I went off-roading on Saturday. Not in the traditional sense, not with an ATV or a four-wheel drive. No, I went off-roading in Emeline’s car. It wasn’t planned that way. Originally, we were supposed to drive to St Columbia Falls, a little over two hours away from Launceston. But the cell service in Tasmania is garbage, the directions hadn’t downloaded, and we ended up driving the back way to the falls. It started raining on a gravel road cut threw the mountains causing us to slip and slide, we accidentally ended up in the middle of a cow herding, until we finally back-tracked thirty minutes to get to the proper road. When we finally reached the correct cut-off, we were rudely met with a fallen tree blocking the path. This is where the off-roading comes in to play. Instead of accepting defeat and turning around, Emeline decided she wasn’t giving up. She drove up the side of the road, putting her car in a VERY scary angle to pass this tree, until we met another fallen tree. Time and time again, we either had to get out to move branches, or drive precariously through fallen trees. I had to squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of the scraping limbs against her car. Eventually, we met our match; a massive tree that couldn’t be moved or driven around. We couldn’t get to the falls, and had to drive through each obstacle back. The whole time, Emeline took it all in stride, singing out loud the children’s song, “We can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we have to go through it.” And boy, did I take that to heart.
You see, the day before this had been a tough one. I slept in until ten, I laid around the house, I tried to read The Last of the Mohicans to relax, but ended up more stressed because none of it made any sense. I cried because I miss America and my friends back home. The week had been lovely, but something about that Friday brought on an intense longing for home and sense for purpose; I don’t think the constant rain and clouds helped at all. That night the girls invited me to karaoke, which was a bit of an odd experience given that the man running karaoke sang most of the songs. Things were going okay, until suddenly they weren’t. Until suddenly I was told something and I didn’t know what to think, I was confused, and I was hurt. In the morning, I got some clarity, but that swiftly turned into another mess entirely. Earlier in the week, on Tuesday night, Emeline and I bonded over our dislike of the miscommunication trope in novels. They’re the most frustrating trope because, why can’t people just communicate, why can’t they talk through problems? I know why, because facing things is absolutely terrifying. Facing a miscommunication, talking through it is… well, the thought of it makes my stomach clinch in anxiety. I wish we could live in a world where no one ever got mad at each other, where people always communicated perfectly, and no one’s feelings ever got hurt. But that is impossible. We are human, we make mistakes, and we have consequences for those mistakes. Facing a miscommunication is a lot like trying to drive down a road bombarded with fallen trees. You can’t go over them, you can’t go under them; you have to jump out of the car and find a way through them.
I am not good with confrontation. Whether that’s me being upset with someone, or someone being upset with me; I dread it. As soon as I know there’s something wrong, my body turns into fight or flight mode, and I am a runner. I want to run and run and run, I want to delete all my social media so no one can tell me what I did wrong, I want to listen to music and forget about what I want to speak to someone about. I didn’t use to be so afraid of communication, of admitting when I’m wrong or hearing someone out or telling someone that I’m unhappy with what they did. I didn’t like it, but I could do it. But then I got attacked with “We need to talk” texts with no explanations, just to show up and be made a villian, without being allowed to share my side. I would attempt to communicate, only to be silenced and shut down. After so many traumatic and failed communication experiences, it’s no wonder the idea of someone wanting to talk things out with me terrifies me. After the mess that was made, after being told someone wanted to talk things out, I became more afraid than I’d been in a very, very long time.
I can never express how thankful I am for my female friendships. I feel like I say it in every post, but even that isn’t enough. To be surrounded by women who not only love me and want the best for me, but also seek to understand how the pain in my past has affected me, and want to help me overcome it; the appreciation for them overwhelms me. I spoke to my friend about how this was it, I’d ruined a friendship, because I didn’t think they could hear me out. I told her about my past, about all the ways I’d failed before and never received forgiveness, or how I’d never gotten to explain my side. I told her how frightened I was, not at the person, but at the massive tree that had fallen in the path of my life, that I could not figure out a way around. She looked at me, and she told me something that I think I’ve always needed to hear, to understand, but never have. She said, “Just because conversations like this have been bad in the past, doesn’t mean they all will. When someone wants to discuss their feelings with you, it means they care enough to want to resolve them.” I have to pause again to really soak that in. Just because I’ve had bad experiences with this, it doesn’t mean they’ll all be bad. Just because communication has failed in the past, it doesn’t mean it has to now.
When I was younger, I didn’t have the tools I do now to solve problems. I didn’t understand a lot about the ways to speak to people, to stand up for myself, to emphasize, or to admit when I’m wrong and accept that I can do better. I was taught to either hide an issue under a blanket and ignore it, or to completely blow up at it. But now, I know more than I ever have about viewing the world from another’s’ eyes, about seeing where I fell short and admitting that I can do better. I have friends that I can talk to who help me see situations from an outside perspective, who both validate and reprimand me. I can take these tools, and the understanding that communicating doesn’t have to be a scary thing, and I can move forward. Sometimes, it can be scary to know that I have to face a mistake that I’ve made. Mistakes are bad, but they don’t define us. My worst moments on my worst days do not define the kind of person I am; what defines me is the way that I choose to move forward.
The bright side is that someone’s willingness to communicate isn’t a bad thing. If someone is confused about me, or if I am with them, our desire to talk things out together shows how much we value the other. If I choose to not only ignore a problem, but the person themselves, it shows that I didn’t care enough about them in the first place. Similarly, if I choose to ignore what someone has done and act okay, it shows how little I care about myself. Friendships and relationships between any two people are difficult, there are no friendships that are always okay; everyone hurts someone they love at some point in their life. What matters is what you do after, if you both choose to work together to clear the trees, or if you leave the mess that prevents you from moving forward. In life, too many times I’ve let fear allow me to search for ways over and under a problem, but it can’t work that way. If things are ever going to get better, you have to go through it.
Yours Truly,
the Brightside Blonde
I learned a new card game, had drinks with the girls, and admired the Tassie view from the side of the road. Also took the time to examine the new marks on Emeline’s car; she’s a real trooper.