I am Woman, hear my Roar.

Ya know, I’d like to think I’m a pretty strong woman. From early on, growing up in the hills of the Butte playing with hatchets and building forts with my brothers and cousins, I dealt with some adverse situations that no child should ever encounter.  Then, this little tomboy moved to California where I fit in like Clampett at the Cleavers house, fighting and kicking ass and taking names. Moving into high school the reputation of tomboy stuck with me, but I used it to stick up for the underdogs and used my powers for the good of all (or so I’d like to think). In any case, I’ve been able to hold my own and I’m pretty proud to be an independent, strong woman. So when all of this #metoo business came about, I’ll be honest, I rolled my eyes and guffawed at the women coming out of the woodwork pointing fingers and placing blame, wondering why they hadn’t said anything or done anything before, and now felt the need to jump on the proverbial wagon. But you see, I’m a hypocrite. There are very few people who know about my childhood trauma and I chose, and will continue to choose, not to say anything because there are people who would be very affected; maybe more so than I was/am/could have been. It’s my choice just like it’s the choice of all of these women coming forth now. Good on them. Brava.

So what is this all about? I’m coming forth with a new event that recently occurred in my life that I just can’t seem to get out of my head. It’s like that one fly that keeps buzzing around and right when you think he’s gone, he comes back with a vengeance.

I worked at the Dimond Center Hotel bar for over a year mixing drinks, meeting cool people, chatting with locals and tourists, all the while really just enjoying my two days a week there. Then in October they hired a new Marketing Director who took over supervision of the bar. Fine. We were doing fine, the rest of the bar staff and I knew what we were doing. All was well until this guy comes in like he owns the place and starts making changes, getting rid of products and all the while not listening to any of our suggestions. As a matter of fact, told me point blank he didn’t want, and wouldn’t be asking for, our suggestions or opinions. I should point out he has never managed a bar or restaurant before. I should also point out; word on the street is he was fired from other hotels for misogynistic comments and/or actions. Meanwhile, he met with the other bartender and during that meeting yelled and cussed and left her in tears. He would walk into the bar arrogantly every day, talking down to me while offering up some new idea or concept he wanted us to promote. One time he had a “Cocktail specials” list that just listed various vodkas, gins, and other liquors. Ummm, not a cocktail list Mr.Doesn’tKnowWhatHe’sDoing.

Whatever, I could bitch and complain about it to my friends and to the other bartenders because we all knew he was a jerk and we were going to just let him sink his own ship. Until. He demanded that I show up to work one day an hour early to meet with him. I explained that I work full-time and leaving an hour early wasn’t happening. I said I would be there 30 minutes prior to my shift and we could talk then. I showed up and without addressing me in any way he said, “Upstairs conference room now.” I calmly explained that if this was how he was going to talk to me, that I was not going to proceed with the meeting. But I did. During the meeting he went on and on about how he came to the hotel to “save” the bar and restaurant because it was in the red and he did all of this work and all he got was attitude from me and the other bartenders and cooks and he just wanted a team. We didn’t do this or that or listen to this or that. When he was done with his rant, I calmly explained that we were a team and we all worked well together but he chose not to be a part of the team. He didn’t want to be a part of our group texts that we used to communicate when we ran out of things, when we needed a shift covered, etc. He was a dictator, not a team player. I explained that all we wanted was some respect and for him to listen to our suggestions because we knew our customers and we knew what people had suggested for menu items and we knew what worked and what didn’t. If he just “asked” for suggestions then all would be merry at the ol’ bar.  It was then that I could see something snap in him. It was scary. He slammed his hand on the table and yelled, “I DON’T HAVE TO ASK YOU FOR ANYTHING. I AM THE FUCKING BOSS! THE FUCKING BOSS! I DON’T ASK YOU, I TELL YOU WHAT TO DO AND YOU DO IT BECAUSE I AM THE FUCKING BOSS!.” I sat there calmly (on the outside, on the inside I was livid) and I retorted with, “Did you really just scream and curse at me?” and he said, “YES I DID!”. I explained that I had never, in all of my 38 years been yelled at or cursed at like that by anyone, especially not a grown man and that maybe if he was having problems with every single person he “managed” he should take a look at himself and his management style, because it obviously wasn’t working. He didn’t like that very much. He got up, turned the lights off in the room, and walked out. While I was still sitting in there. There’s a lot more in between these lines but it wasn’t worth mentioning. The point is, a grown man, a manager, had a temper tantrum and screamed and cursed at me. So I called the General Manager, explained what happened and he decides to call a meeting with the other bartenders. We talked about our issues and concerns and he point blank said, “I’m not going to fire him if that’s what you think.” And I knew right then and there he just waged a war with me and didn’t even know it.

