I have always been a lonely person. I think it comes from a childhood of being parented by 2 people who were there in a practical day to day sense but not in any emotional sense at all. I don’t ever remember being asked how or who I was. That has left a space in my life and heart that has always been there and that has become more noticeable the older I have got. I have always had lots of friends- school friends, Uni friends, work friends, mum friends, lifelong friends and even best friends. I even count an ex boyfriend as a lifelong soul mate friend. And my lovely children also feel like friends too. But even with a lifetime filled with lovely friendship, nothing has ever filled the loneliness in my heart that my childhood left. I still feel like I am searching for one person to fill that gap. Not in the sense of a partner either as I share my life with a solid, dependable man. But as I reach mid life and all of these things seem to come up to be healed and faced, I realise that the friend that I have been searching for really is my whole life is really, in a cliched sense, actually myself and that is where my search for belonging needs to be. I need to be my own best friend.
This was the last thing I read before bed, and the first thing on my mind when I woke up very early today. I wanted to add it to the book's story archive before the rest of the day happened, to honour the courage of what you've shared and the beautiful clarity with which you say it. That first statement: how moving, how honest. And then where you take us as readers next through your thinking and feeling on this. Thank you. Here is your link: https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#helen
If you'd like to use your full name at any point, just use a reply to this to let me know and I will update as soon as I can.
Ah thanks Tanya! That’s so kind. I am 3/4 of the way through your amazing book and it’s honestly moved me so much. It’s so wonderful. I might stay anonymous for now if that’s ok - am working through my childhood!! Xx
Last night I had a strange image of putting my head down onto Christy’s kitchen table and all of my body parts became segmented and fell off. Shattering, but orderly, like all of a puppet’s strings untied, let loose, no longer a cohesive whole, a crash test dummy with no seat belt, no car, no blood. My parts were wooden and worn smooth, light like maple, a faint fiddleback grain, kiln dried, now just bits and bobs on the floor, at rest, no energy to roll away, kinetic defeat.
Christy’s mom told her that as a baby she would stare at her hands, perhaps wondering when they would start to create all that was held within her tiny soul. She is a potter, making good things from mud spinning in circles. A chunk of clay reimagined.
A friend offering her table as a good place to fall apart and return, reimagined.
Oh another gorgeous and always-surprising piece of work from you here. Like a tiny prose-poem, completely your own voice as ever, but with that tingle of the uncanny I get in Elizabeth Hardwick, if you know her writing? Or Duras? Thank you as ever!
Its my pleasure! This exchanging of ideas and useful texts with other writers like yourself is one of the biggest ways in which my life has changed for the better since I began my late-writing journey back in 2016. Before then, aside from with my husband, I was only ever in a one-sided relationship with dead or distant authors! Always amassing new perspectives, but with no one to ever share them with, or to hand me new ones based on what I was myself reading that they felt might also be of use to me.
The first thing I noticed was tension between her and the chain-smoker, a woman she seemed to know. But J was in professional mode as she led us through the landscape, offering us all the subtleties of greys and glimmers on a misty fenland afternoon. The expedition ended with a fireside gathering, our spot marked out with fairy lights.
J and I made friends on the river and in the forest. I think it was the third time we met up that she invited me to her home. She lived on a tiny houseboat named after my favourite bird. After a walk on the Washes under a sky full of birds we climbed aboard. She was wild-moored in the middle of nowhere.
I sat cross-legged on a tiny chair by the woodburner. While she cooked something special I looked through J’s paintings. Sated by wildfowl sounds and waterlogged footsteps, hot food and the glow of fire and talk, it felt like I was being seduced. I bought a painting (tiny). But in my bliss my body urged caution, urged me to flee, urged me to fear.
In the dark, remote night J steered us to the only signs of civilisation: a pub decked out with cheery Christmas lights. We said goodbye as I disembarked. Four years and three more paintings later (two of them gifts from her) I suspect that the scariest things about this friend are the very things that scare me about myself.
I came to this piece by you, Jo, just after reading and responding to your Longing piece. It's exciting to see what they share, what they don't. They both lead me to an unexpected perspective at the very end, but in this one there is something hidden still that moves me as much as the much more direct authorial statement at the end of the longing piece did, but for different reasons. The first piece was complete; this one feels like the beginning of a longer story. Both equally powerful. Here is your link:
Thank you for the feedback Tanya, I'm so glad these few words can make an impact somehow, and it's an honour to be part of this writing community. Great idea to keep the themes open for contributors; I do read your newsletter, but just hadn't got round to more contributions.
Yes, I realised as I went along that to have only the current month's theme open would deprive the archive of so many stories, as well as opportunities for new arrivals to join in with all the earlier prompts. And then of course it's a thrill when people do as you have and begin to go back through them! xx
The first time we met we had Eton Mess for dessert. She dolloped it onto my plate with repeated apologies for the state of it, and I remember thinking that it was an appropriately chaotic dish for someone so very flustered. We were both foreigners back then, both moved to a Swiss village to be at home with small children while our husbands worked in global head offices in the city. The first time we met was in the first week of her arrival. I left dinner with a silent commitment to a six week attempt at friendship. After six weeks, I told myself, I would know if the fluster was the product of her recent move or if she generally operated within a sphere of neuroses that would simply be too much. I knew that no one who moves countries with children is a good version of themselves in the first six weeks. I also knew that it's best to avoid a woman who is too much. Too open. Too loud. Too worried. Too raw. How glad I am that I was so very wrong. Over the first month of knowing her, our days became increasingly shared. Within the chaos and mundanity of child wrangling and meal making and forest walking, I learned that she was much more open, loud, worried and raw than I could have ever imagined. She made me uncomfortable. She made me laugh. She made my days brighter, fuller, and more honest. I learned the mess and magic of her, and shared the mess and magic of myself in return. Years later, now oceans apart, we still have the most wonderful friendship. One that has taught me, among many other things, the absurdity of the notion that a person can ever be too much.
Jess, what you've done here is what great writing, even in extreme short form (especially in short form or poetry?) can do: you've taken me on a proper journey. The worry I felt for you and her in the middle passage (while also admiring you giving the connection some weeks to settle). Then the soar, the heart-lift, as you deliver your last lines, your learnings. Wow. Thank you so much for this contribution and I do hope you are interested to try other of the themes. There are no deadlines, and all stay open. Here is your link to it on The Cure for Sleep website... Tanya xxx
I love your phrases about making you uncomforatable and your days brighter,fuller and more honest. And the mess and magic of her. I can feel her presence!
