28811:59 A.M.
Sherrie’s extension rang. She picked it up: “Sherrie Phillips,”
she said, waiting for the answer.
“Sherrie, thank goodness you’re there! I don’t know what I’d
have done if you’d been at lunch!”
There was no mistaking that voice. It belonged to Lois
Thompson. It was unusual for Lois to call these days. She didn’t
call much at all since Sherrie had begun addressing the imbal-
ances in the relationship. She had confronted Lois over coffee:
“Lois, it seems as though you always want to talk to me when
you’re hurting. And that’s fine. But when I’m struggling, you’re
either unavailable, distracted, or uninterested.”
Lois had protested that this wasn’t at all true. “I’m a true
friend, Sherrie,” she said.
“I guess we’ll find out. I need to know if our friendship is
based on what I do for you—or on true friendship. And I want
you to be aware of some boundaries I’m setting with us. First, I
won’t always be able to drop everything for you, Lois. I love you,
but I simply can’t take that kind of responsibility for your pain.
And second, there will be times when I’m really hurting—and
I’m going to call you and ask for support. I actually don’t know
if you know me and my pain at all. So we both need to find out.”
Over the next few months, Sherrie had found out a great
deal about this friendship. She found out that when she couldn’t
console Lois during her chronic emergencies, Lois would with-
draw, hurt. She found out that when Lois was doing all right, she
would ignore Sherrie. Lois never called just to see how Sherrie
was doing. And she found out that when Sherrie herself called
Lois with problems, Lois could only talk about herself.
It was sad to find out that a childhood connection had never
really flourished into a mutual attachment. Lois simply couldn’t
come out of her self-centeredness enough to want to understand
Sherrie’s world.
But back to the phone call. Sherrie answered, “Lois. I’m glad
you called. But I’m out the door. Can I call you back later?”
Boundaries