A friend and I are having coffee and she tells me about her life. Tells me and tells me. Then, as we’re saying goodbye, she exclaims how wonderful it was to “catch up.” I wonder how she can feel caught up when I haven’t said a word about my life. Nor has she asked.
I walk away, wondering about friendship and what is fair to expect. There needs to be some kind of balance, I think, between talking and listening. Not a precise balance, because circumstances change.
But I want to leave an encounter feeling energized, not exhausted. Nourished, not ignored. And I can choose. I didn’t always understand this, didn’t know I could say no to someone who wanted to spend time with me. Politely, of course, but firmly.
Years ago, I sought counseling for the first time and found myself describing conflicts with my parents. “Perhaps you should see them less often,” my counselor said. I didn’t know this was a choice—but it was and it worked. I was an adult and I could set my own boundaries.
It might be one of the most valuable lessons I’ve ever learned: setting boundaries. I could decide where to give my energy—without apologizing, without guilt.
“Let’s do this again,” my friend said but we never did.
My choice.