I’m writing about a friendship that went wrong. We met on line when my friend supported me with a comment when someone else criticised me. There followed regular whatsapp messages and a weekly hour for coffee and talk about life, love, work, play, relationships, politics, communication, local gossip and whatever issue of the week, whether national, international or local that we wanted to analyse. I have never yet found a friendship quite so wide ranging as that one. This continued as a warming and special part of my life until I did something I thought was quite innocuous, in all innocence, which unexpectedly upset my friend and damaged their trust in me. I still find it hard to fathom their reaction, but had no option but to accept it; my apologies did not help. We did eventually get back in touch tentatively and always say hi, how’s things when we encounter each other. They visited me in my garden during lockdown and we’ve exchanged caring messages about our respective health issues, but it will never be as it was again. Their life is seemingly too full and busy to find even a chink for time with me, but I’m always pleased to see they’re happy and doing well. I’ve got other friends, longer lasting, more durable and more precious to me but I still mourn the particular nature of that one.
Sarah, it's always a particular deep pleasure for me when I see - after some time - a contribution or message from you come through to this project or elsewhere to me online. I remember like yesterday the Watermarks launch and your support for that.
And there is always in what you write an exceptional quality of truth-telling: of clarity towards yourself and the world around you. In reading your unsparing account of this loss and your part in it, I've been able to keep closer and wiser company with a recent and similar loss of closeness. I'm sure others in this story-sharing community will be able to do the same when reading your words. Thank you. Txxx
Here is your link to your piece on The Cure for Sleep website:
Sarah, this feels so honest and I can really relate to it.Although you were breaver than me, I had friendships that seemed to drift away and I wondered why but wasnt brave enough to find out,too hurt, too worried about the responses perhaps. But maybe this is just part of life, that we move very slowly away from people and we miss them.
Thank you for your reply - yes, life is, I think, episodic. There are times when certain people have greater presence, perhaps for a reason connected with health or family. When my first daughter was small, I was a third of a trio of Sarahs, each with a daughter the same age and we were very close for a few years, then drifted apart as our families changed shape and size and took different directions. During my first career, I saw a lot of people in my profession, but life changes meant another drifting apart - although one woman I was friends got back in touch - bless FB - and she came on a group holiday with me recently. My longest standing friends are all other deaf people or connected with deaf people and came from meeting other deaf people for the first time aged 17 and finding ‘my tribe’. I realise I’ve written another article in my reply!
A decade of sibling silence, always hopeful me unknowing, how if ever we might restore our torn apart relationship. Our mother's accident during lockdown and the reality that she may not survive. It was a message sent to my sister by me that would be the start of our new connection, initially all about possible arrangements for our mother, difficult, fragile circumstances and all through messages. choosing our language our words carefully was mentally exhausting, emotional, draining. Yet, through all of this challenging period we remained constant, expressing care and support for each other. With this strength we stepped forward and arranged to visit me to her home first then her to mine. These first steps for us mending our relationship. Our mother's situation our unknown gift. Just us now me my sister friends making new memories together. We made it.
Julie! Thank you so much for this luminous contribution - especially given our online exchange earlier today. I will add it to the story archive tomorrow & come back here to comments with your own hyperlink direct to your piece once I have. What a lovely thing to read before sleep. I hope you will now find other themes here that call forth your words. Tanya xx
Oh wow! Tanya this is amazing to read your message this morning of my words. This space and reading your book has flicked a creative light on in me. Thank you so much - it means the world to me. I will write more.
Well I hope you will indeed write more for the project! Here, as promised, is a link directly to your piece for this month's themes on The Cure for Sleep website. Thank you for being the first person to respond to this month's prompt! Each time, I wonder if I've chosen something that won't call forth any response...but then I take a deep breath and post. So far there have always been stories that come back to me, but if one month nothing does then I hope I find that only interesting not upsetting! Txx
Fin, we called her, lived in a house behind hollyhocks, dappled purple and white. I’d see her hair bob in front of me on my walk to school, she ahead by three years, appearing and disappearing like a thought. Until…
She helps my brother unroll the corrugated tin siding, stretch the vinyl up and over the sides, to make our backyard pool. He gets the hose, she reappears in a bathing suit and hot-dog shaped float printed in slick-face with the words Hound Dog -- what is that? Billy laughs and Fin says she is in love with Elvis. Everyone is, says Billy, the pool half full and Fin tossing the float, leaping in, fighting Billy to straddle it; they are like wild cowboys and I get splashed.
I stay near the edge but get splashed badly. Fin goes under once or twice, Billy crazy with the water stream, Fin disappearing. Then she is behind me outside the pool, leaning in, turning me toward her, taking wet hair from my eyes, arranging it gently on my forehead. Billy leaves the hose dangling and walks away. Can Fin tell I am crying? I am crying all the time. There now, she says, and she is gone. Hoses, rain, pools, tears - water takes many forms, all blessings.
Oh my. This is exquisite. Exciting and poignant all at once. Actual shivers starting at the top of my neck and running down my spine as I read. That way Harper Lee and Carson McCullers had of conjuring up the concentrate of childhood: the physical and emotional all blended together. What you've given us a piece of us here. I'm hungry now for a longer story about that year, the three of you... If you ever write that and it is on print or online, will you come back to this thread to let us all know?
Thank you so very much Tanya! Carson McCullers is one of my favorite writers; if my writing reminded you of hers, then I am on the right track indeed! My forever-quest in life, after losing my mother when I was young, became how to receive nurturing from elsewhere -- could my antennae detect it, no matter how tiny the gesture, how brief the moment? In fairy tales the dying mother gives her daughter a thumb-size doll or a bag of seeds kept in a pocket to talk to in emergencies, and miraculous things happen. Perhaps mine sent me brief visitations from the divine along my path... they appeared, lightning bugs in the dark, and faded as quickly away. I have written about 28 so far, they started in haibun form. Not sure I could expand "Fin" as, in reality, she did disappear. Grateful for your comments!
I've only read McCullers once and a long time ago, but when I read your piece I had such a strong feeling of place and people that I asked myself when I last got that, and from what. So you can see how sincerely meant it is! And I've now ordered Heart Is A Lonely Hunter so I can read it again.
How poignant how interesting what you say here about your forever-quest growing up without your mother (and that imagery of the seeds/dolls is so powerful - I know of it only through the Vasilisa story: a memoir written by you with this at its heart would be very powerful...
Thanks so much, Tanya! I will read McCullers again as well. My earlier memoir, Breath by Breath https://www.amazon.com/Breath-Growing-during-Mothers-1954-1967-ebook/dp/B01F1D3LQ0?ref_=ast_author_dp covers the years of my mother's paralysis and death from polio, and how I told my little sister fairy tales to keep us going. Now I am working on the after-years of finding alternate nurturing... will keep you posted! Am so encouraged by your comments!