To make a long story longer, I spoke to the CEO and to other corporate higher ups. I documented, emailed, talked on the phone, and followed up. After over a week of no communication, I emailed the CEO of the corporation and asked for an update. Radio silence. Then, through the grapevine, I find that the Old Man Gang (CEO, GM, Supervisor) met and decided that it hadn’t happened, he never yelled or cursed, and that was that. I sent an email resigning explaining that I wouldn’t work for a company that condoned that kind of behavior. Never heard back. All was said and done… or was it?

I’m finding myself in a psychological and moral conundrum. Do I let it go, move on, throw my fist in the air and admit defeat? Or do I push the issue? Do I file a suit with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and let them decide? Make them sweat a little. Part of me thinks that I should let it go and another part of me thinks this guy can’t keep getting away with this and he needs to know he messed with the wrong damn woman. I really want to stick it to the man but don’t want to be petty about it.

What would you do?

A Bitch Session: When your student loan payment could afford you a Lamborghini

I should have a PhD to show for all the years I spent in college. I need a PhD salary to pay for all of the years I spent in college.

I didn’t have plans to go to college. School never really interested me and I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I “grew up” so college wasn’t a priority. When I first decided to go to college I was working full-time plus a part-time job living in the suburbs of Minneapolis. I could barely afford to eat let alone pay for classes so I did what every student does who has never been told not to; I took out student loans. “What? You want to give me $10,000 even though my classes only cost $3,000?” Hell yes I will jump on that boat. Hell, I will buy that boat with my newly found $7,000.

Fast forward about 7 years and I move to Alaska where I start working a job that required a degree. A degree I never got because I dilly dallied around during my previous stint in college. I had a lot of credits that amounted to absolutely nothing; but debt, of course.  Although I worked at this job for years without a degree, and managed just fine, they required me to get one so away I went off to college again. You’d think as someone who is moderately intelligent I would know not to do the ol’ student loan thing again, but alas, I am not that smart apparently. My previous loans had been paid off (thanks dad), and here I was paying for classes with money I did not have. But wait, that’s not the only dumb thing I did you see. The University of Alaska, where I was attending, would only accept a fraction of my previously earned (and paid for) credits so I was having to re-take several classes again…and pay for them.. .again. Then one day someone told me about Alaska Pacific University’s “Degree Completion Program”. Basically I’d graduate in a fraction of the time and with all of my previous credits being well, credited.  Sounds good, right? WRONG! Not only were the classes online and absolutely horrible, I paid for it out the wazoo. I think we all know what part of the body the wazoo is, too. At the time it seemed worth it. What’s the difference of a few thousands, ahem, tens of thousands of dollars? Well, I can tell you- approximately 60 years of paying it back.

The reason I’m telling you this sob story is because student loans piss me off. There are two reasons it angers me so.

