What is the right moment to walk away? To not only end the chapter, but to close the entire book?
My mom asked me for some advice today - which is not terribly unusual - and I did the best I could. But it had a lot to do with the end of relationships and how to handle them. I don't exactly have a very good track record with that myself. It seems I have two modes of dealing with an ex. Cutting all ties or having a rocky and uneasy friendship like thing. I am not sure which is option is better - because there are pros and cons to each.
I am sure those aren't the only two options in existance. Just the only two I have ever used, with...questionable results. And it just so happens that lately, that has been an area of reevaluation in my life. Should I close those books? Have I held back from doing so out of my own neurotic fear? Or would I regret walking away later on? I hate this sort of double guessing. But these days I am much better at taking a few deep breaths and waiting to see a little longer. Back a few years ago I would have thrown my hands up in frustration and gone with whatever was screaming at me the loudest at that moment in time. Results were, again, questionable.
So when do you walk away? When have you lost too much faith to keep going forward? When is it time to look for a new path?
I was reading Fullmoon's most recent entry - which was also a convenient way to get my horoscope, as we are the same sign. It said this:
"TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Perhaps you rarely consider the possible damage caused by pandering to the social custom of reporting 'everything's just fine' when, in fact, it isn't. 'Fine' is the blandest of descriptor terms, providing an answer to an interested party that tells 'em absolutely nothing about what's going on with you. It's merely a perfunctory offering of insubstantial content, like a slightly friendly wave across the street to a neighbor whose name you still haven't bothered to ask. This isn't such a big deal, unless you're interacting with a person you think of as legitimately meaningful in your life as a good friend, close confidante or romantic interest. Then, your little white lie of omission—telling someone you're 'just fine' when there's some more specific feeling you're experiencing—stands as a glaring blockade to the very relationships that exist to support you in moments of disorderly emotion. It's akin to sharing only the most squeaky-clean details of your life with, say, your grandmother, to maintain a highly guarded (and sanitized) image of yourself. Except the difference is that your friends know (and care) that you're withholding something juicy… and your mistrustful gesture of feigning 'fineness' (whatever that's supposed to be) serves to keep them at arm's length. So you're still going through whatever you're going through and you're doing it without help. Why? Because you didn't just present a more honest report on how you're doing to people who genuinely care."
And I don't want to recount her whole entry, because you should really read it yourself, but the basics are that she said there are times when your support system of friends needs a break and needs to hear you are Just Fine. It's a manner of picking your obstacles - the ones you can get over yourself and the ones you do need help for - in order to maintain your realtionships. And I certainly agree with that.
A few years back, my good friend Nora said I was just like her husband and that was why he and I got along so well. We were both the type of people who could be sinking up to our necks in quicksand, but rather than call for help, we would trade sarcastic quips with each each other until the end. It's true. At least it was, until recently.
So, let me ask you this. What happens when the person who doesn't like to ask for help finally asks for help...and is refused?