Meeting Anna was therapeutic and inspiring. She has travelled the world, thrown herself into adventures, and has also suffered massive loss.
Getting to know her, and becoming closer has shown me a kinship that I've never really experienced before.
She understands the effects of trauma, and the messy reality of ‘excavating’ in therapy, along with the ongoing healing process.
Cold water swimming together has shown me that I can find solace, in even the hardest times. The water is our healing place. It has the power to light us up like nothing else. It reminds us again and again how brave we can be-how we still crave feelings of aliveness; highlighting how discomfort is a big part of the healing process.
Whenever i’m having a really tough time, somewhere inside me I know we will be together in the cold water again, a sacred time, free of anxiety and the multitude of masks.
Moments to just be; alive and authentic.
I will gulp, shiver, tingle and burn as I wade or plunge into new and unfamiliar waters, keeping warm by a fire or wrapped in a robe, gifted to me by a person who has been there throughout, and who finds comedy, stimulation, and comfort in what I can’t find in myself at times.
What a lovely tribute to you friend and fellow swimmer. I'm not sure if you know, but before this project and the book it is based on, I edited and published a swim diary on behalf of a dying wild swimmer who I met only once. Lynne Roper - 'Wild Woman Swimming' (which is also the book's title) - took to cold water swimming after surviving breast cancer at 50. She soon made hundreds of friends and a small band of extremely close friends through this endeavour, and wrote about the adventures she did alone but also with them. When her cancer returns five years later, these are the people who help her to end of life. Mentioning in case it is of interest to you and Anna.
We weren’t meant to be friends and maybe we never were. We both arrived at the same time in an unfamiliar city. I, escaping the claustrophobia of a family who never travelled, but regularly crossed the boundary lines between parent and child. She, seeking the affections of a family with boundaries of Atlantic proportions; a father who worked in the States during the week, flying back to London on weekends when convenient. In the time I knew her, the father remained absent. That was the only reason I could fathom why she slept with her much older, married boss. The tacky lingerie he bought her lay draped over the drawers in our shared bedroom, begging for attention.
She wasn’t pretty but gave the illusion of being so; blond, tall and Sloaney. The honey pot on our nights out. Despite her Oxford education, or perhaps because of it, she played a coquettish girl, helpfully sorting out the wheat from the chaff. Anyone with a mild leaning towards intellectualism soon sidled over to me, in the hope of better, or at least adult, conversation. Not well versed in approaching men, I was indebted to her. The generosity, even joy, she took in providing the trap and offering me the richest pickings, was a revelation. In my small town, the scarcity of eligible men bred possessiveness and jealousy among the female population. Friendships took a back seat as soon as something resembling love was made on one.
Laura! I was only thinking about your pieces for the project the other day and now I come back to my inbox and here one is from you - with these sentences you make that I love so much. I wonder more and more now if what we call 'voice' in writing is held mainly in the rhythm of sentences and punctuation as much as in the subject matter.... And the surprise of the observation at the end - entirely unexpected. Here is your link:
Thank you! I haven't written anything in ages. This is about someone I met who was so utterly different to me, and she inspired and bemused me in equal measure. I wrote a lot more in my notebook, and I think it feels like half a story or the starting of one that I need to give more space to. Still, it was fun to do something creative. Thanks for providing the inspiration. L xx
I'm so glad this project gives you a place to share some of the powerful work that is in your notebooks... and I hope one day to read more from you in longer form. xxx
At various parties. In a funky clothing store where my best-ever friend was composing poems as she paused between customers. At my local humane society, where she chose me the instant our eyes met. At work, where we went for long walk to discuss our seemingly irreconcilable differences. At a conference, where the organizer grabbed my hand and exclaimed, "You'll love her!" In Grade 12. In Grade 1. At summer camp. At a support group for trauma survivors. ~ They're everywhere, potential friends.
Catherine! Thank you for joining the project with this gorgeous piece. It brought sudden sharp and surprising tears to my eyes, even though it is so full of hope. One of my closest friends has moved hundreds of miles away this year, and another friendship ended painfully. I'd begun - I realise in reading your piece - to protect my heart for the first time in my life. To say 'I've made so many friends, and have so few enduring ones: and enough. There's no more good surprises of that kind in life waiting for me now. Be content with these wonderful creative connections in my online community, husband, children, my friends from the early mothering years.' But now I feel more hopeful, less closed, more open. The power of stories!
Thank you. Here is your link, and I will add you to the A to Z of contributors on the book site and also on the By Readers tab on my Substack.
What a gift this trove of stories is, Tanya. YES to opening, to hope, to one voice pinging the memory well of other souls. I've barely begun my sojourn here and sense that I may have found a new and sacred lodge for the re-emergence of my literary voice. I *have* been asleep--shut down, shut up, shut away--for more than 13 years.
I remember connecting to other little girls (and boys) when I was a little one myself.
I remember the effortless way we would spend time together, doing something or nothing.
I remember spending significant birthdays and events with friends.
I remember planning those events and taking part in them, when it was a pleasure.
I remember when it suddenly wasn't so easy, connection became more tricky, doing anything with friends was then an effort on both or one side.
I remember the agony of friends having children, that I would never have. Of being shut out of parties and events because of the children I didn't have.
I remember pre pandemic times, when friends were not all on a screen or words on a phone.
I remember that things change, that I still have friends that care and that I see, whilst remembering the ones that got away or never returned.
This was so moving to me, Sharon. And I know it will be to others here who find it. Even though it's only a few words in an 80,000 word book, the line near the start of The Cure for Sleep, during the near-death experience, where I admit to envying women my age who have a best female friend (as I didn't then anymore)... it has brought tears to many eyes when I read it at festivals. This by you had that effect on me.
Thank you again for joining the project. Here is your link. Txx
Oh thank you so much for your words of encouragement. I think I encapsulated my current feelings around friendship here very well, in a short piece. Glad to be part of the project
I can feel you, sense you in the air flow. Your drift and sway embraces me like a web of fine feelings sticking to my skin. I track your flow of friendship through the strong scent you leave in your wake. It guides me towards you, pulls me towards your energy. Your spark has ignited my life; illuminated my way forward, but your light burns with a clinging intensity fastening me to you; but I still distil you like an ambrosial liqueur and drink in the essence of you.
You have swished and swashed yourself around my timeline; gathered in loose strands of me, collected my pain and anguish; wrapped them in your friendly face and smiled away my fantasies and fears and hidden away my secrets. A piece of my heart I carved for you. One of my heartbeats hangs from your neck; a betrothal of closeness snagged in your weave. We are an unlikely pairing set in a stretch of time. You are my lived landscape.
