Your Mess Is Mine
I’m going to a friend’s party this week—a party for her
child, and that means her family will be there. She texted
last night to say, “You know how my dad is sometimes,
right? I feel worried about my dad at the party. I feel
embarrassed.”
And I texted back as quickly as I could, fingers tripping:
“I get it. I get him. I love you. You don’t have to worry
about this with me, okay?”
We texted back and forth a little, and then all night I was
thinking about the exchange. I’ve known her, and therefore
her family, for more than two decades. We’ve known each
other longer than we’ve known our husbands. We’ve
known each other since before we could drive.
But there’s something so human about feeling
embarrassed, about wanting to hide, about wanting to
conceal and control the out-of-control and painful things
about our lives and stories and families.
Love, though, doesn’t allow hiding. Love invites whole
selves and whole stories out into the light. Friendship sees
into us, into our secrets, into our elaborate games and
excuses. Friendship carries all this mess together, so that
you don’t have to hide, so that you carry it together. What a