Rules For Being My Friend
Friendship is hard.
These are my nine rules:
Don’t make me the butt of your joke, and expect me to laugh. Friends don’t make friends into punchlines. My weight, my career, whatever it is, this is an aspect of me and deserves respect. That I expect to feel safe in your company doesn’t make me a weak link, or some one who always wants “yes men.” But I should, for example, be able to post on Facebook about positive event in my life and feel safe that you’re going to share in my happiness rather than use this time as an opportunity for a good laugh–at my expense.
Don’t act like I’m doing something wrong, when I stand up for myself. I have that right. We all have that right. A friendship where peace is dependent on someone never saying, “that hurts my feelings,” or “knock it off” isn’t a friendship but one person using another as an emotional punching bag.
Don’t disagree with me, or dismiss me, when I tell you I’m upset. I get to decide what my perspective is. This is not a democracy, but my feelings and my life. Our friendship is not an invitation to you to control me.
Be happy for me, in my successes. And if you can’t–for mine, or anyone’s–ask yourself why. They say you find out who your friends are when you fail, but you find out who your friends are when you succeed, too. At anything, whether it be a romantic relationship, a job, etc. I don’t owe it to you, or to anyone, to be apologetic for gaining the things I’ve worked so hard to achieve. Moreover, I’m not sure why I’d want to invest time and energy in anyone who didn’t want to see me succeed.
Be honest. If you have a problem with me, say so. Passive-aggressive bullshit is for pussies.
Don’t make me responsible for your shitty day. This is like the rule above: tell me what’s going on, like an adult, and give me the opportunity to respond supportively. Tearing me a new one on a pretext, because you’re having a hard time and need someone to vent on, isn’t friendship. It’s abuse. I don’t have any obligation whatsoever to sit there and take it because whatever reason. When people genuinely love and care for each other–platonically, romantically, whatever–they absolutely do not expect this of each other. Ever. If someone ever, ever in your life tries to suggest that you owe them something in the way of being made to feel unloved, unlovable, or less because you resist being an emotional–or physical–punching bag, head for the hills.
Laugh with me, not at me. This goes back to the first rule. Sure, everyone needs to lighten up once in awhile. But we don’t get to decide, for other people, what is and is not triggering. Enjoy the lighter side, but in a way that still respects the other person’s feelings, perspective, and boundaries. You might find a joke about someone’s sexual orientation, gender expression, racial heritage, or job or educational situation just hilarious but that doesn’t mean they will, or should, or have to.
Listen to me. Take what I’m telling you about myself seriously. Because if you don’t, what’s the point?
Don’t use me. I’ve always believed in the old adage about how you have to be a friend to get a friend. I’ve also always believed that, in life, other people will treat you as well as you let them. Using people comes in many forms. Trust me, speaking as a recovering doormat, I know. Sometimes it’s asking you for money; sometimes it’s using you like free therapy. All relationships make demands and sometimes none of us, even the strongest of us, have all that many spoons. But the difference between a true friend, even the neediest of true friends, and a user is that true friends give back. Maybe only by understanding; by cutting the other person some slack in turn. Whereas, when someone expects a consistent and unending stream of time, energy, and understanding out of you while giving none of those in return–especially that last one–you’re starting to enter user territory.
Friendship is supposed to be one of the best parts of life, not one of the worst. When a friend makes you feel terrible about yourself, for being yourself, it’s perfectly okay to reassess–whatever that person says. Life may be a series of obligations but the person you owe the most to, is you. Love yourself, as best as you can, and don’t tolerate anyone in your life, for even one minute, who makes you feel wrong for wanting to do so.
Your real friends might not be perfect–indeed, certainly won’t be, presuming they’re not imaginary–but they should consistently love and respect you. They’ll slip up from time to time, as you will, but they’ll accept responsibility for what they’ve done, apologizing and learning from their mistakes, and move on. They’ll accept your apologies, when necessary, in turn, celebrating your imperfections rather than holding them over you.
And remember: at the end of the day, who you let into your life is your choice.