I sometimes fear the fierceness of our friendship, your edges have become sharp, jagged and unforgiving; a snap away from a break or a crack away from a wreck. We have become castaways on each others islands, afraid to swim away or build a bothy to share. I have snuffed out and re-ignited our desire to friend over the decades, but the fault lines have re-opened exposing a drift of desire. I never held you in a lover's embrace, but we wrapped each other up in a coat of many colours and dared to dream.
I'm sorry it has taken me a while to get your latest piece onto the story archive - technical difficulties when it first came through and then I was away at an event without my laptop. But it means I've had the pleasure now of reading it again. I really do value seeing your sensibility emerge stronger and stronger with each submission - a sense of you being fully in touch with your experiences and prose rhythms... Here is your link: https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#SteveHarrison
How fierce and tender, at once, and by turns, this is! Beautiful and will speak to others reading this too of their own elusive but intense bonds with certain people. I went to curate it on my book site but Wordpress is having an outage today. I will come back here as soon as I can put it up and give you the link. Best as ever, Tan
Thank you so much Tanya for adding my piece. I really love the visual shape of it on the website too. Pretty blown away really! I originally hesitated whether or not to post this piece, I'm so glad I did. I don't know, perhaps it's all about timing, what resonates. Me, noticing your book, immediately ordering it and now to here. This, your project really resonates. Your response has lifted me. More writing to come from me. Julie xx
My pleasure! I give everything a very light edit for consistency across my project of speech marks etc, and also for line breaks and so on. Always happy to change back if anyone feels I changed the piece in a way that doesn't work. But I try to give everyone who contributes a sense - if they haven't been published before - of what it's like to see their words move to an editor and then into being moved into a different visual format!
I grieved when our 'friendship' came to an end. I mourned for the previous 14 years of 'her' dominant force in my life.
She 'saw' me and quite literally 'stopped me in my tracks' as I shuffled along the street ,eyes down , heavy with sadness and heading towards someone's sofa , that I called "home for now".
She was twice my age and said she had "lost a great love" , that she too had been thrown into the 'deep sadness' . I was too broken to mutter the words that were in my head "I'm lost , I don't have a home and they don't love me " .
I was 18 years old and homeless for the second time in just over a year .This time felt different though . I no longer felt 'cute' , the drugs and alcohol weren't working , I was hungry and 'friends' looked at me with 'that ' look . I didn't fit anymore , I never really had . I just pretended .
Over the years she would offer me a place to sleep on her floor, create a 21st birthday party for me with a Barbie cake , she would help move me to yet another dirty shared house , she would encourage me to split with a guy I liked because I was "too mentally ill to have a relationship" , she would insist that I have an abortion and I did .I did everything she told me to .
Our 'strange' friendship ended over 11 years ago now , which is nearly as long as the time it lasted.
Today I am a teacher , an Aunt and on a 'Programme' where I am now learning how to communicate my feelings and how to have relationships.
The words she spoke then, echo into my everyday life and seem to make more sense now than they ever did then .
Oh Charlotte - how I felt for the younger you (you describe a teenaged life very similar to my own). And how well you convey the power of that friendship with an older person...while also showing the shadow side of these kind of relationships. The difficulty of knowing when the advice is right for us, and when not. Thank you so much for contributing to this theme, and I hope more of the topics in the archive might interest you to respond to. There are no deadlines, so you can take as long as you like with them. Very best, Tanya xx
Here is your link to your piece in the story archive...
She sounds like the person you were meant to have in your life at that time. I love that her words echo and make sense to you now too. You have certainly communicated your feelings here!
Thank you for your response . Yes , I believe she was the right person for me at the time and that I was actually very blessed to have met her . I also believe that when we parted ways(as painful as it felt ) that was also another blessing as I was able to really start coming into my own , (which I know she would have wanted to ). Thanks again for reaching out and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week .
We met over the garden gate. Literally. Heavily pregnant, I had moved from our upstairs flat to a larger terraced house closer to town and the beach: room for our imminent arrival and proximity to ‘all local amenities’ as the blurb went. She has loved me from the start, unconditionally. Her door is always open; the kettle always on. The relationship is hard to categorize. Her eldest was 24, her youngest 9 months, and her live-in daughter’s son 3 months. She is mother to six children, two of them twins. Was she mother, sister, equal friend? Age didn’t seem to matter.
Her accent betrays M’s Welsh origins and she had eschewed a career with the BBC to marry Norman, a northeast lad. She loves language and reading, common ground for us there then. She is interested in people and a good listener. Extremely generous, even when resources are limited, her perfect day is to be with family and friends, though I think she values a little peace as she has got older.
My life has been rich in friendships. Despite having moved cities several times, relationships have been maintained and grown with distance. Some have been for a season but many have been for life. What, I wonder, makes this richness? This year, M and I will have been friends for 45 years. Despite moving away then returning to a different part of town, if we haven’t seen each other for a while, we catch up and are as close as ever. We have shared everything without judgement. Have we ever fallen out? No. We have differed in our opinions, but respected those differences. We have lived ‘next to’ not ‘in’. We’ve been tolerant and warm. Both of us.
Jean, what a truly beautiful portrait of your wonderful friend you’ve shared with us here. I wonder if you will show it to her? How proud I’d be to be described like that.
And having benefitted several times over the last few years from your kindness and generosity, I can answer that question of yours about ‘what I wonder makes this richness?’ I think you make it possible with your way of being.
Thank you very much for your feedback Tanya. It is music to my ears that it was right to follow my instinct on my voice. It still blows my mind that you take the time to read all of our memories and comment on them! You are so very generous and I can't thank you enough. Hope you are all well and have a beautiful weekend.
I have always been a lonely person. I think it comes from a childhood of being parented by 2 people who were there in a practical day to day sense but not in any emotional sense at all. I don’t ever remember being asked how or who I was. That has left a space in my life and heart that has always been there and that has become more noticeable the older I have got. I have always had lots of friends- school friends, Uni friends, work friends, mum friends, lifelong friends and even best friends. I even count an ex boyfriend as a lifelong soul mate friend. And my lovely children also feel like friends too. But even with a lifetime filled with lovely friendship, nothing has ever filled the loneliness in my heart that my childhood left. I still feel like I am searching for one person to fill that gap. Not in the sense of a partner either as I share my life with a solid, dependable man. But as I reach mid life and all of these things seem to come up to be healed and faced, I realise that the friend that I have been searching for really is my whole life is really, in a cliched sense, actually myself and that is where my search for belonging needs to be. I need to be my own best friend.
