There’s a certain idea about arguments, and taking breaks from people. I even read a version of it in a meme just this morning. Let’s see if I can do the words justice. Essentially, it goes like this:

“You can walk away and take all the time you need, and we’ll see if I’m still here when you get back. I’m not waiting around.”

I am sure that works for some people. I am sure that’s the right decision for some people. I have often wondered if that would have been the right approach for me when it comes to some friendships and relationships I’ve had, or even those I still have. I have had experiences in friendships and relationships that most people would absolutely have walked away from without a backward glance.

Here’s the thing though. I’m not that person.

Have I had my share of breakups and break-offs? Do I have people who I have cut out of my life entirely? You betcha. Most of this blog is dedicated to the process I undertook to walk away from my own mother, for cripes’ sake. I’ve been asked how I could dare do that, as if it was an easy decision, when it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I did it, and it was the right thing to do for my family and I. It was an impossibly hard exception to my general rule.

When it comes to people I feel truly devoted to, people whose history with me I can’t bear to say goodbye to, people who I love because I know in my bones, in spite of the present situation, that they love me (for whatever reason)…I’ve learned by now that I’m just not that person. I don’t walk away.

I’ve taken breaks from people. People have taken breaks from me. I think that’s normal and healthy; it’s hard, sometimes very hard, but it’s normal and healthy. Sometimes those breaks are short, and sometimes they’re long. Sometimes things pick up right where they left off, and sometimes the nature of the relationship or friendship changes from the way it was before. Relationships change, because people change, and guess what? We’re supposed to. We’re supposed to grow; sometimes, people grow together, and sometimes, they grow apart.

I greatly dislike arguing with people, especially with people I love. I hate confrontation. If I’ve learned anything about myself in the years since I extricated my life from my toxic family and history, it’s that I don’t have the stamina for sustained anger and resentment. I get angry like anyone else, but I can’t hold on to it for too long in the grand scheme of things. I’m different from my mother and brother in this way. They can (and do) hold grudges forever. I don’t know why exactly I never became proficient in the art of anger. I find that anger hurts, it takes up too much bandwidth, and I guess I just think that people need compassion more than they need pain.

Usually what this means for me is that if I do end up on the fritz with someone, I find myself ready for resolution a little sooner than the other person. Whether we need to talk things out more or we simply agree to disagree, I’m the one typically waiting for it. I usually am the one who lands in the position of, “seeing if I’ll be here when you get back.”

Let me take the doubt out of the equation. You let me know when you’re ready; I’ll be here.