Care unapologetically

A friend once asked me, “Linda, why do you write these long messages? Why do you put so much effort into them?” as I told her about the long “break-up” initiation message I sent to another friend. This friend was very important to me for many years but sometimes, friendships just need to end. We proceeded to have a long call, said our apologies, expressed our love, and ended with goodbyes. I’m so glad we were able to do this instead of some less mature version of a friendship break-up that would have broken my self-image.

I’m notorious for being a writer of long emails and messages when things are coming to an end. I do it mostly (maybe 50%) for the selfish reason of wanting to express everything I wanted to express but wasn’t able to, and I have to do this in writing because this is my comfort zone. I also think it’s a control thing. I don’t like things getting ugly, and leading with ridiculously honest communication is my survivalist way of trying to influence an outcome that I don’t have control over. Let’s say this makes up 20% of the reason.

The remaining 30% comes from the part of me that hates how adulthood often involves pretending to care less than we really do—as if emotional investment diminishes our worth rather than enhances it. We’re going separate ways anyway, why not say everything we’ve got to say and try to help each other leave no room for regrets?

We tend to take friendships for granted and divert most of our efforts to our romantic and familial connections. I can’t remember since when, but at some point I decided that I wanted to assign as much importance to my friendships as my other relationships. Perhaps I felt taken for granted by a friend and didn’t like it very much. I may or may not have been influenced by Esther Perel, who reminds us that we need a diversity of connections beyond our romantic relationships to feel fulfilled—that relying on one person to meet all our needs puts impossible pressure on that relationship.

It’s difficult to put into words how important close friendships are to those of us who grew up in a familial environment that didn’t quite match with our own interiorities. I often felt more comfortable turning to my friends in times of need than my own family (I’m talking in past tense, dear parents, all is good now). Although in hindsight, it seems unfair to put such a huge burden on someone who’s the same age as you, especially when you’re both navigating turbulent times as teenagers or young adults.

I digress.

I’m still trying to internalize that adult friendships are a totally different game. It has more levels, and the levels are also more difficult. This means the rate of progress is much slower and, as a result, the rate of turnover is also faster. Maybe this is why we unconsciously try to recreate the dynamics before our work lives began; we crave that kind of instant closeness we could achieve when we were younger. But doing so just ends up feeling like we’re shoving ourselves into clothes that don’t fit us anymore.

When a leaf turns yellow and wilts, the better thing to do for the whole plant is to cut it off—I have always believed in this philosophy. It’s better to end things at an opportune time than to stick around until things reach a darker shade of no return. I used to live in the idea of this vision rather than taking action to experience it in reality. I did fall for the sunk cost fallacy¹ and stayed in relationships, friendships, and situations for longer than I should have. I did ghost, and I did choose to fade out rather than facing the person head-on.

Many, many things are easier said than done, and I’ve always admired people who can seemingly let go and move on from one week to another. I’m not one of them. Ending a chapter seems to take months for me; it used to take years even. I’ve been trying to end a chapter since last year, and it seems I’m finally leaving behind the weird transition phase that I’ve been calling the endless white room (yes, reference to The Matrix).

If you find yourself in one of these white room phases where an old self has wilted and old structures and connections are falling apart, I hope you know that it’s OK to outgrow connections and environments. New leaves will grow, or if you’re doing a bigger move, you’ll find new soil that fits you better. But first, we need to step through the new door and not just open it or run simulations. I’m talking to myself as much as you.

I never had grand visions for how or what I should be by the time I turned thirty. I wasn’t someone who dreamed of achieving X, Y, and Z, or buying a house, or having children by a certain age. I’m not sure if I even had any specific dream. I was simply a dreamer. Maybe the only desire I had was to live a meaningful and authentic life. To have the freedom to experiment and to be doing things because I really want to do them—this I did have a drive for. And I almost gave up on it.

I did give up on it.

When you don’t live in alignment for a long time and then suddenly realize this, it happens that you instantly want to teleport yourself out of the current timeline and into the next one. I’ve seen people, including myself, make abrupt endings. That’s one way to do things, but I have previously regretted doing it this way so I’m trying something else now.

A more compassionate approach is to end things consciously and slowly. Tie those loose ends and sit with the discomfort, the grief. It’s a simple act of care; it doesn’t even have to be love. It feels dreadful because nobody enjoys being vulnerable and uncomfortable. I’m not sure I’m very good at it but I try, and trying is the only thing we have full control over.

Most of the time, I want to run away.

The reason I write those messages and have the uncomfortable conversations is because I want to practice care, not because I particularly enjoy having the chats. They take effort, and sometimes they’re not received well. I’ve also learned that not everyone deserves this amount of effort, so it’s important to be able to discern who and what deserves your attention.

The fact remains that I have always cared, and I don’t want to hide this anymore. If you’re also someone who cares invisibly, I’d like to encourage you to also stop hiding it and to practice it with boundaries. Care shouldn’t equate to self-abandonment after all. And if you’re someone who cares and shows it without remorse—you are an inspiration, please keep doing you. The world needs softness and care now more than ever, and not in the shape of victimhood or coddling.

I’d like to steer this new timeline to be about care in whatever format it manifests. I’m also seeking new environments that value collaboration, growth, and excitement for each other’s visions, regardless of what they are. If possible, no more playing zero-sum games that feed the ego and forcing each other to be smaller than what we are.