Transcript: Episode 125
125. Friendship
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
I saw a quote online that said, “I have come too far to only come this far.” And I’ve held onto that for three weeks, that I have come too far to only come this far, because it’s been hard starting to talk about things more directly in therapy. Something has changed where I believe her, and I feel me believe her, and I know that it is good and right and helpful and liberating to talk about things. And when it gets terrifying, I can remind myself about NTIS. And I can remember that the hard things that we have to talk about are in the past, and that the past is memory time, not now time, and that the memory time doesn’t change now time. I’m still safe in her office, and I’m still safe at home with The Husband, and I’m even safe with new friends.
I have learned though, that when I need my friends the most is when I disappear, that it’s hard to reach out, that connecting feels counterintuitive, and that isolating myself isn’t actually helpful, even though sometimes it feels like I don’t have the spoons to do it.
Last week and this week, I drove to meet my friend after therapy, even though I wanted nothing more than to just run away. Because I know with my friends we are better together, and with the people that I’ve met through the podcast, we are better together, and I know that their words are true, about not giving up, and about continuing to try, and about pushing through, even when it’s hard. And maybe even that it feels better to sit down with a safe friend than to spend all that time running away and having to find your way back again.
Something has changed too in having friends. Reaching out and connecting, messaging or texting, being able to track my days differently, being present when I thought I couldn’t be, being aware when before I would have forgotten -- it’s different than before, when some of us had friends, or different Parts of us had different friends. All of us choosing a friend, sort of the way we chose The Husband, together, somehow is healing in it’s own way, where all of us can be accepted, and all of us express ourselves, except I’m aware more and more of what’s happening instead of gone more and more, or knowing less and less about my own life.
It’s exponential somehow. I don’t know how to explain it or describe it. And it feels very tender. I have big feelings about not wanting to mess it up. I have big fears about them changing their mind, like everyone else has before. I’m scared to death of making a mistake that would just be the last straw and then they’re gone. That’s always what’s happened in the past, because I haven’t been enough, or I haven’t done enough, or I have not been able to do it right, or a mistake was my fault and ruined everything. That’s what it feels like.
But the therapist says sometimes our feelings lie to us. Not that what we feel isn’t real, but sometimes it’s from the past, and not in the present, or sometimes it’s not the whole story, or sometimes we think something is happening when it’s really something else, more simply, or easy, or something we could actually navigate. And she said when someone won’t let you be yourself, or when someone causes lots of problems, but makes you think it’s your fault, that that’s called gaslighting.
So, I read about gaslighting. The therapist says it’s one kind of one part of abuse, that there are different kinds of abuse, like physical, and sexual, and mental, and even emotional, verbal too - when people say mean things. But doing those things, and making you feel like the one that’s crazy, and doing those things, and making you feel like it’s your fault, and doing those things and making you feel like you have to fix it all by yourself, and you’re nothing if you can’t, or don’t, or won’t -- that that’s abuse, not friendship, or a relationship, and it’s gaslighting.
I looked it up, and it says on the computer that gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation in which a person seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or members of a targeted group, making them question their own memory, perception, and sanity, using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying. Gaslighting involves attempts to destabilize the victim and delegitimize the victim’s belief.
The Husband told me it comes from a movie that really was a play, all the way back in 1938 called ‘Gas Light’ by Patrick Hamilton, and that there’s been two movies of it. One in 1940 and one in 1944. And back then it takes place when the lights are gas fueled, and the husband keeps turning down the gas to make the lights grow dimmer and dimmer and dimmer. And when the wife complains about it, or mentions it, or says something, or points it out, he tells her it’s not happening, that she’s crazy, that she’s making it up. He makes her think she’s imagining everything.
And since then it’s been used clinically and politically, but it’s a real thing, the therapist says…in relationships and friendships. Because the truth is that all relationships are both people, and all friendships are both people, and everyone has to do all of the work, not even in a 50/50 way, the therapist says, but in a 100% way, that you do all of the work to care for yourself and to care for the other. And if they do the same, then both people are taken care of in healthy ways. She says that codependency is something else altogether, and I’ll talk about it another time.
But gaslighting is a thing. So, after talking about that with the therapist, I was talking with a friend, and she was sharing about a book that she read about friendship. And in the book, the author talked about oil and vinegar, and how when you shake it up, it makes salad dressing, but then it separates, and the vinegar sits on top, and it’s the oil that’s good and rich. But you have to pour out the vinegar to get to the oil. And my friend said that that’s maybe like therapy a little bit. We have to pour out the hard things, the bitter taste, to get to what’s rich underneath. And I really appreciated this, because I’m tired of feeling crazy, and I’m tired of being wrong, and I’m tired of messing everything up, or thinking I’m ruining everything just because I’m here.
So to think that maybe there’s some good in me, to think that maybe there’s something worth giving to the world, that I have something to contribute to -- that was special, and I wanted to hold onto that, because I’ve come too far to only come this far.
