Friends of the Friendless

Somewhere between playing four corners with the neighbor kids and my endless search for a decent coffee since our exodus from Oregon, I lost the ability to make friends. Friendless.

There’s an I Love Lucy episode where Lucy thinks she’s friendless because people forgot her birthday, or so it would seem. She makes some “well-oiled friends” in a park and crashes Ricky’s show at the Tropicana with this classic speech: “These people are my friends, the friends of the friendless. I was friendless. I was just a bit of flotsam in the sea, a pitiful outcast. Shunned by my fellow man. I was a mess. The people I thought were my friends forsook me.” Mid monologue Lucy realizes there’s a surprise birthday party happening in her honor at the club and all is right in the world. Glad it worked out for her in less than 30 minutes with commercial breaks!

Being raised in a cult, we’re not as lucky. Growing up as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, you’re born into an instant, secure network of people who truly believe in the concept of togetherness. It’s an instant village of people ready to babysit each other’s kids, clean each other’s homes, give each other rides and start window-washing companies together; insta-family, insta-BFFs. The only thing that needs to be worked out is who’s riding with whom for a Saturday filled with door-knocking fun. You don’t have to understand or abide by societal norms because your spiritual family will love you regardless of your social faux pas.

They will not, however, still love you if you fail to abide by God’s norms. Once you and God are no longer on speaking terms, neither are they. You’re on your own, kid. You’ve not been properly taught how to interact with anyone in the outside world. If they’re not on the roster of your Christian cleaning company or in Saturday’s door-to-door car group, all bets are off. All you’ve known was a group of people who welcomed you and took you under their cult-y wing with a long list of conditions held with an iron clad fist. Then you begin to understand that perhaps they didn’t actually love you, but who they wanted you to be or thought you should be.

When this sinks in you blame yourself. How can I make friends? How can I start conversations with people who don’t know where I’m coming from? How on earth can I even begin to help people around me understand just how difficult it is to be suddenly thrown into a world I wasn’t prepared for? After all, I had my speedy drive-thru clan and they’ve had my back all this time with Saturday car rides, town hall get-togethers, BBQs, Friday night dinners, sleepovers, visits to the house when I was sick and a shoulder to cry on, it shouldn’t be that hard, right? It shouldn’t be, but it is.

So, you make a habit of standing by and watching people from the sidelines, hoping to glean the confidence they display while interacting. Sure, one might have spent years out of the fold already, but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier. Having an insta-family vs. putting in the work to get to know someone from scratch and build a relationship is almost a no-brainer for someone who grew up with the former. And what if you put in all that work and don’t like each other? It’s back to square one. Where to even meet people? Bars? I don’t want to drink every night. MeetUp groups? I’m a little leery of mixers.

What do I even say? “I was raised in a cult and still, at 39 years old, have no clue how to be socially appropriate. I have very few friends because my level of trust is near zero. I’m dead to my immediate family and don’t know my extended family too well, due to my parent's decision to keep us at bay from those not in our spiritual community. I don’t like holidays because I habitually don’t celebrate them. I’ve been playing catch up on the things in life most people take for granted. My soul feels homeless and I cry myself to sleep when the TV’s not on.” I could go on but you get it.

This is why I like dogs.