The bridge to self-respect

The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn. David Russell

Several years ago I had a friend who lied. Constantly. She lied about the little things. About the things there was no need to lie about.

"Really mom," my daughters asked. "Why do you keep seeing her. You know she's lying. You know she can't be depended upon."

I didn't want to believe she was lying. I told them, "She just likes to stretch reality a bit to make it more comfortable. She has issues and so many friends have deserted her. And she's done so much to help me get back on my feet..."

And, I thought I had to be nice. I thought I needed to be grateful. For how she'd helped me when I really needed her help. For the things she'd given me when I really needed those things and was still struggling to make ends meet.

And then one day, while driving back from a local Garden Centre, her cell phone rang and she breathlessly told the caller how she was on her way to meet them and was just getting out of a meeting and she'd probably be another half hour at least but she would be there. "I'm so sorry for being late," she said. "It couldn't be avoided. I simply couldn't get out of my meeting any sooner."

Now, the back of her vehicle was filled with bedding plants. We had just spent an hour wandering through the garden store's aisles choosing white over blue border plants, red over pink begonias. We had not been in a meeting that could not have ended sooner.

"You know, we could have gone to the garden centre another time if you had a meeting," I commented when she hung up.

She laughed. "Oh. That. Well they've been bugging me to go to one of those sales pitchy things and I can't get them off my back." And she kept driving on as if nothing was amiss.

We reached her house. Unloaded the bedding plants and dirt. She went into the house to make coffee and I set to work in her garden.

A short while later she came out of the house, all tidied up, car keys and purse in hand. "Oh, Louise," she exclaimed, "I just got a call and have to go meet a client. They've got some crisis going on. I won't be long and I'll bring us back some lunch from Mercato's (a trendy, oh so expensive Italian deli that makes the best Baked Ziti in town)." and she was gone.

I knelt amidst the bedding plants and garden tools, the fertilizer bag and gardening paraphernalia and thought about what had just happened.

My daughters were right. She was lying and I was digging in her dirt.

I stood up. Dropped the tools in my hand. Dusted off my knees and walked away. I got in my car and drove off without looking back.

Sometimes, we gotta burn our bridges to create room for us to see the truth in our lives. Truth was, I hadn't ended that friendship before because I was afraid of endings, of any kind. I was afraid if I ended it she wouldn't like me. Afraid to let go in fear of the unknown. Afraid to stand up and speak out against behaviour that was insulting, demeaning and undermining of my worth.

My friend called a few days later. She didn't mention the unfinished gardening. She wanted to get together for dinner.

"I don't want to have dinner with you," I told her.

Silence. "How about tomorrow instead?"

I took a breath. "I really appreciate all you've done to help me. You've definitely made a difference in my recovery. And some of that difference is felt in my courage to speak the truth right now. I want to surround myself with people whom I trust to tell the truth, no matter the circumstances. And I don't have that kind of trust with you."

She laughed. "Oh you're still upset that I didn't get back until late the other day."

I paused. (She thought I'd kept waiting until I couldn't wait any longer? Don't you hate it when your grand gesture goes unnoticed?) "Actually, I didn't realize you didn't get back until late. I left right after you left."

And I hung up.

Sometimes, we don't see the bridge to the truth until we burn the bridge separating us from seeing it.

This friend. She lied. It's what she did. It's how she got on in the world.

What I was doing with her. It was untrue too. I was grateful for all her help. But, I was letting my gratitude keep me mired in the dirt of her bad behaviour muddying up the waters of my living with integrity in my life. I was letting her bad behaviour separate me from living up to my higher good.

It wasn't just that she had lied to the person on the phone. It was that I was catching myself doing the same thing. I was letting her bad behaviour be an excuse for me to act badly. I was letting myself off the hook of being 100% accountable for me.

Bad behaviour's like that. It seeps in and leeches away self-esteem, self-worth. It cloudies up, 'doing the right thing' to mean, doing what keeps me from facing the truth about what I'm doing.

See, I was lying to my friend. Whenever she called and set an appointment, I seldom believed her. Whenever she told me she was late because of this or that, I seldom listened. I didn't believe her. Sometimes, I'd lie to her. Tell her I would be somewhere and not turn up and then fabricate an excuse just to avoid telling the truth -- I mean, she did it to me all the time. What was wrong with a little quid pro quo?

Or, more often than not, I simply stayed silent. Never spoke up. Never spoke my truth.

I woke up that day. Shook off the dirt and dug myself into acting with integrity in everything I do and say.

I don't have to change her behaviour. I don't have to teach her a lesson.

I did have to change my behaviour. I did have to learn my lesson in humility and self-respect.

What I have to do is stand up and speak the truth -- no matter the mud I'm stuck in -- I am responsible for speaking my truth so that I can walk with dignity and grace in the garden of my life, planting seeds of honesty, trust, respect, integrity in everything I do and say.

And I can't do that if I'm walking on a bridge of lies, digging into someone else's dirt on the far side of where I want to be -- digging into my roots, living my life with grace and ease flowing freely as I journey through my life in love with all of me being the best me I can be.