break-ups

  • Why Men and Women Handle Friendship Conflicts Differently

    Have you ever thought about how differently men and women approach their friendships, and more notably, how differently they handle friendship conflicts? My Other Ex contributor Shannan Younger asks the question, “What would a male version of My Other Ex look like?”

    Men and women often have disparate approaches in many areas of life, so it is unsurprising that they approach friendships and the conflicts that come with them differently, too.

    My husband and I are perfect examples of some of the ways the genders diverge when it comes to friends. He says that I need to see my girlfriends in a way that he does not need to see his buddies, and he’s right.

    In addition, I come home from an outing with friends with information about their marriages, issues with co-workers, and the scoop on recent life changes. I get the scoop. When it comes to his friends, he gets pretty much nothing.

    When I ask him for the latest gossip from his friends, he looks at me blankly. Turns out, he’s not unique.

    “I’ve played poker with the same guys every Thursday night for 18 years. We rarely talk about our lives. We talk about cards, betting, bluffing,” wrote the late Jeffrey Zaslow, author of The Girls from Ames, a book about female friendship, in the Wall Street Journal.  He asked his poker buddies if they knew his children’s names. They did not.

    The varied approaches my husband and I have to friends recently became very apparent when I received an invitation from a new friend. I angsted aloud about the etiquette surrounding the event, whether my friend felt obligated to include me, and the importance of giving her an out if that was the case, but also needing to do so in a way that made it clear I truly appreciated being included. I made a big, hairy deal out of something simple.

    My husband let me go on for a while and then quietly said, almost to himself, “I don’t get how hanging out with your friend is hard. Guys don’t do this.”

    While my own issues contributed to the drama, it illustrates how men and women experience friendship from differing perspectives and with separate goals. It also shows that sometimes women generate internal conflict that men do not.

    The fact that I mentioned none of my concerns to my friend also illustrates my tendency to keep concerns to myself. In talking about friendship break-ups with other friends, the inability or failure to speak up and air worries, and particularly grievances, is a common thread.

    Admittedly, in that instance I was making friendship hard work when it didn’t need to be. (Side note: I shelved the drama, accepted the invitation, and had a lovely time.) And there are times when I would argue that my husband isn’t working hard enough on his friendships.

    I certainly wouldn’t be the first female to think that men aren’t as good at friendship as women.

    It turns out that there is research to back up that hunch. Men reported interpersonal competition and lower friendship satisfaction in a 2007 study at the College of the Holy Cross. The interpersonal competition indicates a one-upsmanship

    That interpersonal competition may be more prominent in male friendships because men favor side-by-side friendships that allow them to participate in activities together, often athletic activities that are literally competitions. Women, on the other hand, often prefer friendships that are face-to-face so that they can share, exchange and bond with each other, while, according to Dr. Irene Levine, a psychologist, friendship expert and author of the book Best Friends Forever: Surviving a Breakup with Your Best Friend.

    It is also possible that men are more tolerant of their friends, leading to less overall conflict. One study of female college students requested a change in roommates far more often than males, which researchers attributed to men being more accepting of their friends’ failings. That, in turn, leads to less conflict.  They also noted that one possible explanation “could be that women value the friendships more, and so are harsher judges when they perceive a betrayal.”

    There are, however, similarities between male and female friendships.  Men and women both invest in their friends and value time spent with them, as Wood noted in her book, although they spend that time in very different ways.

    Experts agree that both genders derive support from their friends.  Studies have shown that friendship is beneficial to the health of both genders, including this one out of Brigham Young University in 2010 that found that the quality and quantity of individuals’ social relationships has been linked not only to mental health but also to both morbidity and mortality.

    Neither gender has a lock on conflict-free friendship. Issues invariably do arise in male and female friendships. Along those lines, the end of friendships is not specific to women.

    Both genders feel pain at the loss of a friendship. Daniel Duane detailed the pain and frustration he felt when his best friend drifted away after moving to another state in his piece “Do Men Suck at Friendship?” in Men’s Journal.  He even told his friend, “I’m hurt!” While I may not have approached the conflict in the same way, I absolutely related to his experience and found his account was moving.

    Thinking of Duane’s story of his friendship breakup, and how men and women differ in their approaches to friendship and conflict with friends, makes me wonder what a male version of My Other Ex would be like.

     

    ShannanYoungerHeadshotShannan Ball Younger is a freelance writer and blogger living outside Chicago with her husband and daughter. She’s originally from Ohio and received her undergraduate and law degrees from the University of Notre Dame. She blogs at Mom Factually and at Chicago Parent. You can also find her writing in the book The Her Stories Project: Women Explore the Joy, Pain and Power of Female Friendship and several regional publications.