In therapy, things are coming out. I felt like I was on shuffle, like a playlist, because so much was coming out too fast, and we had to kind of get grounded, and back up, and talk about something else. I wish I could pour it out as easily as pouring out vinegar. I wish I could get it out of me as much as I wish I could get them off me. I wish I could make it stop, or turn it off, like a switch, or turn it down like gas lights, that make the room dimmer. But I don't want that darkness in me. I don’t want it to define me, and I don’t want my abusers to get the final say in defining who I am.
My friend also talked about the musical ‘Wicked’, and there’s a song about being changed for good. And we talked about how it means two things, because there are people who change you for good, as in for the better, in healthy and positive ways. And those people are like angels to me, like miracles, like a comfort when nothing else happens, when no one else sees, or hears, or witnesses what we have been through, or what we have endured, or what I am trying to do, or accomplish, or become. But there are also people who just change us for good, as in permanently. And no amount of therapy can undo what’s already happened. And no amount of new friends, or girl’s nights out, or women’s retreats can take away the grief and the pain of those who have hurt you. But it still doesn’t have to define us. It still doesn’t have the power to say who we are or who we become in response to that, in response to those experiences.
The therapist says you always have a choice. She has a big painting in her office, and it’s painted in blue and with sunflowers, and big, bold letters, “You always have a choice.” I’ve looked at the painting for almost two years -- for more than two years -- I don’t even know how long it’s been now -- and I’ve wrestled with what it means. And we’ve talked about how we can’t always control our circumstances, and what other people do to us isn’t our fault, but that we always have a choice in how we respond to what happens, and respond to our circumstances, and we always have a choice in who we become.
But yesterday, I was sitting there, on the couch, feeling far away, feeling on shuffle, trying to listen, trying to learn, trying to be present, but needing anyone to be out front and say something. And I realized, for the first time, the blue is like the sky, but also like the water. And all this time, the Part of me that’s been running to water, because it puts out fires. All we had to do was run there, and all the sudden I felt like we were home. And all the sudden, I felt like everyone was on board. And all the sudden, I could see things inside that I’ve never seen before. And in some ways, it felt backwards, because on the outside it looked like a falling apart, and on the outside it looked like I wasn’t even coherent, and on the outside, it looked like lots of switching, but on the inside it was a meeting people for the first time, it was a seeing things and knowing things, of putting things together, it was a walls coming down, it was a turning on of lights. It was hope, it was safe, and it was good. And I realized then, that some people change you for good, both positively and permanently.
Even understanding that, it’s still scary. I worry about taking, taking time, taking energy, taking effort. I know that we’re a lot of work. I know that we’re not easy to be friends with. I know that other people live on a linear timeline, while we’re cycling in and out, and around it. But I’m also really grateful for the people who stay, for those who change me for good - positively and permanently. And my friend said it’s not just about taking, it’s about receiving. And what I receive is light, and friendship, and healing, and love. And when all of us give that to each other, it changes everything. Because then no one is taking too much, and everyone’s needs get met, and all of us feel seen and heard and loved, and that’s a lot of light. And I think it’s true inside and outside, when all of us learn to work together, to communicate, to give, and to receive. And maybe if it’s true that memory time is so very hard, and so very dark, maybe it really is also true that now time is so very safe, and so very good, and so very bright. And maybe we’re learning that’s okay.
And I sat in therapy, feeling like I was on shuffle, but trying so hard to stay, because I’ve come too far to only come this far. And I saw things inside, and I heard things outside, and I listened to others present and talk and share bits and pieces that altogether didn’t make sense as one, but were conversations from weeks ago, or where they left off last, that for them was congruent and consistent and made sense. And I realized that, for the first time, that what this one said was in response to something that we were talking about three weeks ago. Or what this one said was about something we said last week. Because time gets so muddled, and all of us were trying.
The therapist did help. She said we need to take turns. She said that’s part of why we need to be writing in the notebook, so everyone has time to say the things they want and need to say, so that they can all feel heard and seen. And it’s true, that in recent weeks, we haven’t been writing in the notebook. I think we needed a break, and I think that’s okay, but we needed to come back to it, and it was time.
But as I sat there, I realized that I was there, talking and thinking and feeling, but also aware of Cassi and Molly and Little ones, but also that it was just me, for a moment, as if everything was inside out. And I thought how far that is from the beginning, when I was too scared to move, and too afraid to respond, and too frightened to try and connect. So, we may have a long way to go, and maybe there’s still a lot for me to learn, but what I’ve realized is that it’s working, that I can see a difference, that I can tell the difference, that I can feel a difference, that we’re making progress. And sometimes reaching out, when you feel like you can't, is the most important time to try. Because we are not alone, and we are better together, and it’s important to remember that, and to be able to create that sacred space for yourself, and for each other inside and with outside friends, when life is really hard, and when memory time is really scary, and when therapy is exhausting.
But I think maybe it's’ exactly what makes healing possible. And I think maybe that even when it’s really hard, it’s exactly what we need to keep going.
I want to read something from a different book, not the one my friend was talking about, but one that I have and read ten years ago, and just found again this morning. It’s from Anam Cara, by John O'Donohue, just a section of the prologue.
