Girlhood: The Power of My Female Friendships
I was not quite raised on the Disney Princesses or the hyper-feminine cartoons of our time, but I have still found myself forcing crushes and deeper meaning onto undeveloped tales of happy-ever-after. I have both directly and subconsciously longed for elaborate romantic connections, so much so I have compromised my core values to fit the mold of a desirable and compatible partner — an expectation only perpetuated by our cultures and mainstream media. Whether I have been conditioned to chase patriarchal infatuation or I have acclimated to the suppression of my fluid sexuality, I have come to resent the notion of ‘love’ only existing as a passionate and romantic kind. Over the last year, I have found that the ‘love’ I have been diving into bushes and climbing over mountains for is actually something that I have possessed all along. The relationships I hold with my female friends have wholeheartedly shaped my perspective on generosity, authenticity, and spirituality.
Maybe my ‘true love’ is not someone I find romantic interest in at all, and a soulmate is not the one we are supposed to wed to. Suppose our expectations of love are backwards and each of us has embodied it and are experiencing it in this very present moment. Imagine love exists as an ongoing and unasked for ingredient of our oxygen composition, in which we instinctually and biologically epitomize the sensitivity of human care. Suppose love is not something that exists to determine our destiny or sway life values, but amplify our authentic selves. Dream along with me for a little.
I grew up in an unhappy household. I have not witnessed my mother and father express gratitude or affection towards the other, and their mutual distaste has often caught my and my brothers in the crossfire. I like to believe my experiences in this home hold little impact on my outlook towards love, but I know the learned toxicity is a weight I will carry through my lifelong relationships. Those whom society insists are my ‘family’ feel no more than roommates who coincidentally share DNA. I did not have a figure or example of healthy interaction until I was finally allowed to attend to my friends’ homes as a child. The warmth of their love would spill out the doorway as I walked through, my young cheeks experiencing a whiplash of support and regard that felt incorrect and unfamiliar. The way my 1st grade best friend’s parents talked to each other, played, laughed – loved – is what I crave to construct my future home upon. I have chased this wholesome connection and an environment that breeds only sunshine. So ready to flee this house of hostility, I have grown consumed in the search, and consequently, I have undervalued a community of friendships that has extended me these very partnerships.
Though I could not turn to my biological family for guidance on self-love or for understanding my sexuality, my outer community has evolved into my self-built family. I have found immense safety in the arms of my close friends, and I admire the beauty in which us women love and care for our habitats. The way we protect our meadows of solitude and oceans of resilience. My closest friend has lifted me from the ground in times of great darkness, holding the weight of my pessimism as her own just so I could take a load off. She has held onto me even when I lash out, say the wrong thing, or show aggression. She has seen me act as the woman I have sworn not be and still admired me for the soul I am outside of my jealousies, refusals, darkness, and downfalls. We have practiced gratitude unto one another’s presence and our language entails patterns that span cultures, religions, learned-biases, and active preferences. She is a woman of steel and woman built out of love; one that knows when I require a laugh, a drink of water, or just a really crazy night out. A soul that has memorized my own and holds no conditions for the way she chooses to love all I unapologetically am. Love is not crude, heavy, or draining. Passion-reducing, disrespectful, or intellectually difficult. Love is not punishing or deductive of faith and life purpose. Love is just so delicately kind. Unforceful and enduring. I have learned the easiness of loving another human and the freedom of being fully engaged in moments of veritable happiness.
This is a tribute to my best friend and all the sisters I have smiled with on this planet. The way we wear our pride in our hair and hopefulness on our skin; the beauty of our excitement painting any imperfection that the social and patriarchal prison insists upon. We hold instincts of care despite threats to our safety; tendencies to grow flowers from impoverished lands; active yearning for knowledge, clarity, lightness and improvement. We are Mother Nature in the shape of a mortal and made from the exact same chemical-makeup as the stars and the planets. Our shine transcends families, homes, walkways, and artifacts. A strength that has been within us for millenia, but suppressed by cultural repression for much longer.
The women in my life, including my mother and grandmother of lightness, have woken me to the true form of Love. No lust or physical dependence required or romanticized efforts of conditional appreciation. No other human can quite fulfill that of a soul-partner, and for me, it is time I take the power back from this conditioned craving.
Love is not respective to lustful and passionate interactions. Love lies in the way we pour an extra cup for a stranger, let our little cousins and neighbors beat us in a race, and watch joyful movies with friends after a bad week of school. There is not a journey to achieve Love or abundant connection, there is not a checklist that must be completed or certain checkpoints met to advance closer to its retrieval. It is at every level of life whether we look around to appreciate it or not.
Will you choose to look around and appreciate it?
