SISTERHOOD OF TREACHERY

There aren’t enough fingers on my hands to count the women I have befriended and been disappointed by. It’s not their fault. My expectations for close female friendships are too high for anyone to measure up.

Past girlies with whom I’ve shared bottles of Red Cat or huddled with to cry about our lost lovers, it’s not you. It’s me.

Long ago a morbid fear of men was deposited into my psyche. Perhaps it was being chased around a backyard by the neighborhood bully as he threw lawn darts at me. Or being tied up and left in the woods, so that my parents became frantic…and angry with me.

Then again, maybe it was my first sexual experience in college that ended in rape. That never helps us garner trust for the opposite sex when all we wanted was to find out what kissing was like.

At any rate, I always expected men to disappoint and hurt me. I’ve never completely trusted any man, my husband, being an exception. Even though he had to go through a trial period of about 25 years, I still find myself shutting down instead of sharing. This frustrates him because he is not the strong and silent type. He’s a sharer, a reminiscer, a talker; I sit and listen, barely giving him a peep in response. I’m listening. I’m just not participating.

I can’t.

Even with my guard up, in my youth, a dozen different men broke my heart in varied and colorful ways. Imagine if I had let my defenses down with any one of them. No, thank you. For the most part, I knew I wouldn’t stay around for long, so why subject myself to letting them know me intimately? Then, they could really tear me up. They could enjoy my body and I could enjoy theirs, without invading my privacy, thank you very much. Now, run along like a good boy.

That brings me around to the women in my life. Women, who I felt safe with. Believed I was part of their tribe. Whom I sought comfort and solace from when the men in my life left me unhappy or confused. I overshared. I over-trusted. I couldn’t believe another woman would ever deliberately hurt me. I would never do that to them… well, except for that one time and that was before I was born again, so it doesn’t count.

Trusting and believing in true friendship, I opened myself up to being deceived repeatedly by so-called friends. Not only deceived but blatantly humiliated, set up, and destroyed. This weakness of mine followed me through years of church attendance when I was expected to do the dirty jobs because no one else wanted to. After all, with MY past…

During a sermon, I was sitting in a back pew; and heard a very holy woman behind me whisper something personal about me to her husband, questioning why I was allowed to even join the church, let alone teach Sunday School. It devastated me because the only person, besides my husband, who knew that fact about me was supposed to be a dear friend and prayer partner and we had both shared this fact about ourselves during prayer.

I slowly ceased trusting church women as they proved they were no different from the strippers and barmaids I had known in my previous life. Women can be jealous, and petty and can’t wait to see the downfall of other women. Not all. But be careful what you share with your friends.

I had been in a group of neighborhood women who got together every couple of weeks for a gab session. As I stopped to walk to the party with a neighbor, her husband remarked, “You ladies probably have nothing to talk about when you all show up. One of you should stay home.”

Brilliant!

He was so right. As I later found out, when I ceased attending because I didn’t drink. I heard from a reliable source gossiping about the gossipers, that I had instantly become the source of derogatory stories shared by my besties. Hey, live by the sword and all that.

Be cautious about what you share. Be careful whom you share with.

And, most important. Make sure you have the goods on them first!