I’ve written many times about how I am terrible at making friends. These last 2+ years in California have definitely taught me that.
But as I’ve continued to think about it, I’ve realized that it’s not an ability that I lack. It’s the desire! Somewhere deep down, I don’t want to make more friends.
My brain tells me that this is silly and I need to overcome it. Everyone needs friends, and when you decide to move halfway across the country, leaving your established community behind, it is only right to try and make friends.
But my heart says differently. I’ve come to realize that I am much more sensitive and fearful than I ever realized. Once you befriend someone, you let them into your life. This means that they can hurt you and that they can let you down. It means that if they were to leave, their presence would be sorely missed.
I didn’t used to be this afraid, honestly (although I’ve always been a bit of a loner!). But as a young kid I had death surrounding me at every turn. I remember the day that my nanny, Susan, sat me down at the age of 6 and told me that the reason my parents were on a trip was because my grandmother had just died. She had to explain what death was. At the age of 8, my other grandmother died, and, although she and I were never close (she “loved” me but didn’t “like” me), my mom mourned for weeks, breaking out into random sobbing for nearly a year.
A year later, my mom had an ectopic pregnancy that almost killed her– I was the one to call 911– and everyone told me for weeks how lucky I was to still have my mom. I realized that at any moment, anyone I loved could be taken away, just like that.
And if all that wasn’t enough, just a few months later, my beloved violin teacher of 3 years died. Since I had never had a relationship with grandparents, this violin teacher had become my grandfather figure. We would sing songs together every lesson, and he would accompany on the guitar. I performed my little fiddling solos with his band. When he was diagnosed with cancer, we continued to have lessons but I saw him get sicker and sicker as each month went by. Within the year, he was gone. They asked me to play a song at his funeral, and I did, even though I’m not sure how I got through it.
I was so torn up about his death that I wrote a story as a way to process it. I sent the story, called “Ashokan Farewell” in to a magazine when I was 10, and it won! Everyone who read it would cry, and I remember thinking, “No, I’m not a great writer. That’s just how bad my heart hurts, okay?”
Throughout junior high and high school, I was able to leave some of my fears about death behind. I became close friends with Jesse, who is now my husband. When I left for college as a 17 year old, everyone assured me that home would always be here, always be the same.
And then, just 4 weeks into my freshman year (10 years ago today), I got a call telling me that one of my best friends had committed suicide. And the fear began all over again. He was the 4th person in my life to die and he was MY age. I was asked to play piano at his funeral, and I did, although I could barely keep it together. To this day, I cannot play that song any more.
Unsurprisingly, I also wrote a story about his death. When my creative writing instructor at Biola read it, HE cried. He stopped reading it halfway through and said, “Who taught you how to write like this? I didn’t!”. And, once again, I wanted to say, “I’m not a great writer. My heart just hurts.”
Since his death, I have made only a handful of friends. Without realizing it, I became very very careful about who I let into my heart. At every turn, I resisted becoming friends with Jesse’s group (sorry, Courtney, Chelsea and Christine!), trying instead to stick with the one or two friends I’d made during orientation. After 2 awful roommate situations, one in which I moved out in the middle of the night to avoid confrontation, I gave in to the inevitable and adopted Jesse’s group of friends as my own. And then these friends followed us to Texas, so I didn’t have to branch out much. I met my friend Jenny because she actually pursued me, coming to all of my piano recitals and inviting me to do things. She was the only one to spend my birthday with me, our first year in TX. I was so grateful for her because I wasn’t strong enough to reach out and make friends on my own.
I am learning, and I am getting better. I have been together with Jesse for 10 years, and I’m just now learning how to trust him (I’m a slow learner!). I have a hard time trusting my long time friends, but I am working on it. God knows my heart, and He is constantly providing me situations for both growth and safety.
Until then, there is my writing. I can process the pain and fear I feel over death in a way that makes sense to me, whether it be on this blog or in a story. And it always helps.
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Steph says
I think it’s a lot harder to make friends at this stage of our lives too. Everyone is so busy and sleep deprived and most things revolve around the kids you know? At least it’s that way for me. I’ve never had double making friends before but I find now it just takes so much more of an effort.
Also I can’t believe you moved out in the middle of the night, that’s hilarious.
I once quit a nanny job by having my fries write them a letter for me which I left on their bathroom vanity at the end of one shift haha! I’d tried to quit a few times before but they always talked me into staying. I was 16, they had 5 kids 7yrs and under. Besides caring for the kids, I had to cook and clean and do all their laundry. Not sure how I lasted as long as I did!
themrscone says
Haha, Steph, if anyone could’ve done it, it would be you! I think you’re also right about this stage in our lives being harder. Expending the effort to get out and see friends is just not worth it sometimes after a hard day with the kiddos.