    She has written about the adventures of raising an adolescent at Tween Us on ChicagoNow for more than two years, so it’s probably not a coincidence, then, that her essay in this collection is about a friend with whom she was close in middle school.

    Keep reading

  • Friendship Breakup Lessons: Here’s What I Learned

    friendship breakup lessons

    Losing a friend is so painful that it’s difficult to learn any friendship breakup lessons. That comes with time.

    I have often marveled at the parallels between friendship and romantic relationships, especially romantic breakups and friendship breakups. Finding new friends can be disturbingly similar to dating, complete with awkwardness, insecurity, and butterflies. Really connecting with a new friend can feel much like falling in love, as you find yourself bringing the other person up in conversation when you are not together. And breaking up with a close friend can be just as devastating as breaking up with a partner.

    Jessica and I have been reading Best Friends Forever: Surviving a Breakup with Your Best Friend by the “Friendship Doctor,” Irene Levine.  In her book, Dr. Levine talks about why friendships fall apart, how to cope with getting dumped by a friend, how to end an irreparable friendship, and how to move forward after a traumatic friendship split.

    She pinpoints many of the various reasons that  friendships can disintegrate and also helps shed light on when it is worthwhile to mend the relationship, or better to cut your losses and move on.

    Last week Jessica wrote about toxic friendships: how to spot them and how to handle them. This week, I am going to share the story of one of my closest friends, and the painful breakup we experienced.

    I met Shannon shortly after I moved to Denver, having completed a post-graduation internship and secured my very first real job. Shannon was interning with the small company of music therapists I worked for, and we found ourselves connecting through our magnetic need to process the intensity and hilarity of the groups we were learning to lead. After co-teaching a music class for toddlers and parents, we would often stand in the parking lot for close to an hour afterwards, laughing at our mistakes and the unexpected turns our session had taken.

    I remember the exact day we began to consider ourselves true friends- we met after a monumental work week to celebrate with cocktails at a trendy bar. Over Dreamsicles, we exchanged stories, laughed, and disclosed personal details that further cemented our connection. We continued our “first date” long into the evening, and emerged from this rite of passage as kindred spirits. Each subsequent year, we acknowledged that anniversary by returning to the bar and ordering the same drinks.

    Shannon soon became a staple in my life; each Wednesday, along with another girlfriend, we honored Ladies Night, and took turns hosting and cooking for one another. Our raucous evenings included lots of wine, dessert, laughter, and profuse oversharing. We often spent hours on the phone together after our work days, debriefing each other on our challenging clients, commiserating about our incompetent boss, and of course, laughing until we were breathless.

    We traveled together, briefly lived together, and were bridesmaids in each other’s weddings. Even after the birth of my first daughter, we maintained our tradition of Ladies Night, though we had a tiny new member who was passed around each week. My transition to motherhood definitely impacted all of my friendships, and also inspired me to seek out new friends who were experiencing similar struggles and challenges.

    Girls NightWhen my daughter was about eight months old, Shannon and I broke up. It was not a gradual fade, though I’m certain my transition into motherhood along with my decision to file for divorce from my first husband was a burden on our relationship.

    But our breakup happened suddenly, in the most dramatic and unmistakable way possible- a blowout. I will refrain from sharing the details of our blowout, because I don’t believe it is productive or appropriate to rehash it; suffice it to say, hurtful words were exchanged, and both of us walked away from the experience feeling wounded and misunderstood.

    We did not reach out to each other. My life was changing significantly, and I was swept along by the inescapable wave of single motherhood, navigating new roles, and eventually, finding a new relationship with my husband. I thought of her frequently; I no longer enjoyed Ladies Night on Wednesdays, I didn’t have anyone who would fully appreciate my music class anecdotes, and her absence was felt sharply at my daughter’s first birthday party.

    Months went by, and though I had other friends, I did not have Shannon. I missed her intensely, with the deep ache of someone who has become a refugee from their home. But I clung to my sense of justice and wounded pride, and did not contact her. And then one Christmas I received a text message from her. Merry Christmas. Missing you. It was late at night when I saw the message, and my heart began to pound with shock and elation. I called her the very next day, and we made plans to get together for dinner.

    I will always remember where we went, what I ate, and even where we sat. We filled each other in on the tremendous changes and tiny joys that we had missed out on.

    Avoid rehashing old arguments.

    We carefully navigated the tender details of our breakup, and were able to hear one another, understand things with a fuller perspective, and make amends. That was over five years ago, and we have stayed close ever since. We do not often revisit the context of our breakup; I still maintain that it is unproductive to rehash old arguments, no matter what type of relationship you are in. Unless you have found yourself in an unhealthy pattern that continues to reappear, it is often enough to acknowledge the isolated disagreement and move on.