This was the last thing I read before bed, and the first thing on my mind when I woke up very early today. I wanted to add it to the book's story archive before the rest of the day happened, to honour the courage of what you've shared and the beautiful clarity with which you say it. That first statement: how moving, how honest. And then where you take us as readers next through your thinking and feeling on this. Thank you. Here is your link: https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#helen
If you'd like to use your full name at any point, just use a reply to this to let me know and I will update as soon as I can.
Tanya xx
Ah thanks Tanya! That’s so kind. I am 3/4 of the way through your amazing book and it’s honestly moved me so much. It’s so wonderful. I might stay anonymous for now if that’s ok - am working through my childhood!! Xx
Last night I had a strange image of putting my head down onto Christy’s kitchen table and all of my body parts became segmented and fell off. Shattering, but orderly, like all of a puppet’s strings untied, let loose, no longer a cohesive whole, a crash test dummy with no seat belt, no car, no blood. My parts were wooden and worn smooth, light like maple, a faint fiddleback grain, kiln dried, now just bits and bobs on the floor, at rest, no energy to roll away, kinetic defeat.
Christy’s mom told her that as a baby she would stare at her hands, perhaps wondering when they would start to create all that was held within her tiny soul. She is a potter, making good things from mud spinning in circles. A chunk of clay reimagined.
A friend offering her table as a good place to fall apart and return, reimagined.
I love this piece Sheila. Arresting, powerful imagery. You honour your friend's gift in such a creative way.
Thank you for this. I am lucky to have her!
Oh another gorgeous and always-surprising piece of work from you here. Like a tiny prose-poem, completely your own voice as ever, but with that tingle of the uncanny I get in Elizabeth Hardwick, if you know her writing? Or Duras? Thank you as ever!
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#sheilaknell
Txx
Thank you! I have not heard of those writers but will be sure to check them out. So much appreciation for you!
Its my pleasure! This exchanging of ideas and useful texts with other writers like yourself is one of the biggest ways in which my life has changed for the better since I began my late-writing journey back in 2016. Before then, aside from with my husband, I was only ever in a one-sided relationship with dead or distant authors! Always amassing new perspectives, but with no one to ever share them with, or to hand me new ones based on what I was myself reading that they felt might also be of use to me.
I love the emotions that were awoken by this piece Shelia, thank you.
Tracey x
The first thing I noticed was tension between her and the chain-smoker, a woman she seemed to know. But J was in professional mode as she led us through the landscape, offering us all the subtleties of greys and glimmers on a misty fenland afternoon. The expedition ended with a fireside gathering, our spot marked out with fairy lights.
J and I made friends on the river and in the forest. I think it was the third time we met up that she invited me to her home. She lived on a tiny houseboat named after my favourite bird. After a walk on the Washes under a sky full of birds we climbed aboard. She was wild-moored in the middle of nowhere.
I sat cross-legged on a tiny chair by the woodburner. While she cooked something special I looked through J’s paintings. Sated by wildfowl sounds and waterlogged footsteps, hot food and the glow of fire and talk, it felt like I was being seduced. I bought a painting (tiny). But in my bliss my body urged caution, urged me to flee, urged me to fear.
In the dark, remote night J steered us to the only signs of civilisation: a pub decked out with cheery Christmas lights. We said goodbye as I disembarked. Four years and three more paintings later (two of them gifts from her) I suspect that the scariest things about this friend are the very things that scare me about myself.
I came to this piece by you, Jo, just after reading and responding to your Longing piece. It's exciting to see what they share, what they don't. They both lead me to an unexpected perspective at the very end, but in this one there is something hidden still that moves me as much as the much more direct authorial statement at the end of the longing piece did, but for different reasons. The first piece was complete; this one feels like the beginning of a longer story. Both equally powerful. Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#josinclair
Txx
Thank you for the feedback Tanya, I'm so glad these few words can make an impact somehow, and it's an honour to be part of this writing community. Great idea to keep the themes open for contributors; I do read your newsletter, but just hadn't got round to more contributions.
Yes, I realised as I went along that to have only the current month's theme open would deprive the archive of so many stories, as well as opportunities for new arrivals to join in with all the earlier prompts. And then of course it's a thrill when people do as you have and begin to go back through them! xx
A timely reminder to read as well as to write, and the wordcount is very manageable! Jo xx
Oh my gosh, so much mystery here. I got to the end and was thinking how well done it was to end with such mystery, but also wanting more. So good! xx
Thank you for saying so Sheila, glad it intrigued you! xx
The first time we met we had Eton Mess for dessert. She dolloped it onto my plate with repeated apologies for the state of it, and I remember thinking that it was an appropriately chaotic dish for someone so very flustered. We were both foreigners back then, both moved to a Swiss village to be at home with small children while our husbands worked in global head offices in the city. The first time we met was in the first week of her arrival. I left dinner with a silent commitment to a six week attempt at friendship. After six weeks, I told myself, I would know if the fluster was the product of her recent move or if she generally operated within a sphere of neuroses that would simply be too much. I knew that no one who moves countries with children is a good version of themselves in the first six weeks. I also knew that it's best to avoid a woman who is too much. Too open. Too loud. Too worried. Too raw. How glad I am that I was so very wrong. Over the first month of knowing her, our days became increasingly shared. Within the chaos and mundanity of child wrangling and meal making and forest walking, I learned that she was much more open, loud, worried and raw than I could have ever imagined. She made me uncomfortable. She made me laugh. She made my days brighter, fuller, and more honest. I learned the mess and magic of her, and shared the mess and magic of myself in return. Years later, now oceans apart, we still have the most wonderful friendship. One that has taught me, among many other things, the absurdity of the notion that a person can ever be too much.
Jess, what you've done here is what great writing, even in extreme short form (especially in short form or poetry?) can do: you've taken me on a proper journey. The worry I felt for you and her in the middle passage (while also admiring you giving the connection some weeks to settle). Then the soar, the heart-lift, as you deliver your last lines, your learnings. Wow. Thank you so much for this contribution and I do hope you are interested to try other of the themes. There are no deadlines, and all stay open. Here is your link to it on The Cure for Sleep website... Tanya xxx
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#Jess
I love your phrases about making you uncomforatable and your days brighter,fuller and more honest. And the mess and magic of her. I can feel her presence!
I’m writing about a friendship that went wrong. We met on line when my friend supported me with a comment when someone else criticised me. There followed regular whatsapp messages and a weekly hour for coffee and talk about life, love, work, play, relationships, politics, communication, local gossip and whatever issue of the week, whether national, international or local that we wanted to analyse. I have never yet found a friendship quite so wide ranging as that one. This continued as a warming and special part of my life until I did something I thought was quite innocuous, in all innocence, which unexpectedly upset my friend and damaged their trust in me. I still find it hard to fathom their reaction, but had no option but to accept it; my apologies did not help. We did eventually get back in touch tentatively and always say hi, how’s things when we encounter each other. They visited me in my garden during lockdown and we’ve exchanged caring messages about our respective health issues, but it will never be as it was again. Their life is seemingly too full and busy to find even a chink for time with me, but I’m always pleased to see they’re happy and doing well. I’ve got other friends, longer lasting, more durable and more precious to me but I still mourn the particular nature of that one.