#1- Unless you are doing surgery on my brain or representing me in a murder trial, why the hell does anyone need a degree? I navigated life for a long time without one and did just fine. I held positions that required them, and dare I say did just as good of a job as someone with a degree. So what’s the diff? I would much prefer to hire someone with experience and good work ethic than someone who sat in a classroom for four years and has no knowledge of what the real working world is like. I can almost guarantee you that with enough training, I can do the same job as a person with a degree. This of course is with the exception of anything numerical (accounting, CFO, treasurer) because no amount of school, training or money will ever, ever, entice me to work with numbers. Ever..never, ever.

#2- Here people are, trying to better their lives with an education and essentially adding more to the economic growth of our country, yet we make it almost impossible to do so without adding significant, long-term debt to their lives. What sense does that make? We have a welfare program that basically enables and pays people not to work. Why wouldn’t they GIVE people money for school to get them into the workforce and become productive members of society?

Why should money or lack thereof, dissuade someone from getting an education? Why should one college cost more than another? Why should you have to pay more to go to a school outside of your state? Wouldn’t you think it would be a great experience for our young whipper snappers to move out of their homes, experience a new city and state, and people? But what 18 year old kid can do that without the help of student loans? Yes, I know they could get a job and yatta yatta, but they gotta eat, and live, and buy overly expensive books they will hardly ever use.  IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO ME!

Was it my choice to take out student loans? Of course. Was it my choice to go to a private college rather than a crummy local college? Of course. Was it my choice to get a degree in Human Services that basically limits me to doing non-profit, low-paying work the rest of my life? Of course. (I don’t really think it limits me but I’m trying to make a point here) But my actual point is that it is so damn expensive and it’s frustrating that we give people so many things; why not make education one of them? Life isn’t fair, I get that. Just remember that if I “disappear”, mark me as deceased ASAP because my student loans get cancelled and I can live a worry-free life in the South Pacific. I mean, six feet under.

Expectation is the Mother of all Frustration

I started this blog as a means for all you non-Alaskans to experience this amazing state through my eyes. I had good intentions of doing just that, and I did for a while, but recently the blog has become a drop zone for my thoughts and feelings and probably a bunch of gibberish nobody wants to read about. Que Sera Sera. So.. with my greatest of intentions in play, I am coming full circle with this blog.

If you ask my friends how many times they’ve heard me say I’m going to move out of Alaska they wouldn’t be able to give you a number. That is how often I think about and say I’m going to do it. Yet I don’t because I live in one of the most amazing places I’ve ever lived in and I just don’t think I can give it up quite yet. Let me explain….

I’ve become somewhat introspective in my old age (under 40 so maybe not THAT old) and I often think about the life I thought I would have and the life I have now and the differences between the two. I think about what could have been, what should have been, and what has been. I weigh pros and cons, ups and downs, lefts and rights and never myself (god knows that doesn’t need to happen). I dream of the what if’s, what hasn'ts, and what could be’s. I mourn missed opportunities and lost chances and get excited over all the possible things to come.

The thing I think I’ve been struggling with of late is the difference between being happy and being content. Am I happy? Yes. I am a happy person. Am I content? No. I don't think I am.

You see, my life was supposed to be so much more than this (in my mind). I was supposed to get married and have kids. I was supposed to own my own company. I was supposed to have a dog and cats and chickens and goats (ok the goats are a stretch but maybe?). I was supposed to go to book clubs with my best girlfriends and take my new neighbor homemade cookies. I was supposed to volunteer with the PTA and sew Halloween costumes for my kids. I was supposed to pass on traditions and make new ones. But you see, none of those things happened. All my “supposed to’s” were expectations and desires I put upon myself, and to be really content, I have to let them go because those ships have sailed. The wind is no longer beneath my wings or those sails. But let me tell you…. it is not an easy thing to do. Each year that passes another “supposed to” goes out the window and a wee little Beth dream gets crushed into smithereens.

Back to this blog coming full circle so those of you in the L48 (lower 48) can experience this state I live in.

Am I happy? Yes.

Why?

I wake up every single day and look out the mountains and think how beautiful this place is. I’ve made this little house my own and I literally can just sit here and contemplate all these things I’m spewing and be happy as a clam. I look around my house and the treasures I’ve accumulated through the years, each with a memory attached, and revel in the experiences I've had here. I have 20 animals (2 fur, 18 feathered) that rely on me and I on them. I have a community of people I’ve met through various experiences that I can call on at a moment’s notice for anything and everything. I get to share this place with friends and family that come up to enjoy all that is Alaska. Lastly, and most importantly, I have friends and family and friends that are family that mean more to me than just about anything. Friends come and go, they just do. But some stick with you through thick and thin (life experiences and weight…), some make you glorified aunties, some give you the title of Best Friend, some write you into their Book of Life, some help you build coops, allow you to cry on their shoulders, live with you while both in need of friendship, tell you like it is, listen to you tell them how you think it should be, give you a job when you need one, invite you over for every holiday and call you family and make you feel that way, and most importantly, they are there for you and you for them when need be. No judgements. No questions. I have those people here and those people are what keep me in Alaska. Yes I like my house. Yes I like my job. Yes I like how beautiful this place is. Yes I like all of those things…. But it’s the people that I’ve met here that keep me here and for that reason alone, I don’t think I will ever leave or can ever leave.

So maybe my “supposed to’s” just haven’t happened as I initially thought they would. Maybe I’m meant to meet someone later in life when I know who I am and am comfortable with me. Maybe I’m meant to live with my best girlfriends and sip cocktails on the lanai and argue over all the hotties at the Moose Lodge. Maybe I’m meant to be an auntie and not a mother. Maybe I’ve grown into this person that I am for me and not anyone else. Maybe this version of me isn’t the best yet but is the best that there’s been thus far and all those guys I’ve dated missed out (duh). Maybe when I think of failed relationships that I thought were going to go the distance, I should think of them as learning experiences for what I want and don't want from a life companion and not as failures. Maybe I'm supposed to be 38 years old and living where I am, surrounding myself with the people in my life, and experiencing the things I am experiencing. Maybe that is okay. No more apologies. No more settling. No more what if's, no more trying to fit square pegs into round holes.

Since I can’t know what my life will bring, I can only look back at what it’s brought and accept it and move on to what’s to come. I hope it’s going to be great because when it comes down to it, I’ve earned it. In my 38 years I've experienced things people should never experience and I hope they never do. But I've lived through it and with it and I'm a better person for it. So letting go of my expectations of what I thought my life should be shouldn't be too hard of a thing to do, right? One dream gone, another created. I mean really, what fun is it to know what life is going to bring anyway? It’s like opening all your Christmas presents beforehand… not that I ever did that…….

The countdown is on... or maybe it's the biological clock I hear...

You know how sometimes you stress/fret/ponder/question/analyze/wonder about things outside of your control? I rarely do that, and I am serious when I say that. Some past highly stressful life experiences have taught me that there’s no point in worrying because doing so rarely solves anything; things almost always work out in the end. Yet there’s this one teeny weenie thought that keeps popping in my head that causes me to pull a Rodin and really think about.

I hate math. I still use my fingers to count and anything outside of basic addition and subtraction causes my brain to violently hemorrhage. So when you add a disconcerting thought with a hatred of math, you’ve got a big ol’ conundrum on your hands… which I do, but not really.

Bear with me here...

You see, I’m at that age where numbers really factor into things. How many more years until I retire. The rapid rate at which my hair is turning gray. The amount I still owe in student loans. The number of childbearing years I have left in my life. Wait, what? Did I say that? Ok, hear me out.

I am 38 years old. THIRTY-EIGHT. At this point my eggs aren’t dried up, just slightly pickled.. but as a single, barren, thirty-eight year old, here is how my head works:

I’m a few months into my thirty-eighth year. So, let’s say I meet the man of my dreams sometime this year (snicker snicker). We date for a couple of years which will make me 40. We go on a vacation to somewhere warm where he proposes to me in an overly emotional way (for him, not me), I accept. We date for another year or so just to make sure he’s not a psycho (like my ex) and alas, I’m 42. We get married and take a year or two to honeymoon it. Now I’m pushing 44. FORTY-FOUR!! That is half of 88 (that was the extent of my math skills going on right there)!! Who wants to have a kid at 44?? Not me. Not to mention my eggs will be shriveled up and dead by then.

So let the math continue (shoot me now). So I have a kid at 44. That means I will potentially have a kid at my house until I am 62 years old. There is always the chance that I will kill the kid because I don’t have the patience that I used to (snicker snicker again. I have never been patient), so that could play into this whole thing as well.

When it comes down to it, let’s be real, I won’t find someone who can put up with me and there won’t be any immaculate conception going on here… so maybe I just do it by myself? Hard decisions call for a good ol’ pros and cons list:

Pros:

• I think I would make a stellar parent (with the exception of the patience-thing).
• I’d mold him/her to be a mini-me which in turn would be awesome.
• I’d have a built in sober driver.. that’s ok right?
• I have always wanted to say to my kid, “I will remember that!” like my mother used to say to me?
• I could blame him/her for me being chubby. “I just haven’t lost that baby weight yet!”
• I want someone to take care of me when I’m old? Which I would be soon after they were born… so…
• As a parent you get a whole day all about you: Mother's/Father's day. Hellooo presents!
• I could name he/she anything I wanted. Bocephus Klein has a nice ring to it.

Cons:

• He/She would take up my precious time and I have very little of it even now.
• I’d have to move out of my little house (or have a Flowers in the Attic type setup)…
• I’ve heard horror stories of child birth and the aftermath. Sounds painful and unpleasant.
• I like to sleep without interruptions.
• I would have to spend my money on things other than Coors Light. Deal.breaker.
• I would have to keep a job for more than a year.. psh..
• I’d have to befriend other moms… who will be half my age. No thanks.
• Tickets to get out of this state are expensive enough and having to buy another seat for a kid? Probs not.
• Do I really want to bring a child into this world? I don’t know see good ol’ fashioned values coming back into play anytime soon and this world has kind of gone to crapola.
• I think it’d be harder to find a date with a kid.. Oh, wait. I can’t find a date without one. Moot point.

Maybe I will just pretend to be faux-prego for a while and see how it feels. Let me start my checklist to prepare:

• Eat enough for two. ü
• Grow a baby bump. ü(although some may call it a beer belly) 
• Have constant mood swings. ü
• Pee all the time. ü
• Buy maternity pants. ü (thought I was buying super comfy pants..nope, maternity)

So what are y’alls thoughts on this? For those of you who don’t have kids, do you regret it? For those of you who do have kids, do you regret it? HA!

"Time is the wisest counselor of all." ~~Pericles

Time is a funny, funny, thing. Minutes can seem like days and yet some days can go by in a blink of an eye. There is a particular set of days I've been counting lately, a number that had an end date that seemed light years away. You see, I decided to quit drinking for the month of October. In the grand scheme of things, a month isn't that long when compared to a lifetime, but for someone giving up something that they enjoy, a month is 31 days, 744 hours, 44,640 minutes, 2,678,400 seconds long. It may as well be infinity. Times two.

So why Sober October (as it was deemed by my friends)? I think the obvious answer to anyone who knows me is that Beth+Beer is like peas in a pod, knives and forks, ketchup and grilled cheese, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.. you get it. I was getting to a point where my drinking was becoming an issue and it took some great friends and some honest family members to point it out in a not-so-gentle way. It wasn't that I wasn't going to work or was shirking my responsibilities, I was "functioning" as they say. It was more so that I had gained 50lbs in one summer, was incredibly unhealthy, spent way too much money, and was spending far too much time imbibing or recovering. So not drinking for 31 days seemed like the right thing to do at the right time. If I'm being honest, I was only going to stop for 28 days so I could celebrate Halloween with my friends.

Here are a few things I learned in those 31 days:

• It really helps to have a friend be sober with you.
• There is no shame in telling people you don't/aren't drinking. I thought people wouldn't want to hang out with me during my 31 day stint, but that just hasn't been the case.
• I saved SO much money! When we play trivia my tab is next to nothing because there's not expensive booze on it. 
• I am still funny without alcohol (but I'm sure my comedic abilities were exceptional while intoxicated). 
• I drink so much more water than I ever have, which I hear is good for you. 
• I gained so much time to do things that are important. I think of all the time spent at a bar and how much more productive I could have been and I cringe a bit... maybe more than a bit.
• I feel 95% better. I sleep better, I wake up feeling better. I don't have hang overs. I get up early and get things done instead of lying around in a fog all day. Weekends are so long!!
• I feel less bloated and gross and I think I'm down 10+ lbs in just one month. Crazy.

I think the most important thing I learned in those 31 days, and something I was a little nervous about to be honest, is that I don't NEED alcohol. I think I used it as a band-aid for a long time and instead of coping with things, I just got drunk. Now I'm at a place in my life where I am content, ready to be happy and healthy, and am supported by a great network of friends and family. Drinking became a habit and I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to kick it. Most things in my life revolved around it (trivia, bonfires, dinner parties, going to the lake, etc. etc. etc.) and yet, here I find myself not missing it one bit. I won't lie and say I don't miss the bar scene, because I love talking to people, meeting new people, and the whole vibe. But, I don't have to miss that anymore because lo and behold, as the universe often seems to work, I started working IN a bar where I get the same opportunities to chit chat while serving alcohol instead of consuming it. A win/win if you ask me.

Well, I didn't drink on Halloween. I went and played BINGO, went thrift shop perusing, and went to dinner with my Sober Bestie and had a great time. I also haven't drank since, nor do I see myself picking it back up again anytime soon. 36 days going strong. That's not to say I won't have a few beers here and then, but I will never, mark my words, ever, go back to how it's been. 

A huge thank you to everyone who has been super supportive during this time and put up with Sober Beth (I hear I was a little cranky for a bit)... and an even bigger thank you to Torrie who took this journey with me, has also stuck it out, and who I can still laugh uncontrollably with over the dumbest little things. To think we thought we'd be boring sober! Only great things to come, I feel it. 

Tears of a Clown

As most of you know this last year has been difficult for me. Saying "difficult" downplays how bad I felt during the last year but doesn't downplay the magnitude of the situations. I mean, I'm still alive, moderately healthy, great friends, my family is all doing well, etc. etc.. So saying "difficult" in those respects is like saying, "I had a difficult trip to Paris because my private plane wouldn't start." Yet, this past year has drained me emotionally and spiritually. I wish I could say it drained me physically but rather than anything draining per se, I've managed to fill up (and out) quite nicely. For those of you who are on the periphery, you probably wouldn't even know that this year has pushed me beyond what I thought I could handle because it's not every day you are honest when someone asks how you're doing. If you did ask, and if I had been honest, I would have told you that I felt like life was compiling boulders on my shoulders that I was not sure I was strong enough to handle.

1 Timothy 6:10 KJV states: "For the love of money is the root of all evil".  I relied on money and what money could buy to make me happy. But you see, it isn't the having of money that matters, it's the not-having of money that makes the real difference.

I've had jobs where I made $15 an hour and I've had jobs where I've made far more than that. Nothing in my life changed by the increase in salary. Literally, nothing changed. I had a nice place to live, drove a decent car, did the same recreational things. What changed was how I spent the money; foolishly. My house is like the room on Wheel of Fortune that they pan to so the contestants can see the prizes. OOhhhh, AHHH.... Not that my house is filled with treasures, it's filled with stuff. Dumb stuff that I spent money on because I could (and did.. a lot because it made me feel good).

