Don't Save Her

It's 3am. As my phone rings, I wake up and look at the screen. It’s her.

My heart becomes anxious and conflicted. I don’t answer. Within moments, my phone rings again. And again, I don’t answer. On the third call, I am racked with guilt and tell myself she wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency.

I answer to the sounds of sobbing and wailing. The girl on the other end of the phone is beside herself. She rants about not being able to do this anymore and begs me to help her. She wants to run away from home. She’s tired of her emotionally abusive family. A man online has offered her a place to live in exchange for God knows what. She wants to take him up on his offer. She has no job, no life-skills, and recently dropped out of college because she couldn’t take that either. Now, she’s found herself living at the mercy of her dysfunctional family and feels trapped.

Over the course of two hours I talk her down from the ledge. I remind her who she is. I remind her what she’s called to do. I call out her strengths. I pray for her. I tell that she is old enough to make her own decisions, but that she also needs to consider the consequences of those actions. While living in an emotionally abusive environment is bad, trading it for a physically unsafe one is not the answer. We talk about her options which mostly involve her taking responsibility for her life, finding a job, and stepping out on her own. By the time I get off the phone with her she is on top of the world. We have a plan of action and she has some things to work on until the next time we talk.

I am exhausted. I feel like I just ran an emotional marathon. She feels better and I feel hungover.

Three days later she calls again. The conversation repeats itself almost word for word. She’s applied to two jobs and hasn’t heard back from them. She’s ready to give up. I encourage, and pray, and reiterate that it won’t be easy--she’s going to have to work hard--but that she can do it.

I cringe every time she calls my phone, knowing I will to pour out my life so she can continue living.

Over the course of time, with my regular encouragement and direction she finally gets a job, starts saving money, and is on track to get her own car and get out of the house. I think, “This is it! She’s finally got it. She’s on the right track.”

It's 10pm. I get a series of frantic calls and texts. She’s getting fired. She doesn't know what to do. Her family got under her skin and she was emotional when she went to work. She’s already called in several days and her boss told her if she did again she’d be fired. So she goes to work, but has an attitude with everyone, gives bad service to her customers, and nearly gets into a physical altercation with a coworker.

She cries and tells me how she can’t take it anymore. I talk her off the ledge, yet again. I encourage her, speak life into her, and pray with her. I remind her that she is responsible for herself. That she needs to own her own actions. No one made her act that way. I encourage her to call her boss and sincerely apologize, own her mistakes, and ask for grace. She does. He gives her another chance, which lasts about two weeks until she has another explosion at work. We talk. The cycle repeats itself.

She eventually finds another job, continues to save money, and gets her own car. Then crisis hits again. She was driving home late at night and got in an accident. It was her fault. The car is totaled and she only had liability insurance. She’s lost everything she’s been working for. She’s so depressed she doesn’t go to work and loses her job. Here we go again....

____

This cycle has repeated itself over and over and over for years. She is always on the brink of crisis. I am always coming to the rescue, to refocus and ground her. When I am there telling her what to do she thrives, but when she is left to her own devices she makes poor decisions and wants me to help her fix it.

I love her so much. I have cried, and sacrificed, and bled for her. I have invested my life, time, energy, and resources to empower her to live strong and healthy. I’ve told her the truth and everything I know. I’ve given her my advice and wisdom and experience. Yet, I dread her calls. My heart physically revolts inside of me when I see her name on my screen. I am filled with anxiety and dread when I miss a call and have a voicemail waiting in queue. Something is terribly wrong with the dynamic of our relationship or else my heart would not be reacting this way. But what is it?

I decide I will not live like this any longer. I am called to heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds yet I am the one who feels broken. I need strength, and direction, and passion. As I begin to seek God; process through the feelings in my heart; and focus on my own growth and health, I realize that I have not been setting proper boundaries. I allow myself and my life to be run by other people's needs and problems. I realize that all relationships are two-way streets. There are two people and each should have input and the ability to require something of the other. This looks different in each type of relationship, but there is always a two-way flow. Any relationship that only goes one way is not a relationship.

I'd been pouring and pouring into her, and made no requirements of her for me. I felt like the purpose of the relationship was to address her needs and I subsequently ignored mine. I was bearing the entire weight and responsibility of what happened in our relationship and in her life. If she failed, it was because I had not done enough. If she was hurt or angry, it was my job to help her navigate her own feelings. I allowed her to dishonor my time, emotions, and resources because I reinforced that the relationship was only about her. I told her she was responsible for her own actions, but I taught her differently by my actions and responses to her crisis.

____

I start setting boundaries. When presented with a crisis, I ask how she is going to fix it. I provide suggestions and encouragement as needed, but I put the responsibility of her life on her. She knows what to do, it's time for her to grow up and start doing it.

She doesn't like this.

She makes some really poor decisions and her life devolves into crisis, yet again. She's decided her only solution is to show up at my doorstep so I have no choice but to take her in. She’s literally trying to make her life and wellbeing my responsibility. She has other options, but they're hard and me taking care of her seems so much better. This is her problem, I am willing to help her find a solution, but I am not going to fix it for her and living with me is not an option.

I meet a girl I've never met before. She is engulfed in rage. She curses me. All my years of love and support mean nothing when she doesn't get what she wants. She twists my words and says very hurtful things. In the past, I would have backtracked and apologized to her and tried to appease her emotions. But today is not that day. I will not participate in a dishonoring conversation. If she wishes to talk to me, it will have to be in a kind respectful way. That is my boundary that I would not have set before.

I end the conversation. I'm heartbroken. I want to help. I want to take her mess and fix it for her. I already know the answers, but that doesn't help her. Not helping is the hardest thing I've ever done. I wish I'd set healthy boundaries with her years ago. I believe in her. I believe she has the capacity to deal with her own mistakes.

Months go by and I do not hear from her. Then she calls.

She's dealt with her own crisis--not perfectly, but she's done her best. We talk of our falling out and I allow her to express her hurt. I know I changed the game on her after years of not requiring anything from her. I empathize with her pain. She is clear and open. We talk as peers. I am honest about my feelings and hurt from our previous conversation. She understands, and empathizes as well. There is mutual forgiveness and hope for the future.

I get off the phone and for the first time in our history my heart feels happy, full, and safe.

Good job, Sarah. Good job.