My Pretend Friend

She was my imaginary friend, Betty Baccuba. Pronounced "Buh-COO-buh," in case you're wondering. No one ever saw her but me. I remember one day my father and I were driving, just the two of us, and I pointed out Betty's house. He asked me if I wanted to stop and see her, and I quickly told him she was not home. I haven't seen or talked to Betty for years, and you're probably thinking that's a good thing.

Last New Year's Eve, one of my intentions for 2011 was "truth in all areas of my life." Now that the year has only two weeks left in it, I have been thinking back to the all the many places truth has taken me this year. One of those places was in my relationships. The other day a coworker said to me, "You're the most honest person I've ever known." I felt a tightening of my throat and a little sting behind my eyes, because I have walked through this year for the most part in truth, and it was quite a compliment to have that recognized. But that hasn't always been the case. I've done more than my share of pretending. Harmless, innocent pretending, like back when Betty and I were besties. Young children who are intelligent and imaginative have pretend friends. Children who are abused do, too. I was all three of those things.

As I head toward another New Year's Eve, I see that my relationships lack pretense. I am kind and loving, but honest. I don't pretend that things are fine when they're not. I cry more easily. I let people see who I am more readily. I am learning to ask for what I need and want. I still have a long way to go, but I feel really good about how far I have come this year; how far truth has taken me.

Betty Baccuba served her purpose, but I don't have any pretend friends anymore. There was a time when the little Susie must have needed that imaginary friend desperately, but not anymore. I don't need self-defense mechanisms like pretending, because I now surround myself with people who have absolutely no interest in hurting me. Real people who love the real me. And that's the truth.

Susan