Walking Lines (Vulnerability, part 2)

As I posted earlier, I'd like to think I'm pretty strong and independent. However, one day, in a particularly vulnerable moment, I was sitting by myself at a restaurant. I had just left the kids with my ex for an extended visit. Happy chatter from other patrons bounced around me while I sat at my table with three empty seats, when I got a text message. As I read it I felt like I’d been sucker punched. I couldn’t eat another bite and felt like I was going to vomit. I immediately dropped a $20 on the table and left.  Logically I knew I was being crazy, but that didn't change the empty, sick void that persisted.

I knew it wasn't their fault. They hadn't done anything. They weren't conspiring behind my back, but at that moment, I had felt so betrayed to know that my closest friends were off having fun, together, without me. At that moment, I had never felt so incredibly alone.  I was totally shaken.

Several years ago, there was a group of “us”, five couples who did everything together. I don’t know who changed, but we drifted away from one of the girls. She was headed in a different direction than everyone else.  We all had drinks one night and tried to talk about it. She just didn’t see things the same way we did. Gradually, we just stopped inviting her to events. Our husbands were still friends, but we didn’t invite them to couples activities. Before long, we just stopped contact all together.

(I’m only fringe friends with one of the four now. The rest, I don’t even know exactly where they are. I hope I didn’t make her feel like I did that day.  If I did, I’m really sorry.)

A reader, Jennifer, commented the other day that you don’t realize what you’ve given up until the relationship is over. It’s true. I really hadn’t realized how many walls I’d built up over the last decade until they started to crumble down and I was left exposed, like a crab without a shell.

I was not, am still not, equipped with the skills to cope with the new emotional connections I’ve made with people. Having been a self-sustaining island keen on maintaining the superficial during the last several years of my marriage, I was blown over by the revelation that I had developed such strong emotional attachments, and in such a short time.

I found myself in a position reminiscent of my teen years, not worried about my popularity, but wondering if the friendships I was developing were one sided. Wondering what kind of life my friends were having without me. Viciously hating the responsibility that drug me away.

Do they miss me? Do they even think about me? Is it stalkerish to think about them as often as I do? To wonder what they’re doing now? Not in an obsessive sort of way, but in an I’m genuinely interested in what they’re doing, how they are feeling, sort of way. Are they happy? Are they sad? How are they really reacting when I send them a link to something I found funny? Do they actually ignore my Facebook posts? Or just refuse to comment on them? When I send a text are they anxious to see what I have to say? Or do they wonder why I’m bugging them again?

I know a lot of people, between work, church, and school. Knowing people however is not the same as being acquaintances and being acquaintances is not the same as being friends with them. 


It is not the same as having an emotional connection with people. I have friendships that I can walk away from for weeks or months and come back and pick them up the same as always.  We catch up, we laugh, we share a meal. The difference is the degree of my emotional attachment. 


The question that remains in my mind is if my friends need me as much as I need them.

I feel weak and stupid for even wondering.