Self-talk matters
Photo credit: Marianne Møllmann 2018
Twenty years ago, I made a friend who became central to my personal development. Let’s call him Sam. Like all of us, Sam was a flawed human being, though his positive impact on my life cannot be overstated. He talked me through difficult parenting choices, and built up my confidence for pursuing a true intimate connection with my partner. He validated my professional worth in the way only a friend can: honestly and without flattery. But Sam was also elusive and erratic and sometimes deliberately unkind. I can only guess how our friendship felt to him. And when I do, I cringe at my own casual cruelty.
In short, and just so that I am being clear: ours was a loving friendship, but we also held a ton of other emotions that ultimately meant we had to stop being friends. It’s been ten years since we talked.
I have written before about friend-breakups and about how disorienting they can be. When a romantic relationship ends, there are conventions. Everyone expects you to be devastated. Friends bring casseroles and chocolate and encourage you to wallow. Recommendations pour in for how to process loss: some helpful, some decidedly not, but always there is some cushion of comprehension. Others claim to know what you are going through, and it makes you feel less lonely.
This doesn’t happen when you stop seeing a friend. Sometimes it’s because the shift is so gradual you barely notice it yourself. But usually is it because friend-love is seen as less important than romantic love. In my experience, the functional difference is minimal.
Whatever the reason, when Sam and I stopped talking, I wasn’t ready to let go. So I created a space in my brain for the Sam I loved: the supportive, sometimes erratic, but always empathetic friend whom I would speak to when I needed stress relief or advice.
All of this is front of mind today because last night I was trying to sort out a particularly thorny work-issue in my head. The kind of issue I have become accustomed to take to the space in my brain where support and love exists in the form of a fictional Sam. And suddenly, I watched that Sam float out of my being (yes, I was very tired and probaby half asleep). Whatever the facts of the situation, I felt “Sam” leaving and was filled with deep sadness but also relief: I somehow intuited I did not need him anymore.
The miracle is that I still feel accompanied and seen, because in the process of speaking to a loving person in my head for all of those years, I learned to love and trust myself.
Next time someone says it doesn’t matter how you talk to yourself, don’t believe them.