    However, I do think it is possible, and beneficial, to learn from a friendship break.

    Think about the balance between honesty and support.

    In our case, Shannon and I learned a lot about what lines to avoid crossing in terms of offering advice, appearing judgmental, and speaking our fullest opinions. Dr. Levine refers to the importance of finding a balance between honesty and support. My friendship break helped me to clarify my own opinions and practices when reconciling the role of honesty vs support in relationships.

    Severing ties (temporarily) in times of flux can help a relationship.

    While it was never my intention to end my friendship with Shannon, when I reflect back on our breakup, I feel that it served a purpose for us both. Sometimes when we are experiencing great flux in our lives, be it the transition of motherhood, career change, divorce, or even a move, we need to temporarily sever ties with a friend in order to fully move forward and reinvent ourselves.

    Dr. Levine devotes an entire chapter to friendships in flux, discussing the various life changes and transitions that can take a toll on relationships. I saw this happen with several of my best college friends, many of whom are an important part of my life today; we simply needed to break away from one another, learn who we were outside of the context of our friendships, grow up a little, and then assess whether we still belonged in each other’s lives. And unless the friendship has become toxic, is no longer relevant, or irreparable harm has been done, it is often possible, and even therapeutic, to find your way back after a friendship break.

    In an earlier HerStories essay, Nina Badzin shared her insightful perspective in The Case For A Friendship Break. Her piece deeply resonated with me, as I have successfully rebounded from several friendship breaks, including Shannon’s, as well as others that were more gradual. I think that sometimes they are necessary, and provide the space and perspective to grow, process, and reevaluate the role of the friendship.

    Wedding shower 419I will be forever grateful that Shannon reached out to me that Christmas night; she was present when I remarried, celebrated with me when my husband adopted my daughter, and supported me after the birth of my second child.

    She is the friend who keeps me grounded- the friend who knew me “back when,” who understands who I am at my core, and who knows me apart from my children. She makes me feel appreciated, celebrated, and listened to. Shannon is a friend who brings out my sense of joy, a friend that I laugh with more than almost any other person, and a friend who isn’t afraid to get muddy wading around in the depths of our own psyches.

    She is not my fellow mom friend, nor is she a friend of convenience. We have to work hard and put forth a lot of effort to make time for each other. Shannon is the proof that some friendships, the ones that are truly meant to be, can survive a break-up and emerge even stronger.

    Keep reading

  • The Miles Between Us

    I am so excited about today’s guest essay. It comes from one of my “real life friends” Erica; even more noteworthy, she is the friend featured in the very first HerStories friendship essay! My story of our friendship, which began during a time of shared loss, inspired Erica to add her own essay, a poignant narrative of a friendship and its deterioration. Erica was unsure about contributing to the series, as she does not consider herself to be a “writer.” After you read The Miles Between Us, I think you may have to respectfully disagree with her. -Stephanie

     

    My good friend Erica (left) and me at a girls' night out.

     

    Mandy and I met just once before we became roommates. A mutual friend suggested we move in together since neither of us could afford a one bedroom in the pricey college town to which we were both relocating. We secured a two bedroom apartment online, left for separate summers, and arrived in town a week before our graduate classes began.

    As a logic-driven, athletic, assertive person, I don’t click with a lot of women – it seems they find me overly direct and not gentle enough. The first week Mandy and I circled each other gingerly, but began sharing strategies for the transition we were both making: directions to the DMV, where to find a cheap, tasty burrito. We quickly found that we made excellent roommates, and had many quirky similarities in our personal histories. As an engineer, Mandy also operates from a predominantly logical mind frame, so our communication was easy and natural. As we each began to get a few social invitations, we shared those, too. Finally, we tried running together, and found we were well matched in stride, pace and distance – eureka!

    Before long, Mandy and I were nearly inseparable. We cooked dinner together most nights, had the same social circle, and developed a hundred inside jokes. We both settled in and got quite busy but we often made a point to schedule our run together. We giggled even as we huffed along, talked about being bridesmaids in each others’ weddings, and eventually shared the most painful, raw parts of ourselves. I haven’t had a friendship quite like it since middle school; full of shared discovery, with the intensity of a romance. If I were to repeat some of what she told me about herself, you might understand more of what happened later, but I won’t, not ever. The sharing that happens when you’re that intimate is sacred, even if the sanctuary crumbles.