It says, “Behind your image, below your words, above your thoughts, the silence of another world waits. A world lives within you. No one else can bring you news of this inner world. Through the opening of the mouth, we bring out sounds from the mountain beneath the soul. These sounds are words, the world is full of words. There are so many talking, all the time - loudly, quietly, in rooms, on streets, on television, on radio, in the paper, in books. The noise of words keeps what we call the world there for us. We take each other’s sounds and make patterns, predictions, benedictions, and blasphemies. Each day our tribe of language holds, what we call the world, together. Yet the uttering of the word reveals how each of us relentlessly creates. Everyone is an artist. Each person brings sound out of silence, and coaxes the invisible to become visible.
An unknown world aspires toward reflection. Words are the oblique mirrors that hold your thoughts. You gaze into these word mirrors and catch glimpses of meaning, belonging, and shelter. Behind their bright surfaces in the dark is the dark and the silence.
If we become addicted to the external, our interiority will haunt us. We will become hungry with a hunger no image, person, or deed could still. To be wholesome, we must remain truthful to our vulnerable complexity. In order to keep our balance, we need to hold the interior and the exterior, visible and invisible, known and unknown, temporal and eternal, ancient and new, together.
No one else can undertake this task for you. You are the one and only threshold of an inner world. This wholesome is holiness, and to be holy is to be natural. To befriend the worlds that comes to balance in you. Behind the facade of images and distraction, each person is an artist in a scapable sense. Each one of us is privileged to be an inner artist who carries and shapes a unique world.
Friendship is the sweet grace that liberates us to approach, recognize, and inhabit this adventure. Friendship is a creative and subversive force. It claims that intimacy is the secret law of the life and universe. The human journey is a continuous act of transfiguration. If approached in friendship, the unknown, the anonymous, the negative, and the threatening gradually yield their secret affinity with us. Friendship then is not to be reduced to an exclusive or sentimental relationship. It is a far more extensive and intensive force.
Anam is the gaelic word for soul. Cara is the word for friend. So anam cara means soul friend. The anam cara was a person to whom you could reveal the hidden intimacies of your life. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging. When you had an anam cara, your friendship cut across all conventions and categories. You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the friend of your soul. But central here is the recognition and awakening of the ancient belonging between two friends.
Love is absolutely vital for human life. For love alone can awaken what is divine with you. In love you grow and come home to yourself. When you learn to love and to let yourself be loved, you come home to the hearth of your own spirit. Every human heart hungers for love. If you do not have the warmth of love in your heart, there is no possibility of real celebration and enjoyment.
Aristotle said, ‘Our feelings towards our friends reflect our feelings towards ourselves.’ It takes patience to develop real friendship. The wish for friendship develops rapidly, but friendship does not. Friendship is the grace that warms and sweetens our lives. Nobody would choose not to live without friends, even if you had all other good things. The soul needs love as urgently as the body needs air. Love is the nature of our soul. When we love and allow ourselves to be loved, we begin more and more to inhabit the kingdom of the eternal. Fear changes into courage, emptiness becomes plenitude, and distance becomes intimacy. Love is the deepest language and presence of soul.
When you are loved, you are understood as you are, without mask or pretention. You can be as you really are. Love allows understanding to dawn and understanding is precious. When you are understood, you are at home. Understanding nourishes belonging. When you really feel understood, you feel free to release yourself into trust and shelter…into the trust and shelter of the other person’s soul.
Love is not sentimental. It is the most real and creative form of human presence. Love is the threshold where divine and human presence ebb and flow into each other, and all presence depends on consciousness. When there is a depth of awareness, there is a reverence for presence, where consciousness is dulled, distant, or blind, the presence grows faint and vanishes. Consequently awareness is one of the greatest gifts you can bring to friendship.
A friend is different from an acquaintance. Friendship is a deeper and more sacred connection. A friend is incredibly precious. A friend is a loved one who awakens your life in order to free the wild possibilities within you, the life and passion of a person leaving an imprint on the ether of a place. Love does not remain within the heart. It flows out to build a secret tabernacle in a landscape, in your world, where you are.
Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of will or intention. Friendship is always an act of recognition. There is an awakening between you, a sense of ancient knowing. But friendship needs a lot of nurturing. It’s not about what to do, but how to be. Such friendship is creative and critical. It is willing to negotiate awkward and uneven territories of contradiction and woundedness. You do not have to go outside yourself to know what love is. This is not selfishness and it is not narcissism. They are negative obsessions with the need to be loved.
But this is more a question of exercising reserve, of inviting the wellspring of love that is after all your deepest nature to flow through your life. This is the miracle of love that happens within you, where before there was hard, weak, unyielding dead ground, now there is growth, color, enrichment, and life flowing from the lovely wellspring of love.”
That’s more than I intended to share, but it felt important with what I’m learning and what I’m experiencing, and so I wanted to share with you too, in case it was important for you. Because those of you who listen, especially those who write, have loved us well too, and created a safe space for us to keep going and to share and to learn and to grow. And it means a lot, really. We are so very grateful, and I wanted to say so.
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