A Shoulder to Cry On
So, you know when your mobile is just sitting there, lighting up over and over with calls and youre in one of those Im not picking up moods? That was my evening. My phone was lying in the middle of the sitting room table, screen flashing and playing its cheerful little jingle every now and again, but the flat stayed quietly peaceful. I was nowhere near it.
Honestly, I was treating myself to a long-overdue soak in the bath. After one of those relentless days in the office, my only wish was to slip into something warm and forget the world for a bit. I ran a deep bath, proper hot, sprinkled in some lavender-scented bubbles, dimmed the lights and let myself sink beneath the foamy layer. It was perfectjust that cocoon of water, soft lighting, and the calming scent drifting in the air. Exactly what I craved when work had absolutely wiped me out.
But that phone wasnt having any of it. “Emily” kept popping up on the screen, call after call with barely any gap between. Emilys my mate, and apparently tonight, she was desperate to chat. Bless her, she must’ve rung about twenty times while I was off in bubblebathland, but I didnt hear a thing. Head on a soft bath pillow, eyes closed, letting the steam ease away the stress. It was bliss.
Eventually, after nearly an hour (I tend to overdo it in the bath), I got out and wrapped myself up like a burrito in my fluffiest dressing gown. The first thing I spotted was my phone glowing like a lighthouse. Twenty-odd missed calls from Emily, and before Id even got my bearings, it chimed againpersistent as ever.
Before answering, I checked my messagesand, well, there were nearly just as many. Stuff like, Where are you?!, Anna, pick up! Ive got news! and then, Are you okay? followed by, Please call me, its important! The texts got more urgent the further down I scrolled.
Give me strength, I thought, frowning and suddenly as tense as Id felt before my bath. I already knew I probably wasnt up for another session of woe is me with Emily tonight. Much as I love her, she does tend to ring with some fresh drama at least three times a week. Its usually something about her job, a date gone badly, or even some run-in with a grumpy cashier. Anything, really, is grounds for an emotional deep-dive.
Honestly, lately, it felt like my main role in our friendship was to be her shoulder to cry on. Ever since her breakup with her ex, Ben, things had just spiraled. Hed messed her about something rotten, and after their split, the tears and phone calls were pretty relentless. At first, I was genuinely happy to support her, listening, comforting, even letting her crash at my place for a while. But after months of this, I was running on empty. I hardly remembered the last evening Id properly had to myself.
She used to show up at mine every night. No matter how shattered I was, didnt matter if I cooked for us or ran all over town all day. As soon as I walked in, thered be Emily pleading for a chat, eyes shiny with tears, telling me how Ben used to be controlling, wanting to know where she was all the time.
Id just set the kettle going, saying little, because if I tried to interrupt or, heaven forbid, say shed had a point, it would trigger hours of crying and nobody cares about me. So you just listen. For the thirtieth time that month.
I only ever did nice things for him! shed cry, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Cooked, cleaned, listened to all his problems. And he still betrayed me. Why are men like that? Id mumble something supportive, trying to believe one day shed take my advice and move on.
As much as I cared, I could feel myself fadingnever any space for my own thoughts, my own worries, my own little joys. Always the same stories, the same heartbreaks, and me, with barely anything left to give.
Id tell her, gently, Em, maybe its for the best. Now you can finally find someone who’ll really appreciate you. Someone who wont make you cry. But it was like talking to a wall. She was trapped in her own sadness, memories of Ben swirling round in her mind, her whole life on pause.
Eventually, a couple of weeks back, she moved back into her own place. I remember watching her pack her suitcase into an Uber, an odd mix of relief and sadness flickering through me. It finally felt as if the weight of being always on call for her had lightened, just a touch. That night, I actually fell asleep without that familiar knot of worry in my chest.
For the next few days, it was honestly a gift. I could do whatever I fanciedgo to the cinema, catch up with other mates, marathon those shows Id been meaning to watch for ages but never had the quiet time for. I started to breathe again, to remember what my own evenings felt like.
But then, tonight my phone was back at it, ringing off the hook. Emily again, not just calling but messaging in a flurry. Anna, call me ASAP! Its urgent! I need to talk! I stared at the screen, torn. On one hand, a little prickle of worrywhat if something really was wrong? On the other, a pang of frustration. Id just started remembering what my own life looked like, and here we were, back to square one.