Sarah, it's always a particular deep pleasure for me when I see - after some time - a contribution or message from you come through to this project or elsewhere to me online. I remember like yesterday the Watermarks launch and your support for that.
And there is always in what you write an exceptional quality of truth-telling: of clarity towards yourself and the world around you. In reading your unsparing account of this loss and your part in it, I've been able to keep closer and wiser company with a recent and similar loss of closeness. I'm sure others in this story-sharing community will be able to do the same when reading your words. Thank you. Txxx
Here is your link to your piece on The Cure for Sleep website:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#SarahPlayforth
I enjoyed reading this Sarah, there is such a clean and honest feel to it (if that makes sense, hopefully it does)
Tracey
Sarah, this feels so honest and I can really relate to it.Although you were breaver than me, I had friendships that seemed to drift away and I wondered why but wasnt brave enough to find out,too hurt, too worried about the responses perhaps. But maybe this is just part of life, that we move very slowly away from people and we miss them.
Thank you for your reply - yes, life is, I think, episodic. There are times when certain people have greater presence, perhaps for a reason connected with health or family. When my first daughter was small, I was a third of a trio of Sarahs, each with a daughter the same age and we were very close for a few years, then drifted apart as our families changed shape and size and took different directions. During my first career, I saw a lot of people in my profession, but life changes meant another drifting apart - although one woman I was friends got back in touch - bless FB - and she came on a group holiday with me recently. My longest standing friends are all other deaf people or connected with deaf people and came from meeting other deaf people for the first time aged 17 and finding ‘my tribe’. I realise I’ve written another article in my reply!
Ah, that's what I wanted this space to be for: a place for me, and others, to surprise in ourselves new perspectives/old memories!
!!! Seems like we’ve both taken stock with Tanya’s invite!
A decade of sibling silence, always hopeful me unknowing, how if ever we might restore our torn apart relationship. Our mother's accident during lockdown and the reality that she may not survive. It was a message sent to my sister by me that would be the start of our new connection, initially all about possible arrangements for our mother, difficult, fragile circumstances and all through messages. choosing our language our words carefully was mentally exhausting, emotional, draining. Yet, through all of this challenging period we remained constant, expressing care and support for each other. With this strength we stepped forward and arranged to visit me to her home first then her to mine. These first steps for us mending our relationship. Our mother's situation our unknown gift. Just us now me my sister friends making new memories together. We made it.
@julieb1960. julesb4@hotmail.co.uk
Julie! Thank you so much for this luminous contribution - especially given our online exchange earlier today. I will add it to the story archive tomorrow & come back here to comments with your own hyperlink direct to your piece once I have. What a lovely thing to read before sleep. I hope you will now find other themes here that call forth your words. Tanya xx
Oh wow! Tanya this is amazing to read your message this morning of my words. This space and reading your book has flicked a creative light on in me. Thank you so much - it means the world to me. I will write more.
Julie xx
Well I hope you will indeed write more for the project! Here, as promised, is a link directly to your piece for this month's themes on The Cure for Sleep website. Thank you for being the first person to respond to this month's prompt! Each time, I wonder if I've chosen something that won't call forth any response...but then I take a deep breath and post. So far there have always been stories that come back to me, but if one month nothing does then I hope I find that only interesting not upsetting! Txx
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#juliebenham
Fin, 1958
Fin, we called her, lived in a house behind hollyhocks, dappled purple and white. I’d see her hair bob in front of me on my walk to school, she ahead by three years, appearing and disappearing like a thought. Until…
She helps my brother unroll the corrugated tin siding, stretch the vinyl up and over the sides, to make our backyard pool. He gets the hose, she reappears in a bathing suit and hot-dog shaped float printed in slick-face with the words Hound Dog -- what is that? Billy laughs and Fin says she is in love with Elvis. Everyone is, says Billy, the pool half full and Fin tossing the float, leaping in, fighting Billy to straddle it; they are like wild cowboys and I get splashed.
I stay near the edge but get splashed badly. Fin goes under once or twice, Billy crazy with the water stream, Fin disappearing. Then she is behind me outside the pool, leaning in, turning me toward her, taking wet hair from my eyes, arranging it gently on my forehead. Billy leaves the hose dangling and walks away. Can Fin tell I am crying? I am crying all the time. There now, she says, and she is gone. Hoses, rain, pools, tears - water takes many forms, all blessings.
Oh my. This is exquisite. Exciting and poignant all at once. Actual shivers starting at the top of my neck and running down my spine as I read. That way Harper Lee and Carson McCullers had of conjuring up the concentrate of childhood: the physical and emotional all blended together. What you've given us a piece of us here. I'm hungry now for a longer story about that year, the three of you... If you ever write that and it is on print or online, will you come back to this thread to let us all know?
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#annamarielaforest
Txx
PS: 'she ahead by three years, appearing and disappearing like a thought' - this is a gorgeous image...
Thank you so very much Tanya! Carson McCullers is one of my favorite writers; if my writing reminded you of hers, then I am on the right track indeed! My forever-quest in life, after losing my mother when I was young, became how to receive nurturing from elsewhere -- could my antennae detect it, no matter how tiny the gesture, how brief the moment? In fairy tales the dying mother gives her daughter a thumb-size doll or a bag of seeds kept in a pocket to talk to in emergencies, and miraculous things happen. Perhaps mine sent me brief visitations from the divine along my path... they appeared, lightning bugs in the dark, and faded as quickly away. I have written about 28 so far, they started in haibun form. Not sure I could expand "Fin" as, in reality, she did disappear. Grateful for your comments!
I've only read McCullers once and a long time ago, but when I read your piece I had such a strong feeling of place and people that I asked myself when I last got that, and from what. So you can see how sincerely meant it is! And I've now ordered Heart Is A Lonely Hunter so I can read it again.
How poignant how interesting what you say here about your forever-quest growing up without your mother (and that imagery of the seeds/dolls is so powerful - I know of it only through the Vasilisa story: a memoir written by you with this at its heart would be very powerful...
Thanks so much, Tanya! I will read McCullers again as well. My earlier memoir, Breath by Breath https://www.amazon.com/Breath-Growing-during-Mothers-1954-1967-ebook/dp/B01F1D3LQ0?ref_=ast_author_dp covers the years of my mother's paralysis and death from polio, and how I told my little sister fairy tales to keep us going. Now I am working on the after-years of finding alternate nurturing... will keep you posted! Am so encouraged by your comments!
