2018 was an odd year for me. It was why I didn’t write for so long. When you’re in the middle of a storm, its a little soon to report to others about how you fared. But now I am ready to talk about it.

I have so many friends whom I love and respect, and am truly grateful for the role each plays in my life. I’ve been fortunate enough enjoy a large social circle of diverse personalities with plenty of activities scheduled on most weekends. It could be reasonably argued that my tribe is more important to me than my immediate family (children excluded). Yet, while I love these people, I don’t necessarily like many of them. 

You might be able to relate a little bit. We all have those friends who say things that make you cringe, or are entirely too needy, entirely too often. Maybe a few friends who drink too much and take your personal inventory when they do? It happens to the best of us. Life isn’t a made-for-television sitcom and no one is fantastically witty all the time. But after years of traveling in these social circles, I was routinely finding myself surrounded by my besties and thinking, “why the hell am I here with these people?”

That can’t be good, right?

Facing the truth about the value of my social relationships has been incredibly difficult. Like being in a bad marriage, it’s sometimes easier to ignore the flaws than napalm your entire way of life. There’s also shame associated with failed relationships that many of us carry. Can I really afford to add a few more pounds of baggage to that already heavy load?

But the way I began to feel after spending time with these people couldn’t be ignored.

It started with small things. A negative remark about a mutual friend… bragging about clothes, trips, new boobs and money… body shaming that never ended. But after a while, the dynamics of the group seemed to take on the behind-the-scenes drama of an episode of Dynasty. The importance of stepping out in nice, tidy pairs seemed to be more important than how your kids were doing. Alliances were built and broken with coordinated efficacy over what people weighed, drove and wore. Arguments about who was invited to what and who showed up for which demanded taxing decisions on takings sides or being awkwardly exclusive.

After time, I was trying so hard to navigate the landmines that my friends were all laying for each other, that I didn’t notice when I was hovering over one myself.

It began when our friend David separated from his wife. The chronically single aren’t really considered “whole” among many members of the pricier side of Baltimore. So once my people got it in their head that the two singles of our group should be together, it was a hard notion for them to let go of.

It started innocently enough. Just a little gentle nudging. “David’s single now, don’t you think he’s a good catch?” But nudging became pushing, and the pushing went too far sometimes. “WHY don’t you like him? Do you want to me alone forever?”

David was all for it. I clearly was not.

Over the course of about six months, well-intended matchmaking became mean-spirited pressure. The atmosphere became so toxic that it was hard to breathe. I found myself running out of an upscale restaurant once in tears as one friend screamed at me “just fuck him already!” and the others chimed in with laughter or similar taunts. David scathed me in public on several occasions, calling me “broken,” “damaged,” and a “man-hater.”

And his ire began to spill over into my social media feed. 

On the day I received a facade improvement grant to help rehab my commercial building, he called me out on Facebook as a “welfare recipient, sucking on the tit of the Baltimore taxpayer as my children freeze to death in public schools.” But in private, he had a great talent for maneuvering me away from the crowd, pouring liquor down my throat, and shoving his tongue into my mouth as I tried very hard to politely decline his advances.

Discretely, I began to alert others in the group about David’s abusive behavior and told them how much it bothered me. Not necessarily because I wanted them to finally get that it was a hard “no” so they would dial back the pressure. But because I wanted them to understand their own role in the position they put me in.

They said that David was just being “defensive.” “Can you blame him?” one asked.

I felt helpless and utterly defeated. After all, if seven of my closest friends thought the two of us should be together, who the hell was I to disagree?

I knew there could be trouble if I didn’t handle this the right way, so I was a good sport about it for many months. I giggled along with the jabs. I brushed off the abusive language. I conceded that I could have used a little therapy after my bitter divorce. And I made sure I was never alone with David again. But I also made the fateful decision that—while still in my life and among my social circles—I needed to kick David out of my social media feed. That decision that was the beginning of the end of my relationship with the circle of seven.

Almost immediately the exclusions began. I’d see them on social media out at our favorite places. All there, except me. I let it go for a while, but eventually called them on it. I didn’t yell or demand explanations. I just let them know I saw what they were doing and it hurt.

That was when I learned an important lesson among my tribal community. Someone can be as brutal as a leading character in Mean Girls and not lose a friend or miss an invitation. Just don’t you dare talk about the hurt feelings it causes. That is decidedly NOT allowed. No one cares if someone has been cruel to you. Be a grown up, put on your big girl pants, and by all means, keep your mouth shut about it.

I broke the rules.

At first the seven denied deliberately excluding me. But eventually rallied around David and admitted that it would be uncomfortable to have me there too. They charged me with being “dramatic” for bringing it up and we haven’t spoken to each other since.

I was more than happy to let them go for a lot of reasons. Not just the whole matchmaking gone awry thing. The fun was gone and the sheer amount of alcohol it took for them to reach their limit was ridiculous. No more babysitting lushes who are trying to drive home, finding lost cell phones in bathrooms stalls on their behalf, helping with resume writing, moving, pet sitting rides to airports, and all of the lengthy to-dos I was charged with.

I was genuinely looking forward to moving on with my other friendships still in tact. But I soon realized that it wasn’t going to be that easy. The circle of seven were part of a larger network of friends, and ripples that form from such a public break can be socially devastating, as I was about to learn.

A truth I’ve learned is that sometimes you just have to break something down, to build something back up. Many cliche’s have been born from this truth and for a good reason. It’s almost impossible to change your circumstances without removing the obstacles that stand in your way. We may tell ourselves that we can “work things out” in a bad marriage, with a job we hate, or surrounded by friends who really aren’t. But that’s really just a way of learning to live with what’s holding us back. Breakups are hard, but necessary at all stages of life. As I get older, I’ve learned I’m willing to risk just about anything to get to happy. I wish I was as comfortable with risking bad relationships when I was younger.

The thing I am most grateful for today is the ability to live through painful experiences. I know that doesn’t necessarily sound like something to be grateful for. But too many years of my life were wasted on avoiding pain. It never works. And it always means avoiding something pretty wonderful on the other side. I can feel my pain, wallow in my loneliness, cry my tears, and get to what really matters to me when I am finally ready to put it down and move on. That’s what I did in 2018, and the other side is turning out to be worth it all.