Sometimes friendships start in the most unlikely places.

For me and Maria, it was during a four-wheel drive tour from Port Douglas to Cooktown. 

Six of us were on the three-day adventure – me and my husband, Maria and her husband, and an English couple.

I was always amazed how neatly Maria emerged each morning from her motel room. Her shirt hanging wrinkle-free over her jeans. Shiny hiking boots. Her black hair twirled into a top knot away from her face, highlighting her brown eyes, smooth complexion and shy smile.

After our trip, we all had dinner at a local restaurant and exchanged email addresses and phone numbers. 

Two months later, I phoned Maria, suggesting we catch up for coffee at a café-bookshop.

We chatted about our favourite authors. I introduced her to the books of the Chilean-American writer, Isabel Allende, and she shared how she liked stories set in Australia with a historical background. A reflection of her career as a researcher.

We met every few months at different cafés in Melbourne. Sometimes we went out to dinner as a foursome with our husbands, often to celebrate birthdays.

The years passed, and our friendship continued in a gentle rhythm. Light conversations about our everyday lives. 

Although Maria knew that I taught meditation, she never mentioned my classes, so I was surprised the day she said, “You’ll be pleased to know I’m learning to meditate.”

And I was pleased, especially hearing the lightness in her voice when she told me she felt peaceful and quiet.

But I knew from my own teaching experience that every student comes to meditation for a reason. Maria never mentioned what prompted her interest.

She revealed more than I ever expected when she readily agreed to be interviewed for my book.

The interview

We meet at an Italian restaurant for lunch and choose a table at the back where it is quieter.

Maria is in her mid-sixties and exudes her usual sense of style, wearing a textured jumper of deep pink over black pants. Fine silver bangles on both wrists, and her manicured finger nails coated in pink.

We both order crispy skin barramundi with sautéed green vegetables and chat as we eat. As the waitress clears away our plates, Maria confides that she didn’t tell her husband that she was meeting me.

The moment I switch on my voice recorder, Maria starts talking in a way that I had never heard before. Flowing wounded words.

Childhood wounds

Maria is the second born of four children, with an older brother and two younger sisters. Following the family tradition, all the children went to private schools for their secondary education.

Maria’s father had a successful accountancy firm in Melbourne’s business centre. He was generous and kind but emotionally detached, possibly a legacy of how he coped with his experiences during the Second World War that he never spoke about; at the age of eighteen, he enlisted with the Australian army and was then selected to train with Britain’s Royal Air Force. On the weekends, her father relaxed by playing golf with friends.

Maria’s mother was out in the community each day doing voluntary work until late into the afternoon, and on the weekends, she did the housework.

She expected Maria to help with chores, unpacking the groceries, setting the table for dinner and clearing up after each meal. 

Maria doesn’t know what a mother’s love feels like – she doesn’t remember her mother cuddling or kissing her.

“Did you create an emotional wall inside yourself?” I ask.

Maria takes a few sips of mineral water before answering. “I did. The emotional wall was how I survived.”

“I didn’t feel any warmth or
love in my life.”

Her voice is monotone. “My mother and I weren’t close. My mother was always busy helping others, wanting to be seen as fabulous, wanting everyone to like her. She did a lot of good work ... but it came at a cost to family life.”

Images of childhood come to Maria. Of being a latchkey child in primary school and coming home to an empty house. Of always buying her lunch at the school tuck shop and wishing she had homemade lunches like her friends.

Of escaping from her mother and brother’s arguments by hiding in her bedroom. She needed silence. Still does. 

Playing sport at school lifted Maria’s soul. She played netball in winter and baseball in summer. 

“I felt valued being part of a team. I liked the sense of being with others ... having the same passion. I could have progressed as an athlete if my parents had encouraged me and taken me to train with a club outside of school ... it never happened.” She pauses for a few moments. “Sport got me through my teenage years.” 

Most likely, Maria was unaware of the mind-body connection when playing sport. How concentrating during a game brings players into the present moment and quietens their minds, and when tired at the end of a game, a wonderful silence flows through their whole being.

Feeling loved

Love came into Maria’s life at nineteen. A friend introduced her to Jeremy, three years older than her and a law student.

Her parents approved. Her mother particularly liked his status and boasted to her friends about Jeremy’s plans to specialise in tax litigation.

