness or regard for the other’s feelings or well-being. We do not deliberately trigger hurtful responses in each other for the fun of it or on the off chance that we benefit in some way as a result. But neither do we wrap each other in cotton wool, protecting them from experiencing things because we might judge it painful to them. That would be to rob both of us of the opportunity to learn something new about ourselves and each other.

In the first year of our friendship I wanted to buy Fran a gift for her birthday. She seemed to like the idea but as we discussed it one night she became increasingly distressed and anxious. I kept pressing her to talk about it. In the end Fran broke down in tears and ended the call. I felt awful and, as I recall, flooded her with apologetic messages and texts. I wanted to take it all back, to make everything right again, to erase whatever it was that had just happened. Later, Fran shared with me something of her life-long issues with gift giving and receiving. This helped me understand what had happened between us and offered me an insight into Fran’s past, her life and issues. I realised that hers were almost the inverse of my tendency to over-gift. If I’d been more cautious, if I’d spotted the early signs of her distress and backed down straight away we might never have reached that level of understanding.

More generally, “no sorries” gives us freedom to feel and express the little grievances, irritabilities and frustrations without feeling guilty for them, blaming the other person, or having to apologise afterwards. It doesn’t always work, of course, but it works more often than you might imagine.

So, the next time you find yourself about to apologise for something you’ve done or said, take a moment to consider what the “sorry” actually means to you. Find different words to express that meaning to the other person, and see what happens.

 

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash