Breaking The Rule and Making Friends

Our children enjoy a friendship as well. 

As I look over my upcoming commitments on the calendar I realize that the two events I most anticipate are gatherings with good friends.  These good friends are both women I met through my birth work.  From the outside they couldn't look more different.  One Amish the other a Doctor of Psychology, both cherished friends. 

There comes a moment after the birth and postpartum work of a birthworker is done where you have to make a decision.  “Will I see this woman again?”  Often it’s a complex sorting full of emotion and sentimentality.  I witnessed some of the most vulnerable and difficult moments in her life.  There was that moment of transformation and victory birth can bring. If that doesn’t create a bond what does?  The problem is that the bond is based on a professional relationship.  One where I carefully lay boundaries, and try to keep clients separate from my personal life.  Boundaries are the way to prevent burn out.  I am aware of what energy I can give a client and what I have to hold back for myself and my family.  So I have an unwritten rule for myself,  NO COLLECTING OF FRIENDS.  Casual and friendly is fine, but ongoing growth into my personal life kind of friendships I can’t maintain. Except with these two women I somehow sidestepped my own rule.  And I’m glad I did.

I first met Stef when I snuck into her house in the middle of the night.  She was laboring with her second daughter and I had been summoned as the midwife’s assistant for the home birth.  When I entered the darkened home, the candles were lit and it felt peaceful.  Stef was naked, or nearly so, seated on a birth ball in her living room.  She was surrounded by her husband and mother and sister in law.  She was laboring beautifully.  I will never forget how lovely she looked.  “She looks just like I do” I thought to myself and she was naked and she wasn't ashamed. This took me aback.  Granted she was in labor at the time so that helps with one’s inhibitions.  And for the record every time I've seen her since she’s been fully clothed.  Still I remember seeing her beauty in our size of a body and feeling washed over with appreciation.  Side note:  When you are a size 14-18 woman there isn't a lot of imagery in our culture that you can identify with and have the same kind of positive feeling.

A few months after the birth I sent her a note telling her about my impressions.  I wanted to reflect back to her what I had observed, hoping I was offering her a gift.  That was the first inroad to our friendship. 

We began getting together for drinks and delicious food on what felt like dates.  We weren't romantic of course, but we really didn't know each other well.  The night of her daughter’s birth didn't involve much small talk.  I got nervous before our outings and wondered what I should wear, what will we talk about.  That all faded of course as we got together more often and began to get to know each other.  She and I are more than the check list of same and differences.  She is so caring and a good listener, and I appreciate her perspective.

A year or so into our friendship, I had a miscarriage.  I was devastated.  Stef was the friend who supported me through that.  The tables had turned and she was assisting me through a physically and emotionally challenging time.  Her attention to detail and inquiry into my grief was just right.  I will forever be thankful for it.  That event balanced us out somehow. 

Velda and I meet over coffee at her kitchen table several times a month.  Our children make loud rucus in the background while the rhythm of our talk carries over top the noise.  Being Amish, a big part of her life are the domestic tasks of child rearing and homemaking.  And she is good at it.  We talk recipes and share stories of naughty children and clueless husbands. My interaction with her feeds that part of my life which I find quite lonely.  I enjoy my days at home with my son and maintaining a place for my family to be nourished and feel safe, but I feel isolated sometimes.  Velda understands that, and wants to know about it. And we laugh, through frustrations, through hard times, there is always laughter when I am with Velda.  

On the surface there are so many obstacles to our friendship.  For example communicating: we send letters in the mail, handwritten letters.  She is hard to get a hold of directly on the phone so I leave voice mails.  I can’t text her or leave her a Facebook message.  Getting together has to be planned out way in advance or I just stop in hoping she has an hour to visit.  She can handle our differences, large and small, and I am learning that I can too.  Theology, marriage, body image- when we talk, we go there, we hash it out.  Maybe we are free to be real with each other because of our differences.  There isn't much other cross over in our personal lives.  I trust what I tell her stays in her home and she feels the respect I have for her and her way of life. 

I remember the moment when I realized Velda and I could really become good friends. “We are all the same underneath our cloths,  Amish & English.”  she said with a knowing smile. (English is what the Amish call non-Amish people because that is what we speak, not because it is our country of origin.) She meant that our person hood is more than what we look like on the outside.  We all struggle, get discouraged, worry and make mistakes.  This kind of insight is classic Velda, simply spoken and terribly true.  Just an hour at her kitchen table over coffee lifts my spirits and pulls me through the day.

I see myself as someone who always follows the rules, at least the rules according to me. Led by intuition mostly, and its brought me two rich life giving friendships.  It takes some intention to reset the balance, I have to let them in and get to know the real me.  I have to take a turn at being vulnerable.  Thank you Stef and Velda for rewarding my risk with your friendship.