Maria would have preferred to have lived with Jeremy before marrying. It was the early 1970s, and Maria’s parents opposed the idea – this wasn’t how a respectable daughter behaved. Maria did as expected and married Jeremy.

They honeymooned overseas for two months. Within a few years, they had a daughter and then a son.

Maria reaches for the bottle of mineral water on the table and refills her glass before continuing. “In some ways, I had a privileged life with Jeremy ... a lovely home and exciting overseas holidays with our children.”

They lived in an Edwardian house in Williamstown, an easy commute for Jeremy to go to work. Although she and Jeremy both liked the idea of living near the beach, Maria didn’t have friends or family close by. 

“I’ve always had difficulty making friends, thinking that I wouldn’t fit in or be accepted.” She sighs quietly before continuing.

Keeping a secret

“I look back now and know that I never felt my true self.”

Maria is referring to the act of always appearing happy. Of having to live with a secret that if it became known would jeopardise Jeremy’s professional reputation. 

“It was quite an act. Being a very private person, I played my part well.” Again she sips her mineral water.

Pressures of work tipped Jeremy off balance. Maria knew when an episode would start. Jeremy would have intense bursts of energy. He’d work all day in their expansive garden, frantically mowing and pruning without stopping.

He was short-tempered with the children, shouting at them if they were too noisy or left their toys and games lying around. His erratic ways would last for a week. 

I murmur, “How did you cope?” 

“It was traumatic ... Jeremy couldn’t control how he behaved. But the fact is that people struggling mentally take out their frustrations and anger on the ones who are closest to them. Emotionally it was hard. I closed down.”

“I would take my attention to somewhere else - escape through my mind ... withdraw into myself and run away from the conflict.”

Sometimes she took the children to the playground in a nearby park. Or they walked along the coastal path watching boats bobbing along on the water and then they sat on the grass eating fish and chips and feeding the seagulls. 

“How did your children react?”

“They didn’t realise that Jeremy had problems. They accepted how he acted, as children tend to do. It was a complete cover-up, never wanting the children to know their father was struggling. I kept everything calm so we could pretend to be a normal family.”

“You were existing, robot-like,” I suggest.

She nods. “I know Jeremy complained that I wasn’t caring enough emotionally when he was unwell. But I just had to find ways to keep going. What else could I do? I had to be there to care for the kids ... there were only so many ways that I could stretch myself and feel in control.”

She glances down. “Maybe I wasn’t touchy feely ... you learn that from your mother, and my mother wasn’t like that ... ” Her voice fades away.

Eventually Jeremy saw a psychiatrist who diagnosed bi-polar, characterised by extreme mood swings between emotional highs and lows. He began to take medication that made him more stable emotionally. But he’d still flare up when work was intense.

The years passed. Maria’s daughter, completed a psychology degree, worked in human resources and, in time, married.

Her son began studying computer science at university, dropped out after second year and worked for a  technology company. But essentially, he was drifting. He stopped keeping up with school friends, became engaged to a young woman and then broke off the relationship. 

Another emotional tangle

How quickly life can change in one phone call. 

Maria recalls her son sounding nervous when he phoned to tell her that he was leaving the share house where he was living. He wanted to come back to live at home for a little while. Of course, Maria and Jeremy agreed. 

Within days, Maria noticed a pattern to her son’s behaviour. Of coming home after work and not talking. Of weekends spent either sleeping or playing his guitar and writing songs. All had dark themes: of hopelessness, feeling lost and being misunderstood. 

 “He didn’t look well ... his pale face and red eyes.” She sighs softly. “One Saturday morning after breakfast, I asked him why he had really left the share house. He admitted that he had been told to leave ... he was on drugs. Marijuana. Not all the time ... just when he was struggling emotionally.” 

Maria and Jeremy wanted their son to see their doctor, but he refused. Instead, he packed his things and told them that he was going travelling. Somewhere.

Several months later, their son was living on the northern beaches of New South Wales. Maria phoned him each week. Sometimes he sounded happy about living near the beach and going swimming every morning before work. Sometimes he was quiet and said little.  

“It felt like a replay of the secret that I had lived with for more than forty years. Our son was far away, and I felt guilty that I wasn’t there for him.” Maria glances down as she speaks.

“Never before had I felt
so anxious and helpless.”

Jeremy urged Maria to see a psychiatrist and go on medication to help her calm down. Maria disagreed. She wanted more – a way to better manage whatever turmoil happened in her family.

Gaining wisdom

Maria already knew what she was going to do. 

At a weekly exercise class, Maria was friendly with a woman whose husband had left her and their three children, and she had been going to meditation to better cope with life. Maria decided to go to the same meditation teacher.

“I always imagined meditation was for people seeking an alternative lifestyle. I never imagined that I would go to meditation. But I was driven to it.”

Hearing Maria’s words, reminds me how we meet certain people for a reason to illuminate new ideas that we had never considered until our lives are whirling out of control. 

Learning to meditate took time for Maria, as it does for everyone. What was instant was Maria’s connection with the teacher. 

“From the beginning, I felt comfortable in the class and admired the teacher for her calmness, inner beauty, warmth and wisdom.” Maria liked how the teacher integrated meditation backed by science with ancient wisdom.

Maria relates some wisdoms that still resonate with her. Of having choices not only in the decisions she makes but how she chooses to feel and act at any given moment. Of focusing within to calm herself and noticing if she is breathing from her chest and creating tightness or doing abdominal breathing and releasing tension.

Of accepting what is happening.

“The idea of not reacting was a light bulb moment. I have learnt to stop and ask myself whether I have control over a situation or if it’s out of my control. And instead of being angry or uptight, I stay calm and take time to think before acting or speaking or suggesting a way to deal with a problem.” She smiles. 

“I’ve gained a new sense of myself
and a way of coping in life
that I never thought possible.”

Part of the class each week involved journalling. The first task was to create a scene to use as an inner resource anytime Maria wanted to feel calm. She pictured herself walking on the beach.

In other journalling prompts, she revealed the heartache and feelings that she had kept hidden inside herself. How her early family life affected her and how she had learnt to always appear strong and in control. 

“It was liberating to write ... I was being honest about my past. I came to know and understand myself. I also accepted that I wasn’t who I used to be.”

Although Maria no longer goes to meditation classes, she still follows certain practices. On waking in the morning, she reflects on what she needs for the day ahead. Perhaps feelings of energy, calmness, resourcefulness ... or whatever it may be.

Before getting out of bed, she turns her intention into a pledge. 

She tells me, “I make a pledge every day.”

“What do you notice about yourself?” I ask.

“Usually I feel better, but if I don’t, I keep pulling myself back. I start with my breath, making it deep and slow, and I keep affirming and feeling how I wish to be. It is amazing how I can change.”

And when she needs to quieten her busy mind, she does several rounds of box breathing. For this practice, she sits comfortably and imagines tracing the four sides of a square as she breathes in deeply for a count of four, holds for a count of four, breathes out for a count of four and holds for a count of four.

Holding the breath in this way stimulates the body’s parasympathetic nervous system, bringing a calm and relaxed feeling to the body and mind.

Inner harmony

As Maria reflects on her life, she sees a pattern of mental illness. Her maternal aunt had bi-polar; her mother was mentally unstable, as was her husband for several years and then her son. 

Maria admits that only now she is truly happy. 

Home life has become harmonious since husband Jeremy has retired and is pursuing many sporting interests, including tennis and golf. Their son is no longer on drugs, and his new partner is caring and loving. 

And Maria is doing what she enjoys – spending time with her grandchildren, dabbling in art and letting her thoughts drift away when singing or listening to classical music.

At the beach, she does walking meditations or sits on the sand listening to the waves. She exercises twice a week, enjoying how her body moves, and feeling hypnotised by the rhythm of her breath and her mind becoming quiet and spacious.

Maria is also loosening ties with some friends – she is seeking the company of like-minded women.

A deeper friendship

As Maria and I walk from the restaurant after the interview, I know that our friendship has shifted to a deeper level. 

Only happening when women share 
the wounds that they have carried silently within, believing no-one would want
to hear their stories. 

I reflect on how women seem to draw upon a resilience to keep going. And how we never know the depths of someone’s personal suffering. 

Once outside, Maria hugs me tightly. My heart opens to her. 

Later that afternoon, Maria sends me a phone message: A big thank you for the opportunity to chat about so many important things and for your friendship. As the great philosopher Epictetus said, “Keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best.” 

And I feel blessed to have such an inspiring and loving friend as Maria.