In 2014, I endured a horrific health crisis. Multiple strokes, a cancer diagnosis, followed by risky surgery and several months of chemotherapy, brought many of my relationships, from casual to intimate, into sharp focus. I found that friends and family reacted to my serious illness in one of three ways.
First, many rallied to my side. Several members of my family trekked 1500 miles south to be with me. I received phone calls, texts and even hand-drawn cartoons of encouragement from friends. Acquaintances, some of whom I hadn’t heard from in several years, reconnected with me and bolstered my spirits.
Second, I found that some retreated from my presence. It was almost as if they feared my illness was contagious and needed the distance. Or perhaps they heard that my health woes might be fatal, or in any event debilitating, and they chose to no longer be a part of my world. Maybe they reasoned that I would be unable to participate with them in mutual activities due to my maladies.
Third, some simply remained. My husband, mother and siblings, as well as several friends, stayed true. This didn’t mean that they didn’t travel to be with me, act as caregivers, or support me in every way possible. But that is what I knew they would do and they didn’t disappoint.
Those who rallied sometimes did so with a short burst of omnipresence, only to fade into the background or away completely as the sense of crisis diminished. Others wanted to be involved in every way, even in ways in which their presence was an intrusion and was more about them than about me.
Those who retreated typically went quietly into the night. They wouldn’t respond to social media posts, would reply only perfunctorily to a text or e-mail, and wouldn’t return phone calls. There wasn’t any noisy exit. I simply heard less from them, and then not at all.
Those who rallied and those who retreated often surprised me. Sometimes the surprises were pleasant, as individuals with whom I had minimal contact drew close. But sometimes friends who I thought would have been supportive became distant instead.
In all cases, the lesson for me was to accept the evolution of the relationship. I learned to appreciate those who remained, and those who rallied, even if their enthusiasm was short-lived. And I learned to understand those who absented themselves from my situation.
The latter was hard. It’s always difficult to see a friend slip away, especially at a life-threatening time. Nevertheless, viewing all of my interactions with a sense of equanimity proved beneficial to my mental health. Improved mental health yielded better healing physically. I know this gave me a fighting chance to not only survive my ordeals but to grow stronger from them.
Thankfully, I’m fully recovered. If you find yourself in a similar situation, where chaos has enveloped you, whether due to a serious illness or any other cause, understanding your relationships is important. Know that some will rally, some will retreat, while others remain steadfast. Learning not to judge but to be grateful for everyone in your life, no matter how brief their visit, is critical to gaining coherence, clarity and convalescence from your chaos.