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Hi Messy Mom,
Any thoughts on how to intervene in my friend’s toxic relationship?
Hi my Sweet Love,
Swiftly!
Quickly!
Immediately!
Now!
Please do not be like the lady’s on Sex and the City! Cuz why would they ever let Carrie marry Big?!?! The fact that in every episode they weren’t like “He’s trash. He’s a dumpster. Girl, that man is a waste!” still baffles me all these years later. Let me tell you, I’d be at that wedding in boxing gloves ready to swing on Big before I let my best friend change her name to “Carrie Trash-shaw”. But you didn’t ask for my thoughts on late 90s/early 2000s television. You want to know how to intervene in your friend’s toxic relationship. “How” being the operative word. Perhaps Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte didn’t know how. So let’s fix that.
This question is actually very near and dear to me, because I was once in an emotionally abusive relationship. In my earliest of twenties, I had a boyfriend that I loved deeply, who unfortunately had controlling claws gripped onto the cells of my identity. I felt like an extension cord, useless until plugged into his outlet of power. And oh, the power he had over me. Wielded. The way he would scream at me. Lock me out of the apartment.
Talk shit about my friends. Yes, me hanging out with my besties would lead to vicious arguments. At the time, we were living together, I was financially dependent on him, so I’d bend to the wind of his demands.
Years after I got out of the relationship, a friend reminded me that in the thick of it, I revealed to her how I would have sex with him to avoid his anger. At the age of thirty-seven, if one of my friends told me they had sex with a partner to avoid their anger, I wouldn’t rest until I got them out of the relationship. But in our twenties, I don’t think any of us understood abuse. Understood intervention. In fact, the culture was to never get involved in each other’s relationships. Everyone wanted to be in one, and if you were to intervene, you could be accused of jealousy. Presumed to have ulterior motives. Subject you to unbridled anger. But my best friend Ismael, didn’t care about any of that.
One night after dancing and late night eats, Ismael, our friend Fernando, and I were walking up 7th ave in Manhattan. We had just had one of those magical bestie evenings where the laughter was nonstop and joy unmatched. I guess it had been a while since the three of us had gotten to hang so the night felt extra special. Liberating, honestly. My boyfriend always threw a fit when I hung out with Izzy and Fern, but tonight he was out of town, so we took advantage of it.
But besties aren’t just for dance floors and brunch tables. Besties are for those dark moments, when you’ve lost the thread of who you are. When you’re looking in a mirror, unable to see your reflection, besties have a duty to tell you what’s there. Besties see you.
Ismael saw me, and as we pranced up 7th ave, enjoying each other’s company, he did something only a bestie can do. He told me the truth about my relationship. As the three of us stood at the crosswalk on 18th street, waiting for the light to change, Ismael said about my boyfriend, “he dims your light.”