I’ve wanted to write about this for a while but I’ve been nervous to broach this subject (who am I?) The thing is, there are many things we could write about were it not for the fear of who might be reading and, thus, get hurt in the process (Daddy issues might be a good example here, sorry Daddy). In this instance, I want to talk about friendship. I read Elizabeth Day’s Friendaholic many months ago (if you haven’t, do). In it, she chronicles the different kinds of friendships she’s had in her life, many parts of which I could have written myself (were I half as good a writer as she). It helped me to think differently about friendships and how we might measure their quality or success. It’s certainly not about longevity - though I have always been jealous of those people for whom their friend group has not changed since they were preschoolers - and it doesn’t have to be about living in each other’s pockets (which is what friendship meant in my school days). I have some friends so dear to me with whom I might only meet up three times a year if even. Those are some of my favourite relationships, actually: your friendship isn’t measured in teaspoons. There’s no pressure. When you do meet again you enjoy it so much. There’s an ease about it. Perhaps it’s a richer experience because it’s not overdone to the extent I thought real friendships had to be. You pick up where you left off, laughing about how much time has passed but feeling as though it’s only been a minute. These kinds of friendships are more of an adult thing, as the juggle of work and kids and family and exercise and banana bread making take centre stage. (Seriously, there is a near constant half -otting banana on my kitchen counter, begging to be mashed and baked.) On top of these priorities, I also like a lot of time alone, more than most of my friends (mostly so I can get into bed, to be fair) and as such, I’m no longer as available as I once was.
Then we have group friends - relationships held together by the scaffolding of a WhatsApp group. You might not have as much in common as when the group first formed, but when you get together you immediately resume the same, lighthearted dynamic you had all those years ago. You’re there for each other, and you enjoy each other’s company immensely but it’s more about the group and even the nostalgia than maintaining the same depth of friendship with everyone involved.
Some of my dearest relationships are the ones I’ve stumbled upon in recent years, when you think you’re finally out to pasture on the friendship front but learn you’re anything but. As a parent myself, these have unsurprisingly been friendships with like-minded mothers. Brutally honest mothers. The people with whom you can be your most un-instagrammable self (that said, I am my most un-instagrammable self even on Instagram). The ones who won’t bat an eyelid when you say you’re not sure you’d ever have signed up for this if you knew how hard it was going to be. I have a few very close friends who aren’t mothers, and I don’t think it’s true or fair to suggest that a woman without a child would be unable to empathise with your parental struggles. In fact some of my non-mother friends understand me better than some with kids and some of the worst judgements I’ve had levelled against me came from mothers. Having a child is in no way a prerequisite, but as it’s happened, some of my newer friendships have been with mothers.
To know me is to know ALL of me: not just where I’m going on holidays this year but