A family friend once gave me a little pink book on birthdays and horoscopes. I must have been very young because on the first page I have written my name in clumsy babyish print. Some of the later entries are in joined up lettering which I learnt in primary 4 (age 8). It still amuses me that the entry on May 28th reads “KyIie Minogue” alongside “Jillian McMaster”, one of my little pals. Once I brought the book to school and heard a religious substitute teacher mutter that it was The Devil’s Sorcery while I read birthday horoscope to the other children at my table.
Oddly, or perhaps coincidentally, since this teeny book originated from the esteemed publishing house of Holly Hobby, my horoscope was surprisingly spot on. It said that I was an omnivorous reader which indeed I was, (by age 9 I had read almost Enid Blyton’s entire back collection and goodness, was that woman prolific.) It also stated that I was a “sparkling conversationalist”, which is true in so much as I’m a chatterbox, and in the right company I can shine, although I do have to rein myself in from dominating the discussion. But perhaps the most interesting assertion it made was that “I form and keep friendships easily,” a statement which was only partially correct. As I said, I’m a talker and I could, as has been wryly noted, start a chat in an empty room. Since I am open and out-going I can make friendships quickly. But the final comment in my horoscope is completely wrong, because it states that I never act in haste, which alas, is untrue. I do act in haste and here is how: I meet new people, and with childlike innocence I rush into the relationship, like a big, exuberant Labrador retriever.
As though in the throes of a teen romance, I say yes to coffee, yes to dinner and before I know it, I am inviting my new friends to my home for a glass of wine. This enthusiasm serves to accelerate the normal pace of making friends, and this is foolish because I am now 41 and should know better. This is especially pertinent now because the people I mingle with may have children of their own, who could in turn make pals with mine, hence creating another bond among themselves. It can all turn very awkward if it turns out that the person whom I have just welcomed into my life with open arms isn’t actually wonderful friendship material after all.
When it comes to work or business, we often have to make quick decisions and sometimes be ruthless in the process. We know we have to prioritise our time to make our working life as effective and productive as possible. When I was a teacher, I knew the staff who would offer me the best and most honest advice. I knew the colleagues who inspired me and with whom I could share ideas and resources. There were those who simply radiated a good energy and to whom I was drawn. Why then, in my personal life, when I am also often very time-poor, do I sometimes choose to spend it with people who bring me down?
It doesn’t sit well with me and it has been a tough process, but I have learnt to be choosy. I have also taught myself to set boundaries and be more self-aware. Yes, it is important to be open to new friendships, experiences and widening your social circle, but we should cultivate the people who bring out our absolute best. My closest friends are unafraid to tell me, (whimsical and excitable person that I am,) when to calm myself and reflect. They let me know when I’m over-thinking something and in good old Northern Irish slang, tell me to “wise up”. I can always turn to my friend Rhaiza for style advice as I need only glance at her eyebrows and I know that my outfit needs a rethink.
Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly when a friendship has turned sour. It isn’t that people are necessarily unkind or unlikable, it can just be that at a particular time they simply aren’t the right company for you. If I’m going through a dark spell, I become very introspective and am inclined towards paranoia. At these times I know that there are some people whom I should avoid as we will quickly descend down a rabbit hole of despair together.
When I had my first daughter I met some new mums at a parent and tots’ yoga class. Four of us bonded over our birthing stories, the trials of sleepless nights and breastfeeding, and the terrifying newness of it all. The experience of mothering can, I learnt, lend itself to the over-sharing of intimate details, as you refamiliarize yourself with your body, new routines and the altered relationship with your spouse. It is also a time when you need LOTS of reassurance. Our new friendship seemed initially like a gift bestowed by a benevolent fairy godmother who knew exactly what we needed at this challenging time.
We maintained the friendship as our babies turned into toddlers and we brought forth new lives into the world. However, once we made the shift back into work, fault lines began to tremble in the group. One girl felt that another was harsh and unsympathetic as she struggled with postnatal depression. When I took the decision to have a career break to focus on my children and on writing, I felt the stirrings of judgement and/or jealousy. As a teacher my life had, for the past ten years, been dictated by loud bells at forty-minute intervals and I found the lack of routine disorientating. In the next few months I spent a significant number of mornings in coffee shops, talking about writing while I fed my toddler rusks, haunted by the blank page. I have since discovered that this is normal with would-be writers: there is a time lapse between severing the cords between one way of life and accepting another. However, while I ruminated and pontificated, another mum juggled two jobs, and another go-getter expanded her business, ran marathons and reconfigured her house. In my stasis, I felt aimless and work-shy. When once I asked if they had any book recommendations one quipped, with a sense of pride, that she hadn’t finished a book since her first son was born four years previously. I started to notice the differences between us. Without a book on the go I feel a bit off-balance: I love the reassurance of having a place to lose myself even if it’s from the safety of my sofa. I need books the same way people need warmth- they ignite me from within.
When we met up for coffee or dinner, I felt they no longer had any interest in me. They asked about my children or about my husband, or more pointedly about his work, but I felt invisible, inadequate, and incapable.
It took a while to click but finally I realised that we had become close friends too soon, on the basis of having babies at the same time, but with little else in common. Perhaps we also invested too much in each other. We had bonded over shared intimacies, and being from Northern Ireland (which is the size of a fifty pence piece), we knew people in common which made us feel more connected than perhaps we actually were. So I edged back. I reclaimed my time and reminded myself who I was and what I valued. I knew, for my family and me that it was valid, essential even, that I had taken the time out and make the tentative steps towards writing for publication. During my break from teaching, I gained little in terms of monetary rewards. I had to redefine my roles in life, since I had to shake off the label of “teacher” which is how I had identified myself for so long. I sought counselling and addressed issues from my past which were painful.
But I learnt so much. It’s not easy to extricate yourself from friendships without causing hurt and distress. One way to think about it that could help is to acknowledge the possibility that we ourselves might be the former friend of whom someone else wants to let go. It can happen to any of us, and it doesn’t have to imply a critique – just that space for the closest friendships is limited. So it’s only sensible to exercise discernment when we meet potential friends. Perhaps unwittingly, people can undermine you or drain your energy. There are those in our life with whom we are obligated to spend time, be they work colleagues or close family members. Now I teach some days and write on others. I am busy and this has forced me to choose friends from whom I draw positive energy. Personally, I wouldn’t feel good in myself if someone spent time with me because they felt they “should”, and not because they had any real desire to seek me out. Anne Lamott sums it up succinctly in her book Bird by Bird when she speaks of “taking a sabbatical” from a relationship which had turned toxic. We deserve to be loved and respected by our friends. They should be our “safe” company, the family whom we get to choose ourselves. Learning how to make and sustain rich, forgiving friendships is, I believe, one of the most precious gifts we can give ourselves.
Helen McClements is a mother, writer and teacher from Belfast. She can often be heard on BBC Radio where she shares her musings on 'Thought for the Day'. In contrast to this, she writes a blog called www.Sourweeblog.com, where she unleashes her frustrations at juggling parenthood with work and the vagaries of life.