I will follow your amazon link with interest! xx
Oh my, Tanya, thank you!!!
Meeting Anna was therapeutic and inspiring. She has travelled the world, thrown herself into adventures, and has also suffered massive loss.
Getting to know her, and becoming closer has shown me a kinship that I've never really experienced before.
She understands the effects of trauma, and the messy reality of ‘excavating’ in therapy, along with the ongoing healing process.
Cold water swimming together has shown me that I can find solace, in even the hardest times. The water is our healing place. It has the power to light us up like nothing else. It reminds us again and again how brave we can be-how we still crave feelings of aliveness; highlighting how discomfort is a big part of the healing process.
Whenever i’m having a really tough time, somewhere inside me I know we will be together in the cold water again, a sacred time, free of anxiety and the multitude of masks.
Moments to just be; alive and authentic.
I will gulp, shiver, tingle and burn as I wade or plunge into new and unfamiliar waters, keeping warm by a fire or wrapped in a robe, gifted to me by a person who has been there throughout, and who finds comedy, stimulation, and comfort in what I can’t find in myself at times.
What a lovely tribute to you friend and fellow swimmer. I'm not sure if you know, but before this project and the book it is based on, I edited and published a swim diary on behalf of a dying wild swimmer who I met only once. Lynne Roper - 'Wild Woman Swimming' (which is also the book's title) - took to cold water swimming after surviving breast cancer at 50. She soon made hundreds of friends and a small band of extremely close friends through this endeavour, and wrote about the adventures she did alone but also with them. When her cancer returns five years later, these are the people who help her to end of life. Mentioning in case it is of interest to you and Anna.
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#laurenlongshaw
Txx
We weren’t meant to be friends and maybe we never were. We both arrived at the same time in an unfamiliar city. I, escaping the claustrophobia of a family who never travelled, but regularly crossed the boundary lines between parent and child. She, seeking the affections of a family with boundaries of Atlantic proportions; a father who worked in the States during the week, flying back to London on weekends when convenient. In the time I knew her, the father remained absent. That was the only reason I could fathom why she slept with her much older, married boss. The tacky lingerie he bought her lay draped over the drawers in our shared bedroom, begging for attention.
She wasn’t pretty but gave the illusion of being so; blond, tall and Sloaney. The honey pot on our nights out. Despite her Oxford education, or perhaps because of it, she played a coquettish girl, helpfully sorting out the wheat from the chaff. Anyone with a mild leaning towards intellectualism soon sidled over to me, in the hope of better, or at least adult, conversation. Not well versed in approaching men, I was indebted to her. The generosity, even joy, she took in providing the trap and offering me the richest pickings, was a revelation. In my small town, the scarcity of eligible men bred possessiveness and jealousy among the female population. Friendships took a back seat as soon as something resembling love was made on one.
Laura! I was only thinking about your pieces for the project the other day and now I come back to my inbox and here one is from you - with these sentences you make that I love so much. I wonder more and more now if what we call 'voice' in writing is held mainly in the rhythm of sentences and punctuation as much as in the subject matter.... And the surprise of the observation at the end - entirely unexpected. Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#laura
T xxx
Thank you! I haven't written anything in ages. This is about someone I met who was so utterly different to me, and she inspired and bemused me in equal measure. I wrote a lot more in my notebook, and I think it feels like half a story or the starting of one that I need to give more space to. Still, it was fun to do something creative. Thanks for providing the inspiration. L xx
I'm so glad this project gives you a place to share some of the powerful work that is in your notebooks... and I hope one day to read more from you in longer form. xxx
At various parties. In a funky clothing store where my best-ever friend was composing poems as she paused between customers. At my local humane society, where she chose me the instant our eyes met. At work, where we went for long walk to discuss our seemingly irreconcilable differences. At a conference, where the organizer grabbed my hand and exclaimed, "You'll love her!" In Grade 12. In Grade 1. At summer camp. At a support group for trauma survivors. ~ They're everywhere, potential friends.
Catherine! Thank you for joining the project with this gorgeous piece. It brought sudden sharp and surprising tears to my eyes, even though it is so full of hope. One of my closest friends has moved hundreds of miles away this year, and another friendship ended painfully. I'd begun - I realise in reading your piece - to protect my heart for the first time in my life. To say 'I've made so many friends, and have so few enduring ones: and enough. There's no more good surprises of that kind in life waiting for me now. Be content with these wonderful creative connections in my online community, husband, children, my friends from the early mothering years.' But now I feel more hopeful, less closed, more open. The power of stories!
Thank you. Here is your link, and I will add you to the A to Z of contributors on the book site and also on the By Readers tab on my Substack.
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#catherinedavies
Tanya xx
What a gift this trove of stories is, Tanya. YES to opening, to hope, to one voice pinging the memory well of other souls. I've barely begun my sojourn here and sense that I may have found a new and sacred lodge for the re-emergence of my literary voice. I *have* been asleep--shut down, shut up, shut away--for more than 13 years.
Thank you for welcoming me and so many others...
Touched by your words here, Catherine, and so very glad you've joined the project xx
I remember when making friends was easy.
I remember connecting to other little girls (and boys) when I was a little one myself.
I remember the effortless way we would spend time together, doing something or nothing.
I remember spending significant birthdays and events with friends.
I remember planning those events and taking part in them, when it was a pleasure.
I remember when it suddenly wasn't so easy, connection became more tricky, doing anything with friends was then an effort on both or one side.
I remember the agony of friends having children, that I would never have. Of being shut out of parties and events because of the children I didn't have.
I remember pre pandemic times, when friends were not all on a screen or words on a phone.
I remember that things change, that I still have friends that care and that I see, whilst remembering the ones that got away or never returned.
This was so moving to me, Sharon. And I know it will be to others here who find it. Even though it's only a few words in an 80,000 word book, the line near the start of The Cure for Sleep, during the near-death experience, where I admit to envying women my age who have a best female friend (as I didn't then anymore)... it has brought tears to many eyes when I read it at festivals. This by you had that effect on me.
Thank you again for joining the project. Here is your link. Txx
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#sharonc
Oh thank you so much for your words of encouragement. I think I encapsulated my current feelings around friendship here very well, in a short piece. Glad to be part of the project
This is such a moving piece Shazzy which has certainly stirred up memories for me which is great because I am about to write my piece for this prompt.
Thank you.
