“I’ll have to call you back.”
It was a Friday night, and I was parked at my kitchen table trying to make a 10:00 pm deadline. My freelance writing gig of the moment was composing encyclopedia articles about historical events like World War II, the holocaust, and 9/11. When the phone rang I was in the middle of finishing my last article for the week. I was half way to my minimum word count and still had to edit the article when I answered the phone. It was my friend of four years who I will call Deana. She’d called to vent. And since I had learned how to multitask during my eighteen years of parenting, I cradled the phone to my ear as I typed on my laptop and I was only semi panicked as Deana began to recount the events of her day. I had about three hours to complete my assignment, but for a tired part-time writer who had already given someone else eight hours out of her day and forty hours out of her week, it felt like I only had thirty minutes to write, polish and submit my work.
But this is what Deana and I did for each other. We took calls from each other at work, in rush hour traffic, and in the middle of grocery shopping. One weekends and holidays we would talk four or five times a day. This is how we took care of each other. Taking Deana’s calls (and her taking mine) had become a routine part of life for both of us. However, the subject of the conversation that Friday night had become a growing problem for me during the preceding months.
Deana and I met at the law firm where we’d both worked. Deana had already been at the firm for ten years when I was hired as a librarian. This was in 2008 at the crushing point of the Great Recession. Deana lost her job during the first round of staff lay-offs three months later. Fortunately she was given a few months of severance pay and later she qualified for unemployment. She also received financial support from her mother. Deana made the most of being unemployed for two years by returning to school and completing her bachelor’s degree.
On the surface, Deana appeared to have everything under control. She even initiated the loan modification process with her mortgage company. But every conversation I had with Deana revealed more of the crack that was expanding beneath the surface of her life. I learned that Deana continued to spend money as if she were working a full-time job. I heard about every sale and every item she purchased for herself and her then three-year-old son. When I found myself adjusting my budget to go out to the movies and dinner with Deana more often than our previous once a quarter outing, I pumped the brakes and made myself unavailable. When Deana would call and start talking about some new thing she was considering buying, like a gym membership when she had just purchased an elliptical a few weeks prior, I began to question her about her spending habits.
Friendship is delicate. It is different from any other relationship most people experience in their lifetimes. We tend to push family relations to the breaking point; but friendships are voluntary and even though many of us claim to have a desire for honesty from our closest friends (Deana often said this) when it is truth telling time, honesty can break the delicate ties that bind.
Two or three months before my last call with Deana, I began to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of her financial situation. As a single mother of a son who had just started college, I was dealing with my own financial challenges. It became difficult to listen to Deana rage about her stalled loan modification and brag about the new pair of shoes she’d just purchased. Deana has a lot of friends, but I got the impression that she was selective about what she shared with each of us. Until Deana’s final phone call, I had no idea just how bleak things were.
During the call, Deana told me about the break down she’d had earlier in the day while meeting with an account representative from her mortgage company. I typed as she talked. I listened intently as she revealed that the mortgage rep had spent several minutes silently reviewing her file. My typing slowed as Deana relayed the part of the conversation where the mortgage rep asked about her most recent forbearance. I stopped typing when she revealed that the house would go into foreclosure in two weeks. She had mentioned the pending foreclosure a week back, but somehow the exact date had not registered in my head; I thought she had more time. Deana ended her rant by saying, “So, I’m still in limbo,” after reporting that the mortgage rep had promised to contact her at the beginning of the next week to discuss her options.
I had spent the previous three months holding my tongue; at least with Deana. I vented to other friends about her situation to unload some of the burden I felt. Over the years, I had become aware of the frailty of my relationship with Deana because I had become aware of Deana’s personal frailties. In the past, I had taken verbal hits from Deana about my previous marriages and my decision to accept my introverted nature; I took the punches and I learned from them. But on the flip side, when I pushed back, I realized that Deana could dish out criticism with no problem but often choked when she was on the receiving end of critical observations. I kept my silence for two reasons. I was afraid of losing Deana. And I didn’t want my growing anger about her spending and dependence on her mother, even after she found a job, to lead me to hurt her feelings. When you are an adult who is solely responsible for your own household, hearing about a friend being frequently saved by her mother leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.
I was quiet for a while after Deana’s limbo comment. We had discussed her options in case the modification did not happen. Deana had started to look at rental properties during the weeks before the call. But she was dangerously close to the edge and simply needed to make a decision. I took a deep breath and said what was on my heart.
“You wouldn’t be in limbo if you’d just make the decision to leave the house.” My tone was even, calm. My intent was to help her look honestly at her situation; it was not at all malicious. Deana responded in anger. She said I didn’t understand how she felt because I had never been faced with losing my house. That was true. But I had been divorced twice, so I knew something about starting over. And I knew that was the real fear Deana was struggling with. We went back and forth for a few minutes and then Deana ended the call with, “I’ll have to call you back.”
I haven’t heard from Deana since that call last September. And, no, I haven’t reached out to her. During the last four years, I have shed myself of people—friends, associates, even family members—who I realized I could not be honest with. The old Melissa would have gone out of her way to smooth things over with Deana just so I could continue to hold on to the relationship; but the new, revamped Melissa values honesty and openness in relationships above all else. So, my phone rings less now, but I have regained a lot of my personal time. The friends that remain in my life are as open to honesty—in both directions—as I am.
The door to my relationship with Deana is firmly closed, now. But a new door has opened leading to more time for my writing and a new template for choosing who I will invite into my life in the future.
