Guest Blogger: Jessica

Dear readers,

This week I have the pleasure of introducing you to a wonderful post about coffee,  friendship and self image.

I encourage you all to contribute to making www.cindafuckingrella.com a place where women (and men) share their thoughts and my request was granted this week by Jessica, who wrote this. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.

If you are interested in a stint as guest blogger,  you may submit your post to mail@cindafuckingrella.com. 

Love ,

Cinda

…

My friend and I have coffee every week.  Sometimes we meet twice a week because we have just too much fun.  Unless one or the other of us is traveling it’s something we don’t miss.  Since our employer went out of business we’ve savored the time on our hands spend it talking.  We talk.  And talk.  And talk some more.  Though we’ve known one another for more than 8 years, we still have so much to learn about and from each other.  We explore topics far beyond the mundane, delving into matters only relevant in corners of the universe, and then some maybe not even that important.  Often we laugh.  Sometimes we lament.  Now and then we might cry. And we always come back for more.  Often it is that only time and other commitments can drag us away from our nook in the coffee shop where we are just two people whose minds inquire, postulate, and consider.  The shopkeepers know us, nod, and suggest snacks to accompany the daily discourse.

So one day recently we ended up talking about prospective jobs and work.  Me, I’m confused about what I want to do with myself now that there’s an open horizon to explore.  She is uncertain that there’s anything she can do.  Hearing this, I have to protest, because I know this woman too well.  In a word, she’s amazing.

Bright – she has degrees in three different countries and as many languages.  Capable – she managed some sophisticated bookkeeping for our agency in spite of our antiquated software and untrained staff.  Beautiful – she’s got a body you could break bricks on and a face that has been known to stop traffic.  Kind – a heart that could take in the world, without qualification or judgment, and if there’s a problem she’s the first to examine herself as the source because she would never cast an aspersion on another.  Generous – I have to stop her from trying to buy all our coffees, as well as keep her emptying her jewelry box because she found an item in there that would look smashing on me.  Devoted – she would never give up a friend and has your back without question.  She’s the one you could call to come over at midnight and the only question she’d ask is whether she needs to bring a shovel.

The list goes on, but you get the gist.  So, of course, it stops me in my tracks when this woman that I want to be when I grow up says she doesn’t know if she can get meaningful employment.  For a moment I’m certain she’s joking, but a look into her eyes tells me she’s serious.  The conversation takes a turn wherein I strive to examine how someone so gifted could arrive at such an opinion.  Then I’m adamant that this woman must come to see herself through the eyes of others, if only mine.  I challenge her.

“Tell me one wonderful thing about yourself.”

Her expression allows me to watch her heart crumble when she can’t.  She stammers, her eyes hit the floor, and words fail her.

I urge her gently, telling her I could name ten of her virtues without thinking, so please just tell me she can name one.

It becomes crucial to me.  My friend is drowning before my eyes and I can’t save her.  I encourage her, I hope, telling her I could hit any of ten numbers on my cell phone and let someone else sing her praises over the speaker.  Surely, she has to have some belief in herself?  And then it strikes me that what I have always taken as self-deprecation and modesty is genuine.  This awesome person who I do not want to imagine this world without, really finds herself entirely unworthy of her every breath.

She asks if she can get back to me on the question before we part.  It brings tears to my eyes, but her request is granted without hesitation.  My friend needs to find a beach in the stormy sea where she can regain her breath.  The conversation turns to something more delightful and intriguing, but when we are done and ready to leave she is still without one kind thing to say about herself.

I mean well, really I do.  I want my friend to open her heart to herself and see her redeeming qualities that all but spill out onto the floor before.  With a smile and half laugh, I agree to “give her time.”  The next time we have coffee she must commit to naming something wonderful about herself.  She agrees.

My heart bleeds to think what in our world, our society, our culture or whatever could so break a woman like this.  I have taken the pause and rethink, probably to an undue extreme given the moment, every word I say.  It’s like Florence Littauer once shared; all our words should be gifts to one another, “our words should be like little silver boxes with bows on top.”

It has been a week since I’ve seen my friend.  The next time I reach her voicemail she will learn that I don’t give a damn about the commitment. She can take all the time she needs to learn to love herself.  I’m her friend and I’ll be there for her. She needs to know that I not only love her warts and all, but that just being herself is more than good enough for me.  But do me a favor, would you?  Pray for her.