Jenna’s raven-black hair bobbed up and down on my screen as she attempted to adjust the angle of her camera. Video calling was the way of the world these days. She was a two-hour drive away and was caring for her ageing father during our province-wide confinement. Her days were spent dressing, feeding, bathing, and walking. But her nights were filled with anxiety and missing the person she’d left three short months ago before this whole pandemic had hit us hard. Jenna was lonely. Her heart was still tethered to her ex-girlfriend, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to recall why she had left the relationship in the first place.
“You’re here to remind me, Danielle,” she said and then took a long sip of her tea. “I texted Taryn last night after one-too-many glasses of wine. She has not replied.”
“I see,” I replied. “So, I suppose that somewhat answers the question I was going to ask: ‘How are you?'”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not great. Dad is becoming more and more despondent. The nurse comes at noon every day to help me, but it’s not going to be soon enough. He’s going to have to go into a home.”
My heart sank. “I’m so sorry, Jenna. Truly. That’s not an easy decision to make.”
She shook her head. “Nope. And I’m an only child so there’s no one else to help me make it.”
“I know,” I said.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Anyway, I’d rather not talk about that today,” she said in an attempt to pull herself together. “I wanted to talk about the other thing that is constantly running through my mind these days. I want to talk about Taryn.”
I sat back in my chair and took a sip of water. “Of course, honey. Let’s talk about Taryn,” I said. “So, you texted her last night. Is that the first communication since February?”
Jenna sighed. “From me, yes. She had texted and called a few times back in March when she heard I was moving in with Dad to take care of him. I didn’t answer her.”
“OK, that’s what I thought. I recall you saying you needed space.”
She nodded. “Yeah, everything was still too fresh. Now, though… I’m finding myself remembering all the good things. She was so funny and spontaneous. I miss that. I miss the joy she’d bring.”
I smiled, recalling Taryn’s outrageous sense of humour. It was one thing to be at a bar or a party with someone like her, perhaps another to be in a relationship. “Totally understandable. No one is black and white, honey. She had plenty of good traits.”
Jenna looked straight at me. “And plenty of not-so-good.”
I cleared my throat. “OK, I’m just a friend here. I am not a therapist…”
“I know!” she exclaimed.
“OK, just so we’re clear,” I reminded her sternly. This was a dangerous game. My own personal feelings about Taryn were not important. Jenna wanted to remember what her feelings were.
“We’re clear, Danielle. Don’t worry.”
I sat forward and lowered my shoulders. “You left her because you could no longer be the tiny planet to her blazing sun, honey. She was exhausting for you. She needed constant attention, affirmation, and entertainment.”
Jenna nodded wordlessly.
“She was a cycle of neediness, but she hid it behind this fabulous exterior—it was a total mindfuck. She seemed like she had it all together, but her veneer was thin and required continuous propping up by you and, at times, her employees.” Taryn owned a small candle shop downtown with two part-time people—both college students—who helped her run it.
I continued. “And what would please her or make her happy would constantly change. Sometimes she’d love so-and-so at the shop down the way, but then he’d do something she didn’t like and so she hated him again. And you had to agree! You were not entitled to your own view of things, not really—not if you were going to be let into her world.”
Jenna was tearing up, but prompted me to continue.
“She was rarely overt in her disapproval. It was always more subtle. If you displeased her by not agreeing or seeing things her way, she would look away. Or give you the silent treatment. She’d withhold love and affection, all the while claiming nothing was wrong. It was maddening! You constantly questioned yourself and your actions. This went on and on, Jenna. Your world was Taryn.”
“I know,” she said slowly.
“What you told me back in February, honey, confirmed what I had been witnessing on the outside for years. You said Taryn had no depth. You said she was too afraid to go deep because there was only shame beneath her surface, and she was too afraid to face it. So, she developed this shell of a personality to keep her from having to experience anything true.”
“I said all that?” she asked in earnest.
“Yes,” I replied, nodding. “I re-read the texts you sent me before we hopped on this call. You said all of that.”
“Whew,” she said, letting out a long-held breath.
“Jenna, I have no doubt that Taryn can be absolutely lovely at times. In fact, I know she can. I have seen it. But this other side of her casts such a huge shadow. And the main issue with it is not only how it affected you as a partner but how she refuses to acknowledge it. How can you work with that?”
Jenna rubbed her forehead. “Sometimes she’d get close, but then it would just get manipulative again. It was the getting close to honesty that kept me hooked for so long.”
I wanted to reach through the screen and hug her. “I bet. It’s so hard not to see potential in the ones we love and rest our hopes there when things are hard. But without any real attempt at change or even a sense of accountability, she is spinning her wheels. This means you are, too, as long as you are tied to her.”
My friend took another deep breath. “Thank you. OK. This is what I needed.”
I smiled. “I get it. Listen, you’re going through a lot. Give yourself a break. It’s so normal to miss the good stuff.”
Jenna wiped at her eyes again and waved to me. “I need to go have a good cry,” she said. “And possibly pour myself something stronger than this tea.”
“Whatever you need, love,” I said. “I’m here.”
She sighed. “And if she texts me back?”
“One day at a time,” I said.