-Melissa Brown Levine
www.melissabrownlevine.com
It was a Friday night, and I was parked at my kitchen table trying to make a 10:00 pm deadline. My freelance writing gig of the moment was composing encyclopedia articles about historical events like World War II, the holocaust, and 9/11. When the phone rang I was in the middle of finishing my last article for the week. I was half way to my minimum word count and still had to edit the article when I answered the phone. It was my friend of four years who I will call Deana. She’d called to vent. And since I had learned how to multitask during my eighteen years of parenting, I cradled the phone to my ear as I typed on my laptop and I was only semi panicked as Deana began to recount the events of her day. I had about three hours to complete my assignment, but for a tired part-time writer who had already given someone else eight hours out of her day and forty hours out of her week, it felt like I only had thirty minutes to write, polish and submit my work.
But this is what Deana and I did for each other. We took calls from each other at work, in rush hour traffic, and in the middle of grocery shopping. One weekends and holidays we would talk four or five times a day. This is how we took care of each other. Taking Deana’s calls (and her taking mine) had become a routine part of life for both of us. However, the subject of the conversation that Friday night had become a growing problem for me during the preceding months.
Deana and I met at the law firm where we’d both worked. Deana had already been at the firm for ten years when I was hired as a librarian. This was in 2008 at the crushing point of the Great Recession. Deana lost her job during the first round of staff lay-offs three months later. Fortunately she was given a few months of severance pay and later she qualified for unemployment. She also received financial support from her mother. Deana made the most of being unemployed for two years by returning to school and completing her bachelor’s degree.
On the surface, Deana appeared to have everything under control. She even initiated the loan modification process with her mortgage company. But every conversation I had with Deana revealed more of the crack that was expanding beneath the surface of her life. I learned that Deana continued to spend money as if she were working a full-time job. I heard about every sale and every item she purchased for herself and her then three-year-old son. When I found myself adjusting my budget to go out to the movies and dinner with Deana more often than our previous once a quarter outing, I pumped the brakes and made myself unavailable. When Deana would call and start talking about some new thing she was considering buying, like a gym membership when she had just purchased an elliptical a few weeks prior, I began to question her about her spending habits.
Friendship is delicate. It is different from any other relationship most people experience in their lifetimes. We tend to push family relations to the breaking point; but friendships are voluntary and even though many of us claim to have a desire for honesty from our closest friends (Deana often said this) when it is truth telling time, honesty can break the delicate ties that bind.
Two or three months before my last call with Deana, I began to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of her financial situation. As a single mother of a son who had just started college, I was dealing with my own financial challenges. It became difficult to listen to Deana rage about her stalled loan modification and brag about the new pair of shoes she’d just purchased. Deana has a lot of friends, but I got the impression that she was selective about what she shared with each of us. Until Deana’s final phone call, I had no idea just how bleak things were.
During the call, Deana told me about the break down she’d had earlier in the day while meeting with an account representative from her mortgage company. I typed as she talked. I listened intently as she revealed that the mortgage rep had spent several minutes silently reviewing her file. My typing slowed as Deana relayed the part of the conversation where the mortgage rep asked about her most recent forbearance. I stopped typing when she revealed that the house would go into foreclosure in two weeks. She had mentioned the pending foreclosure a week back, but somehow the exact date had not registered in my head; I thought she had more time. Deana ended her rant by saying, “So, I’m still in limbo,” after reporting that the mortgage rep had promised to contact her at the beginning of the next week to discuss her options.
I had spent the previous three months holding my tongue; at least with Deana. I vented to other friends about her situation to unload some of the burden I felt. Over the years, I had become aware of the frailty of my relationship with Deana because I had become aware of Deana’s personal frailties. In the past, I had taken verbal hits from Deana about my previous marriages and my decision to accept my introverted nature; I took the punches and I learned from them. But on the flip side, when I pushed back, I realized that Deana could dish out criticism with no problem but often choked when she was on the receiving end of critical observations. I kept my silence for two reasons. I was afraid of losing Deana. And I didn’t want my growing anger about her spending and dependence on her mother, even after she found a job, to lead me to hurt her feelings. When you are an adult who is solely responsible for your own household, hearing about a friend being frequently saved by her mother leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.
I was quiet for a while after Deana’s limbo comment. We had discussed her options in case the modification did not happen. Deana had started to look at rental properties during the weeks before the call. But she was dangerously close to the edge and simply needed to make a decision. I took a deep breath and said what was on my heart.
“You wouldn’t be in limbo if you’d just make the decision to leave the house.” My tone was even, calm. My intent was to help her look honestly at her situation; it was not at all malicious. Deana responded in anger. She said I didn’t understand how she felt because I had never been faced with losing my house. That was true. But I had been divorced twice, so I knew something about starting over. And I knew that was the real fear Deana was struggling with. We went back and forth for a few minutes and then Deana ended the call with, “I’ll have to call you back.”
I haven’t heard from Deana since that call last September. And, no, I haven’t reached out to her. During the last four years, I have shed myself of people—friends, associates, even family members—who I realized I could not be honest with. The old Melissa would have gone out of her way to smooth things over with Deana just so I could continue to hold on to the relationship; but the new, revamped Melissa values honesty and openness in relationships above all else. So, my phone rings less now, but I have regained a lot of my personal time. The friends that remain in my life are as open to honesty—in both directions—as I am.
The door to my relationship with Deana is firmly closed, now. But a new door has opened leading to more time for my writing and a new template for choosing who I will invite into my life in the future.
-Melissa Brown Levine
www.melissabrownlevine.com
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