For a few years, I lived in a giant awesome house with four of my favorite and best girl friends packed inside. It was like I had created my own version of a Barbie Dream House except everything was a shabby brown color rather than pink, and none of us had perms or convertibles. Being that we were all close friends and roommates, it was natural that we would all come to one another whenever we were going through any minor or major work, family, relationship or dating drama. But after a messy start with a new guy, which I reported in real-time to my friends, I realized there were certain occasions when I had to lay off the girl talk or risk turning into a five-headed freak. Five pretty and smart heads, but a freak nonetheless.
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It’s not that my friends didn’t give me their sound input. They thoughtfully responded to the early concerns – smallish and benign – I had about the guy, and didn’t break into any of that rash “Run for the hills, honey” talk that reeks of bad rom-coms and playground antics. As things progressed with the dude, however, I found myself in four running side commentaries that were like mini-relationship leeches feeding off of the first one.
You can probably see where this is going, but unfortunately, it took some time and space for me to see it myself. Over a few months of seeing the guy, I found myself questioning things that I wouldn’t have questioned on my own, wondering if I should be more worried over certain things just because my friends were. And I started measuring the relationship by the standards of four other people, rather than my own. All the talking backstage – however thoughtful and well-intended- drowned out the real action in the front.
This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t go to our best friends with our worries or drama, or that we shouldn’t weigh their advice at all. There are situations when the only thing that will set you straight is the straight-up truth that only your friends can spit. But sometimes all the chatter and g-chat dissections and seemingly helpful venting sessions will actually make your brain more scattered than it was, or add clouds to what were mostly blue skies.
I blame a little bit of this on Sex and the City, which made the picture of four friends dishing their relationship dirt around a Saturday brunch table look fabulous, fun, and as weird as it sounds, even powerful. But the next time the bff’s and me are sitting down together, ready to dish up, I’ll know better. When that inevitable question “How’s it going with Dude XYZ” is asked, I’ll feel just as empowered keeping certain things private. And if I feel the need to ask them for anything, it will be for a bite of bacon, instead.