I knew how this would go: Emily would get straight to her latest crisis, and whatever was going on in my worldwork, plans with friends, much-needed downtimewouldnt matter one bit.
Pulling the phone closer, I thought for the hundredth time, Why is it always me thats the sounding board? Does she ever wonder if I want an evening to myself? But at the same time, I know her hearts in the right place, and maybe she genuinely needs me. Still, I found myself whispering, Ill call her tomorrow. The world wont stop turning if I have one evening off.
Switching the phone off felt weirdly bold, but I did it anyway. Slid it into my drawer, telling myself shed just believe it ran out of battery.
That night was lovely, for once. I made proper hot chocolate, cuddled up in a blanket, and finally pressed play on that series everyone had been talking about. No need to listen for keys in the lock, no need to prep myself for another round of consoling. I just let myself exist. No pressure, no guilt-trips.
Slept like a log, actually. When I woke up, I had that rare sense of being genuinely rested, ready for a new day. Fished my phone out, switched it on, andwell. The floodgates opened. Thirty messages, a handful of missed calls, a couple of voice notes. All from Emily.
I braced myself and scrolled: Anna, where are you? Why wont you pick up? Is something wrongI cant reach you! Then, Well, fine. If you dont care, Ill talk to someone else Her texts got more fretful, more stung, as the night rolled on.
I sat at the kitchen table, torn between dialing her straight away or just letting myself have another morning. In the end, guilt (or maybe just habit) won out, and I rang.
She picked up instantly, voice all anxious, a little bit annoyed. Where were you last night? Did you have another bout of insomnia or something? I tried to sound breezy: No, Em, my phone died. I was shattered after workI needed a break.
She cut me off, slightly huffily, Well, Ive got the most incredible news, and you just ignored me! Why are you being like this? I could feel my patience stretching. Honestly? Are you not allowed a bit of downtime these days? I was up late working, my phone ran out. It happens.
Cue the drama: Of course. So clearly you think your mate doesnt matter. I see how it is.
I sat there, momentarily speechless. Bloody hell, is it such a crime to have your own life once in a while?
Taking a steadying breath, I said, Look, please think before you speak. Has something actually happened or is this just you needing to vent again?
There was a pause. I half expected the waterworks to start, but instead she sighed and muttered a small apology. Sorry. Its just really important to me. I thought youd be happy for me.
There it was. I braced myself. Alright, go on thenfeeling that old mixture of care and exhaustion. My mind was already racing through my plans: meeting a client later, hair appointment, drinks with another matesomeone I actually hadnt seen in ages.
Emily hesitated for a beat, then burst out, letting the news hang over the line: Im getting married!
My mouth actually fell open. Married?! After all those months spent slamming Ben, crying over everything hed donethe very same Ben she swore shed never speak to again? How? When? Who?
I finally managed, Whos the lucky man? already fearing the answer.
Who else? Ben! We caught up recently, had a proper talk, sorted everything, and decided to give it another go. Arent you happy for me?
I almost laughed. Is she winding me up? All that heartbreak, those furious speeches about never going back, and now wedding bells?
Yeah, Im thrilled for you, I managed, half-giggling from disbelief, but seriously?
She was stone cold sincere. I mean it, Anna. I still love him, and were happy. I forgave everything.
I sat there, staring at my cold tea, suddenly realising how tired I wasof these cycles, of this emotional roundabout that never seems to end. How quickly an old wound can be forgotten and how easily I seemed to slip back into the role of the listening ear, the endless comforter.
Well, I said as brightly as I could manage (though Im sure a note of steel crept in), thats great. But dont come running to me next time you two have a row. And anywaycongratulations.
I didnt wait for a reply. I hung up, set my phone down, and tried to shake off the weird ache of frustration and disappointment.
All those months, all that energyand for what? So she could go charging headlong back into Bens arms the second he crooked his finger. It wasnt Emily I was annoyed at, not really. Just the endless loop of it all. Of always being the flatmate, the support act, the shoulder to cry onnever getting a moment to breathe.
I caught my own reflection in the hallway mirror and, for the first time in ages, my expression was almost defiant, not exhausted or sad.
Im done being everyones handkerchief, I thought. Let people make their own choiceseven if that means falling back into old traps. Ill be here if she ever really needs me, of course, but not at the cost of losing myself. And for once, that actually felt like the best news of all.