    Mandy met one of my mountaineering buddies, Ben. He’s a warm, affectionate person who flirted casually with most women until the moment he met Mandy. Instantly, she was the sun and the moon to him. It only took a few weeks before she felt the same about him. I was thrilled; it was fun to be in the glow of their giddy love, and I was crazy about both of them so I had no problem with the fact that he spent a huge amount of time at our place. But as we were about to finish our degrees, Mandy began to pull away. I asked her why, and eventually she let me know I’d transgressed an important boundary: I’d used her special nickname for Ben as if it were mine, too. I was taken aback, as we’d shared every little expression and gesture for two years, but it made perfect sense that they needed separateness in their relationship. I apologized, and never did it again, but she continued to treat me as a third wheel when they were at our place. It started to get annoying, but we all were under the pressure of finishing up so I let it slide.

    We all graduated, moved out, and I rambled around Asia for several months. I figured that when I got back Mandy and Ben’s relationship would be settled in and she and I would continue being best friends without the enmeshment. After a fun initial reunion, I called every few days, but Mandy put me off saying how busy she was. I fell back to our old strategy: I offered to join her for a run, knowing she always made time for her daily workout. When that took weeks, I knew something was up. Once we were finally on the trail hitting a good stride, I asked her what had I done? How could I fix it?

    Mandy said she just wasn’t comfortable any more with how people had seen us as a unit. She referenced her typical pattern of keeping her close female friends in distinct social groups. She’d made some new friends through Ben and she didn’t want me to meet them. But she assured me I hadn’t done anything wrong for which I should – or could – make amends. It was basically the age-old, It’s not you, it’s me. She suggested we spend “less” time together. Since we’d previously had daily contact that seemed easy to achieve within a healthy friendship. But after several months in which my regular invitations yielded two stilted visits and no reciprocation, I felt frustrated and hurt. I said, It’s too weird begging to be around you. I was explicit: I’ll give you some space, I won’t call you, but please, call me as soon as you’re ready. That was eleven years ago. She hasn’t called.

    Initially, when we saw each other at gatherings it was intensely painful for me, and more so that she seemed unaffected. I hoped for her call, but there was nothing for months until an invitation to her out-of-state wedding showed up in the mail. I had a rush of hope that she was also inviting me back into her life. I reached out cautiously by email with something leading like, I got the invitation, thank you! The venue sounds great, I’m curious to hear more about it. How are you? Mandy replied, I’m good but very busy. I hope you’re doing well. It would be great if you can make it. Ouch. I realized it was Ben who wanted to include me. Still, I waited until the day of the deadline before I checked “Regretfully Declines” on the RSVP.

    I may have burned a bridge by not going, but I’m pretty sure it was already destroyed. Seriously, would it have made sense to travel all that way to stand wistfully watching Mandy in a crowd of people, while knowing that she had no intention of seeing me in the town where we both lived? I had a final cry-myself-to-sleep over it during the weekend of her wedding, and then resolved to make my peace with our distance.

    After a couple of years, I could see her without getting a lump in my throat. When I ran into her a week before the birth of her first child, I knew what to say to make her feel ok, and she thanked me, and it felt good to be able to do something small but positive with our old intimacy. The last time I saw Mandy was at a party when her daughter was a few months old. I toted the baby around for a while, giving Mandy and Ben a chance to mingle. Our interactions felt lighthearted, if superficial. I felt healed.

    I had my first child, a son, several years later. My husband and I chose a classic but uncommon name, Miles, as a tribute to his paternal grandmother, Millie. Miles was not an easy baby, but he’s the apple of my eye. When Miles was about five months old, a friend called to gently tell me some news: Mandy and Ben just had their baby boy. And, well, I thought you should know… they named him Miles. When our surprised mutual friend asked if she’d heard the news and name of my son, Mandy reportedly said vaguely, Hmm, yeah, I think I did hear that.

    I was amazed that the anger and grief I thought was gone came rushing back that day, and stayed with me for several months whenever I thought about it. For me, Mandy’s choice of a name for her son encapsulated everything about her and me: How much we’re alike, how far she pushed us apart, and how completely she shed any feeling of connection to me. That quirky little sameness in our mothering further hints at another layer of loss; of what we might have been to each other as support through the challenges of transitioning from our efficient, active pre-child selves into the milky, sleep-deprived terrain of motherhood. Then again, had we stayed friends, only one of us could have used the name since it would have been too darn confusing when we called out to our two little boys scampering together up the trail… As it is, despite my strong initial reaction, Mandy is right: the fact that our sons have the same name simply doesn’t matter. It’s been nearly four years since her son was born, and we’ve never even met each other’s Miles.

     

    Keep reading