Friendships with females is weird.
If you want to get to the heart of any woman– I don't care how powerful she is or how important a role she plays in world politics– bring up the tea party she had with her best friend when she was 8 years old. Or the fact that she still wanted to play with Cabbage Patch Dolls when she was 10 while her best friend was experimenting with how high she could make her hair with Aqua Net. The joy and pain in female friendships is strong and deep and unforgettable.
My husband, Dan, says that this doesn't exist with men. He seems to think that men are less sensitive and that when they do get upset, they simply pound one another in a flurry of men-tosterone until they are exhausted. And then they help each other up and get burgers.
Weird.
This year I went to a conference and participated in a brief, 5-minute meditation. During this meditation we had to go into an imagined house and talk to people from our life. One of the rooms was filled with people we had hurt. I was surprised that the host of our meditation decided to fill the room with people we had hurt rather than people who had hurt us. It was shocking to me. I didn't want to go in. It's so much easier to want to go in the room where people hurt us; I feel stronger and more superior there. Being a victim has a false way of making one feel mighty. I went in the room anyway but I didn't look at anyone in the eyes.
When I was in seventh grade, I had a best friend whose name started with "D." I'll call her "Darlene." I had at least one or two best friends since third grade. Darlene lasted a year.
Darlene and I spent a lot of time together. We laughed at each other's houses and read "Teen" magazine and kept notebooks which we exchanged between math class which had glued pictures of Kirk Cameron in it. This was before email. It was the way to be close with someone: glueing pictures of culture in a notebook and writing in it. Best friends did that. At the end of the school year, we signed yearbooks. A really popular girl asked Darlene to sign hers and so I watched my best friend go into a bathroom stall and spend a ridiculous amount of time writing about how much fun they had (standing in lunch line?) in big bubble letters. I don't know how Darlene would have any time for this girl because she was spending all her time with me.
Later, she signed my yearbook and she wrote something like this: "I don't really know you that well, but you're a really nice person." And then she probably added something like, "Keep Cool Cuz Keeping Cool Counts."
Decades later, a close friend of mine forgot to tell me that she became rich overnight. We were at the park with a bunch of friends and all snuggling our big-fat babies. She told me that she was looking at a house that was easily four times the price of our current homes. (We both had small homes.) And I said to her, "Whoa! Isn't that (price here)?" hoping to remind her that we were in the same middle class. We were both talking loudly so everyone could hear. It was a perfect setup. She smiled and said, "Is that all? I thought it was (ginormous price.)" And at that moment I knew that we would no longer be going to yard sales together anymore. I also knew that our friendship was over.
Every chick I know has these stories. How someone hurt them or shamed them or made them think they were insignificant. Heck, most of these stories helped form the kind of people we wanted to be or the careers we chose.
I also know that the women in my life who have shown tremendous vulnerability and strength and forgiveness to me are important; I'm not going to give up on friendships. Being a friend takes work but it is worth it.
When I had to go into the hospital to see if my in-utero baby had a heartbeat anymore, my friend Steph came with me. I tried to joke around because the pain was too heavy for me, but my friend wept so loudly that I broke down, too. We hugged. We both cried ugly and I stood in a hospital gown, feeling very exposed. It was good. I will never forget the bravery it took for her to accompany me.
I have another friend who is ten years older than me who I absolutely adore who has given me gobs of praise. One time, however, she needed to tell me something I did where I messed up and the funny is: I felt MORE loved by her. It pained her to tell me. I will never forget her grace and candor. We're closer as a result, I swear.
I need my friends.
One friend says "yes" to every event in life; she's unstoppable. I need that.
Another is resilient and kind. I need her laughter.
My neighbor friend is allergic to gossip. What a great person to know.
I need these women to shake up my view on being a woman, or being a "good girl" (gag), or being full of life. I need them to share music and food and books and grace. Oh, the grace. Yes.
If I don't have these friends, I will become small and generic and chalky. I need them.
I'm at an interesting intersection of life right now where I have changed so much in the past year that I'm not sure what my friendships hold. I'm afraid I might scare people; I think I already have scared a few.
I want to try new things and become an illustrator. I don't really care about recipes right now. I'm definitely *yawn* about women who tease stay-at-home moms. And talking about parenthood ONLY is very boring and kind of safe. I very much want people to tell success stories. I want to hear good things. Stories of bravery and silliness. I love when women say great things about their kids or their husbands or boyfriends or sisters.
So let's make a deal, people: Keep trying.
Do the forgiving and the moving past. Or draw boundaries... healthy ones. Or realize that you made a mistake and just keep moving forward. Develop the friendships right in front of you. Invest in them. Send your friends texts and cards. Invite them to monster truck rallies. If they're important to you, show it: Make time for them.
Be true and maybe, just maybe, it will come back to you.
