Susan Cherie Beam

Imagine this: you’re hiking along a beautiful landscape and suddenly, you came across a small, sun-dappled clearing. As the trees part, you notice the main feature: a beautiful, mossy, stone well with a wooden topper: the kind of well that literally unlocks childhood memories of fairy tales and secret gardens.

“Perfect,” you think. “I’m thirsty.”

Now, you have a perfectly good water bottle with you…but there’s something pulling you towards that well and the secrets that lie hidden in its depths. You walk up to you, mouth suddenly parched and excitement building.

Clunk. The well is only a few feet deep and dry as a bone. As you peer in, you see vestiges of water it previously held, but the smooth rocks at the bottom are dusty-looking.

Do you hate the well?

I mean, you can. No one is stopping you. But is it useful? Do you want to spend energy hating the well? Maybe kick it and hurt your toe?

What if you pulled back and said to yourself, “This clearing, and this well, is beautiful. I love how the sunlight looks. I’m literally living in a fairytale right now. I’m going to love it for what it can give me and I’m going to be refreshed somewhere else.” And you dig out your water bottle from your bag – after all, you are thirsty – and take a drink while relaxing against this well.

The well theory was introduced to me by a close friend of mine – who also happens to be an excellent therapist – as a helpful way to understand certain relationships in my life. I truly have people who I love dearly, and that’s with all of their imperfections. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t dry wells – meaning that if I go to them with certain expectations of being refreshed – understood, comforted, seen, heard, and loved – and they aren’t in the position to do so because of their own current state of mind, I will end up (at best) hurt and resentful, or (at worst) in a fight, trying to get water from them as a dry well.

To be fair, this is not a way for me to accept toxic behavior constantly. Sometimes, people are just not my people – and that’s OK. Rather, this is a way for me to understand relationships in my life with those family and friends – people at the core of my heart – and maintain a safe space of understanding.

Sometimes, my loved ones are flowing with water. I feel seen, heard, and supported. Others – are always dry wells, and I try to appreciate them for that they have to give. Sometimes, what once was a well of overflowing abundance is now have a dry season -and that’s OK.

This line of thinking has given me new freedom and perspective in my life – especially on those complicated relationships that simply (for one reason or another) cannot be severed. I can love my dry wells for what they are – and I can appreciate my full wells even more so. Additionally, I can be a well for others – and if I’m having a season of dryness, I can at least let my loved ones know my bandwidth at the moment.