DUMPED: THE SEQUEL

DUMPED: THE SEQUEL

Yesterday, Nina Gaby came to my house. She’s just had her book published about women’s friendships gone sour and has begun “the propaganda tour.” About a dozen women showed up to listen to Nina’s writing/publishing/personal experiences and perhaps - the plan was -  we could get a few books sold.

My granddaughter and her friend were visiting; the group age span stretched from two 16 year olds to one or two women nearly approaching or tilting to the other side of 80. Imagine that conversation! I think everybody left feeling a sense camaraderie, not like the old feminists rallies of the 70s, but a gentler, kinder realization that we are human beings who experience painful interactions with other people and sometimes the scars just don’t fade no matter how much cocoa butter you smear on.

That’s the nugget that makes an anthology like this one valuable - certainly to read but also to talk through in a group. (Too bad not everyone will have the benefit of including a talented writer/moderator/psychotherapist leading the discussion!) From reading to discussion, somewhere along the route one begins to look along the lifeline and think about those warts - the times that we acted with total disregard to another’s esteem or to remember instances when we were the target of acquaintances gone toxic.

I am a friend-ogamist. Looking back even into early childhood, I see the pattern of having only one or two good friends that last through large patches of my life. Consequently, I hold on tight. I invest history into these friendships and like life partners, they are the witnesses to my life just as I become the witness to theirs.  

Yes, I’ve had one or two of these relationships take bad turns and I’ve thought a lot about forgiveness and reconciliation. Certainly, when I was younger, I immediately wondered “what did I do wrong?” and “what’s wrong with me?” “why did I say/do/act….?” Self-recrimination is amazingly powerful, one that can send us straight to the couch…or the bar.

Now I prefer thinking about these relationships as having fallen into dormancy. I still know where the tender spots are in that person and she knows mine. I’ve seen her behave with the courage of a warrior and she’s cheered my successes. She knows where I’ve planted the trees.  Our friendship may be different; I might not count on her to administer the hemlock as she once promised. But in this life, I count on her/them to mark my life journey as more than just a greasy smear.