My Letter to Becky

I knew that my appreciation of what Becky said to me yesterday (see yesterday’s blog first and this one makes more sense) about how when she has a relationship with me she has a relationship with everyone might bother her. She thinks it is a bad thing. I don’t. So, she wrote me a nasty note about how awful it was and she was sorry she was talking to me and what a waste of time it was. Then, a few hours later wrote and apologized for flying off the handle, but saying she still could not be friends.

Here is my reply:  

Dear Becky,

1.  I am not an enemy.

2.  I am not your mother.

3.  I cannot hurt you.

4.  We are not separate.

5.  We are one.

Separating ourselves, distancing, has never helped me to heal in the long run. It only recreates the “fall of man,” the illusion that anyone can be separate from God, echoed in appearing to be separate from each other.

Temporarily, it may give me the sense of safety that I am not finding when I am with a person who triggers me. Okay, for a while.

Eventually, when this sort of thing comes up for me, I want to feel safe and loved in that person’s presence. (Ideally, no matter what they are doing or saying or not doing and not saying.)

If the person was never a friend, and we don’t have common interests, we may not see each other a lot even when that healing occurs. Such is the case with my father. He can barely trigger me at all most of the time. We just don’t have a lot in common and live 800 miles apart. I talk to him about once a month on the phone.

But you were once a friend. We once shared some of my (our?) deepest interests with each other. Then we reached a place where your safety seemed to depend on silence and separation and mine seemed to depend on speaking and union. We defend ourselves in opposite ways. You have told me before to say whatever I need to say to whomever.

I held silence for you for most of the past 2 years because I love you, and because I saw that as the only way that there would ever be any possibility of healing between us – if I shut up and went away for a while. That’s what Jake and Jared told me might help.

It is not easy for me. It was a constant strain, especially at first. Now it’s become a bit of a habit. I don’t pick up the phone to share with you when I’m excited about something you would resonate with or understand, much less when I am upset and would value your insights. I don’t even speak much when I sit next to you at a party.

I hope to heal that.

My healing shows up when I don’t feel I’m “holding silence” and it is not a strain, but relaxed. I’ll get clearer with that part. I’m sure that it doesn’t help you feel safe when it feels to you like I’m constantly bursting with things I want to say.

Becky, we can heal this. Please don’t walk away. Please help me find a balance that really works for both of us.

I hold the possibility for renewed friendship in any moment we are together, even in my thoughts.

I don’t offer myself or my friendship overtly to you anymore. I do try to hold myself ready to respond to any slight offer you make. I thought that was what happened at Amante. I thought you opened a door when you told me I had triggered survival fears relating to your mother and triangulation. I respect that. I know what it’s like to feel I’m going to die or be hurt around someone who reminds me of a parent or situation that does not feel safe. (to me or to themselves)

It did feel good to speak for a couple of days and say the things I’ve held for so long. Thank you. And I’m sorry it triggered you.

That’s as much vulnerability as I can find right now and I don’t know how it is coming across in print. 

I wanted your friendship, Becky. I can live without it. It is neither my first choice, nor my ideal world to do so.

(end of letter to Becky)

I could send this same letter to about 4 women in my life who have responded the same way Becky did. Three of them are Libras. One is a Taurus.

I’m going to do a Worksheet (Work of Byron Katie) on this and see what’s in there for me.

I may post it here when I’m done.

Love,

Stacy

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