Old friends, garlic breath, and going pantless
Sure, I care what people think. But not enough that I'll shrink myself.
To some extent, we all care what others think. If we didn’t, we’d eat copious amounts of garlic on first dates, commit abhorrent fashion crimes like socks with sandals, go braless to work, and we’d definitely forgo wearing pants. And this level of conformity isn’t really an issue. I mean, most of us don’t mind making slight changes to fit somewhere within the broad realms of normalcy in order to get that second date or keep our jobs. But other times, fitting in to be accepted can make us dreadfully unhappy.
I once had a friend I’d known since childhood who was funny, clever and exceptionally generous. We texted daily, had a coffee together at least once a week, and if I needed a shoulder to cry on due to some douche cheating on me with a woman who sent him butt-selfies with her undies pulled up her arse1, she'd be by my side in a heartbeat. She was just as prone to relationships with douches, and I’d do the same for her. But she had a narrow view of how people should behave and would become offended if people didn’t see the world exactly how she saw it, or didn’t live exactly how she lived.
It all seemed like small differences, but they added up to a large part of me. She didn’t like my spiritual side, or anyone’s spiritual side, and discussions on that topic would induce strong eye rolls. She didn’t like people who cleaned their house with natural cleaning products, avoided certain foods, or posted the wrong memes on their Instagram or Facebook accounts. She didn’t mind if you exercised (I think exercise was OK because she exercised), but she would become offended if the way someone mentioned it sounded smug or superior, which of course is completely subjective. I wasn’t the only one caught in her crosshairs, but I valued our friendship and was terrified of her disapproval.
To avoid being on the receiving end of an exaggerated eye roll or a nasty Facebook status, I remained vigilant in her presence. I stopped talking about food when she was around. Or spirituality. Or exercise. Or cleaning. I started overthinking my Facebook posts and kept my tacky feel-good memes to myself. I told myself that none of these changes seemed overly drastic; I only needed to keep small parts of me hidden in order to keep the friendship functioning smoothly. And the parts of myself that I did share were completely authentic.
Didn’t that count for something?
But it was tiring, and I could never just be. I was constantly thinking about which parts I needed to hold back. If I was excited about a new job, an article that I was proud to have published, or a supplement that was actually working for me, I’d mull it over in my brain: How could this be perceived? Is it safe to share this?
While each facet of myself I was holding back was small, the effects on my energy levels were not. The friendship did not have the space it required to bloom; it was the opposite of freedom and peace which we are all entitled to. It is one thing to wear pants to fit social norms, but it’s another to be wary of your own excitement in order to be accepted by a friend.
Without any drama or hate, I slowly became less available, and it wasn’t long before new people flowed into the empty space I once held for this friend. Some of them I already knew, but they previously existed in my periphery as acquaintances. Others I met through work or writing groups, or even social media. Eventually, my old friend fell out of my circle completely.
The friends I have now don’t relate to every single thing about me. They probably don’t even find me funny 100% of the time (ridiculous, I know). But they accept me. They make me feel encouraged in moving closer towards my own happiness, to embracing my own interests even if they don’t look exactly the same as theirs. They do not give a fuck what I eat, or how spiritual I am, or what memes I share on social media. As long as I’m doing OK and am having a good life.
Thinking back, I figure my old friend changed when we grew up, and that perhaps – and I mean this in the least condescending way possible – she isn’t overly secure in herself as an adult. I also figure some broken things are not worth fixing, and you can care about someone from a safe distance.
Love is not about sameness and conformity; it’s about appreciating and encouraging someone else's light while knowing it won’t dim your own. Never again will I hide parts of myself for another person’s convenience, or shrink to fit a mould that they made for me. But when I meet a new friend for coffee, rest assured that I will most certainly be wearing pants.
**
True story. Why didn’t she just buy a g-string?