So an increase in salary doesn't mean much, but take away that salary and it's a whole new world. Imagine living on your savings for a year or more. Could you do it? Do you even have savings? How far above your means do you live? What items in your life are worth having if you were to lose your "means"? Ask yourself that question. Look at your life and what's important; it isn't the stuff. It just isn't. Deep down we all know that, but it doesn't stop us from desiring it. It's the people that support you through the rough times that matter, and if you treat people poorly trying to keep up with the Joneses, nobody will be there when the shit hits the fan. So by all means, make yourself feel "good" by spending egregiously-- but pray every day that you don't get to a point where you're selling that stuff for a fraction of the cost at a garage sale because your ivory tower crumbled. It's truly that, just stuff.

Over 50% of divorced couples stated that financial issues were the cause. A study done by the American Psychological Association found over 3/4 of American's suffer from financial stress. It isn't easy to talk about and quite frankly it's embarrassing to admit to, but it happens and when it it does it hits like a sledgehammer. It's uncomfortable to be around other people not experiencing it and who don't understand it. How many times this year I've heard, "It's only $_____." Yes well, only $____ can also keep my lights on and gas in my car, so.....

It humbles a person, especially as an adult, to have to ask for help. I used to be too proud to do that, but this year I had to ask for help and luckily for me, I have wonderful friends and amazing family that supported me through one of the worst years of my life thus far (and not just financially speaking). Being able to pay them back financially is easy, but paying them back for their emotional support is something I don't think I will ever be able to do. I'm rich in the sense that I have that support system, and rich in the sense that I know now what is most important in my life, and that is rich enough for me.
(unless you want to will me your life savings.. I'm not too rich to deny you doing that)

What would you do with the truth?

Is there such a thing as being too honest? I don’t think so, but if you know me, that probably doesn’t come as much of a surprise. I also know that I am not perfect, nor is anyone else. What you are about to read is a true story that I couldn’t possibly fully depict or explain in it's entirety with words.

A few things have happened in the last year that got me thinking that either a) I need to cut back on my honesty b) other people need to learn how to accept an honest response or, c) maybe my thinking that a true friend will always be honest with me isn’t really true.

Case A

“Barb” and I were friends for 6 or 7 years. Bit-by-bit, I started noticing things that Barb would do that would make me stop and go “hmmm”. Barb pulled some really crappy moves with me and with other friends and after much consideration I decided to let Barb know what was on my mind. Albeit not pretty, or done in the most friendly of ways, I explained to her that I didn’t think she was being a good friend and detailed instances that supported my theory. It was always “All about Barb” and I never realized that until, well, I did. A friendship, like any other relationship, should be two-sided and with Barb it wasn’t. I know it sounds crazy, but looking at it retrospectively, it was almost as if she didn’t even understand that the things she would do would affect the other person. Needless to say Barb and I are no longer friends and I feel a weight lifted because of it. Supporting an unhealthy friendship is exhausting and I was done pretending all was a-ok.

Back to my original point: If you were Barb, would you have wanted to know that you weren’t a good friend? Would you have taken what was said and really thought about how you treat people? Could you self reflect and really think about why you treat people a certain way? Or, would you defend yourself and project back onto me?

My thoughts: If a friend, or anyone really, came to me and said, “Beth, I feel that you aren’t giving in our relationship and that sometimes you can be a little selfish. I don’t understand why you do _________ and/or__________.  It hurts my feelings when you __________ and/or___________.” I would be mortified. Absolutely mortified. I would go home, sit on my couch and really think about what they said. I would feel terrible and probably make them something homemade as an apology gift (a little overboard, but I might actually do that). I would absolutely want to know if a friend of mine was having ill feelings towards me in any way. That is their job as my friend to be honest with me, regardless of how I might feel about it.

What about you? Would you want your friends/family to be honest with you? 

What would you do with that information once it was received? 

Why wouldn’t you want your loved ones to be honest with you?