Tracey x
Friend in Perpetuity
I can feel you, sense you in the air flow. Your drift and sway embraces me like a web of fine feelings sticking to my skin. I track your flow of friendship through the strong scent you leave in your wake. It guides me towards you, pulls me towards your energy. Your spark has ignited my life; illuminated my way forward, but your light burns with a clinging intensity fastening me to you; but I still distil you like an ambrosial liqueur and drink in the essence of you.
You have swished and swashed yourself around my timeline; gathered in loose strands of me, collected my pain and anguish; wrapped them in your friendly face and smiled away my fantasies and fears and hidden away my secrets. A piece of my heart I carved for you. One of my heartbeats hangs from your neck; a betrothal of closeness snagged in your weave. We are an unlikely pairing set in a stretch of time. You are my lived landscape.
I sometimes fear the fierceness of our friendship, your edges have become sharp, jagged and unforgiving; a snap away from a break or a crack away from a wreck. We have become castaways on each others islands, afraid to swim away or build a bothy to share. I have snuffed out and re-ignited our desire to friend over the decades, but the fault lines have re-opened exposing a drift of desire. I never held you in a lover's embrace, but we wrapped each other up in a coat of many colours and dared to dream.
I'm sorry it has taken me a while to get your latest piece onto the story archive - technical difficulties when it first came through and then I was away at an event without my laptop. But it means I've had the pleasure now of reading it again. I really do value seeing your sensibility emerge stronger and stronger with each submission - a sense of you being fully in touch with your experiences and prose rhythms... Here is your link: https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#SteveHarrison
How fierce and tender, at once, and by turns, this is! Beautiful and will speak to others reading this too of their own elusive but intense bonds with certain people. I went to curate it on my book site but Wordpress is having an outage today. I will come back here as soon as I can put it up and give you the link. Best as ever, Tan
Thank you so much Tanya for adding my piece. I really love the visual shape of it on the website too. Pretty blown away really! I originally hesitated whether or not to post this piece, I'm so glad I did. I don't know, perhaps it's all about timing, what resonates. Me, noticing your book, immediately ordering it and now to here. This, your project really resonates. Your response has lifted me. More writing to come from me. Julie xx
My pleasure! I give everything a very light edit for consistency across my project of speech marks etc, and also for line breaks and so on. Always happy to change back if anyone feels I changed the piece in a way that doesn't work. But I try to give everyone who contributes a sense - if they haven't been published before - of what it's like to see their words move to an editor and then into being moved into a different visual format!
More writing please! xxx
It's brilliant! and really does give that sense and insight. Very much appreciate you doing that. Thank you.
More creative ideas are bubbling up. xxx
I grieved when our 'friendship' came to an end. I mourned for the previous 14 years of 'her' dominant force in my life.
She 'saw' me and quite literally 'stopped me in my tracks' as I shuffled along the street ,eyes down , heavy with sadness and heading towards someone's sofa , that I called "home for now".
She was twice my age and said she had "lost a great love" , that she too had been thrown into the 'deep sadness' . I was too broken to mutter the words that were in my head "I'm lost , I don't have a home and they don't love me " .
I was 18 years old and homeless for the second time in just over a year .This time felt different though . I no longer felt 'cute' , the drugs and alcohol weren't working , I was hungry and 'friends' looked at me with 'that ' look . I didn't fit anymore , I never really had . I just pretended .
Over the years she would offer me a place to sleep on her floor, create a 21st birthday party for me with a Barbie cake , she would help move me to yet another dirty shared house , she would encourage me to split with a guy I liked because I was "too mentally ill to have a relationship" , she would insist that I have an abortion and I did .I did everything she told me to .
Our 'strange' friendship ended over 11 years ago now , which is nearly as long as the time it lasted.
Today I am a teacher , an Aunt and on a 'Programme' where I am now learning how to communicate my feelings and how to have relationships.
The words she spoke then, echo into my everyday life and seem to make more sense now than they ever did then .
Oh Charlotte - how I felt for the younger you (you describe a teenaged life very similar to my own). And how well you convey the power of that friendship with an older person...while also showing the shadow side of these kind of relationships. The difficulty of knowing when the advice is right for us, and when not. Thank you so much for contributing to this theme, and I hope more of the topics in the archive might interest you to respond to. There are no deadlines, so you can take as long as you like with them. Very best, Tanya xx
Here is your link to your piece in the story archive...
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#CharlotteDawson
Thank you for your feedback Tanya . I will definitely respond to the other topics .
Many thanks Charlotte xxx
She sounds like the person you were meant to have in your life at that time. I love that her words echo and make sense to you now too. You have certainly communicated your feelings here!
Morning Louise ,
Thank you for your response . Yes , I believe she was the right person for me at the time and that I was actually very blessed to have met her . I also believe that when we parted ways(as painful as it felt ) that was also another blessing as I was able to really start coming into my own , (which I know she would have wanted to ). Thanks again for reaching out and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week .
Friendship Series 2_04. Jean Wilson
We met over the garden gate. Literally. Heavily pregnant, I had moved from our upstairs flat to a larger terraced house closer to town and the beach: room for our imminent arrival and proximity to ‘all local amenities’ as the blurb went. She has loved me from the start, unconditionally. Her door is always open; the kettle always on. The relationship is hard to categorize. Her eldest was 24, her youngest 9 months, and her live-in daughter’s son 3 months. She is mother to six children, two of them twins. Was she mother, sister, equal friend? Age didn’t seem to matter.
Her accent betrays M’s Welsh origins and she had eschewed a career with the BBC to marry Norman, a northeast lad. She loves language and reading, common ground for us there then. She is interested in people and a good listener. Extremely generous, even when resources are limited, her perfect day is to be with family and friends, though I think she values a little peace as she has got older.
My life has been rich in friendships. Despite having moved cities several times, relationships have been maintained and grown with distance. Some have been for a season but many have been for life. What, I wonder, makes this richness? This year, M and I will have been friends for 45 years. Despite moving away then returning to a different part of town, if we haven’t seen each other for a while, we catch up and are as close as ever. We have shared everything without judgement. Have we ever fallen out? No. We have differed in our opinions, but respected those differences. We have lived ‘next to’ not ‘in’. We’ve been tolerant and warm. Both of us.
Jean, what a truly beautiful portrait of your wonderful friend you’ve shared with us here. I wonder if you will show it to her? How proud I’d be to be described like that.
And having benefitted several times over the last few years from your kindness and generosity, I can answer that question of yours about ‘what I wonder makes this richness?’ I think you make it possible with your way of being.
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/june-issue-friends/#jeanwilson
Txxx
Thank you.
Thank you very much for your feedback Tanya. It is music to my ears that it was right to follow my instinct on my voice. It still blows my mind that you take the time to read all of our memories and comment on them! You are so very generous and I can't thank you enough. Hope you are all well and have a beautiful weekend.
Tracey x