Well, then again, maybe it is you, but my guess is that it probably is not. 

My husband and I were on a walk when I shared that I had spent the morning in Instagram therapy. (I love-hate those 60 second self help reels!) 

“Did you watch the reel I sent?” I asked. “You know the one about how friends are leaves, branches and roots?” 

He had. Like the gentle dance of autumn leaves falling, we talked about how leaves represent casual friends; friends that come and go. Maybe half of our friends are branches. Those are the friends who love to hear from you, are the ones who show up when they can and are wonderful when they show up. Roots are your darkest hour friends. They are the unwavering, reliable folks who are there when shit goes down and stay. 

“You are my root. I mean, sure there are people who would text me if they knew I was dying. I can count on you. It’s about how we reciprocate and show up for one another. I don’t have to think about it. I know you will be there holding my hair back when I’m puking my brains out. I mean, come on, you are solid! You let me hide under your shirt just when I am feeling sad and insecure. Um, by the way, all of this Instagram-therapy-friendship-talk-build-up is my way of letting you know that right this very moment I am feeling sad and insecure.”

“What’s up?”

“It goes back to last night. Remember when we were at the restaurant? I was trying to get your attention and that dude was in my line of sight. He assumed I was trying to engage him. Instead of blowing him off, I decided to go with the moment. Because he is a professional writer, within seconds he was giving me advice on how I could be a better writer, (I had not asked for writing advice), and seconds later, he was throwing shade on my friends. Like being thrown off a raft without a lifevest, I was flailing. What was supposed to be me trying to get your attention spiraled into him propping himself up at my expense. I have felt weirdly  insecure ever since. Oof.”

“That sounds awful!”

My husband and I spent the next 4,327 steps deconstructing my “awful” feelings. What I know is that I am too old to feel bad as a result of someone else’s insecurities. By the way, I am not saying this because I am old. If you are twenty, you are too old to feel bad as a result of someone else’s baggage. 

I’m sensitive. I am a barometer. I can pick up on your imposter syndrome, your need to eat, even your need for someone else to validate my worthiness before you will engage me. I can pick up when you are manipulating others. I can see your need for control.I know it’s a red flag when you announce that you are easy going. Consequently, my acutely attuned radar makes me great bait. (My guess is I am not the only one out there with acutely attuned radar.) I will drop my talk to you when I am actually trying to get my husband’s attention. I will give you the reaction you think you  need. I will react to your cruelty, your jokes at my expense and play into your deflections. 

Let me spell it out: Recently one of my friends, I haven’t decided if they are a leaf or a branch, well, they asked me how I was doing. I answered,

“I’m having a hard morning. I hope I don’t go off on anyone.” A few hours later and in front of our group of friends, this person asked, “Are you going to go off?” I ignored their question. A little while later, they asked again. I did not respond, yet must have had a look like I might go off because they asked me, “What? Are you going to go off on me?” I ignored them. And sure enough, shortly after that, they asked once more. This time, I put my hand to my face, exasperated. They turned to someone else and while pointing at me, said, “Look. Look. She is going to go off.”

I felt their eyes on me and at that moment all my baggage floated to the surface. It felt like I was standing in front of all of my friends naked with food in my teeth. I trusted that my leafy friend’s early morning question about how I was doing had been sincere. I felt the perspiration on my neck and rolling down my back. That is when I raised both of my arms in the air and exclaimed, “I can’t do this right now. I am completely overwhelmed.”

They laughed, looked away from me, and said, “See. I told you she was going to go off.” I tried to count to ten and couldn’t make it past two. I looked at them until our eyes met, and said,

“Will you please stop?” They did not stop. They did say,

“Well, you told me you were going to go off on someone.”

Clearly upon reflection, (like writing this entire exchange out and rereading it), that person is neither a branch or a leaf. I recognize own my stuff too. I made a choice. I believe that they are important socially so I adjusted my boundaries. I am not sure if that was a great choice. 

Once again I hearken back to my Instagram-therapy and my real life therapy. Here is what I have learned and what I need to tell myself: We don’t need to be everyone’s roots. Branches are good. What we deserve is to have people in our lives who will meet us half way. I am not sure what your half way looks like. For me, half way is not a ti for a tat. My half way is fluid and looks like feeling safe and feeling worthy. I want you to trust me. I want you to like me, be interested in me, and want to be around me without your friends telling you I am cool enough to be around. I want to do the same for you. When I reach out, I don’t want you to make excuses. I hope you are happy that I reached out. I understand if we don’t get together when you are in town. I cherish that we are friends. When I accidentally talk to you at a bar while trying to get my husband’s attention, I want you to be kind. It’s about bids for connection and building our tender, amazing root systems together. RECIPROCITY. I will set that word right here. I recognize these bids for connection can be hard, especially those who are dealing with their own ugly shit. I have endless compassion for you. I want to hear about your shit. I want to help you with your shit. The nudge: I want you to actively care about my shit too. And for those who don’t see the energy sucking creatures they are, maybe it’s time to deal with your own heartbreaking shit instead of flinging it onto everyone else. Just a thought that I could totally make into an Instagram Reel.