I have a secret to share. Nearly all my female friendships now exist within the confines of my smartphone. Through apps like WhatsApp for video chats and traditional texting, I maintain connections with the women I cherish, albeit without the warmth of hugs or the joy of shared adventures in person.
Earlier this year, I relocated to a different state to gain my family’s support while raising my young children. Even when I lived close to my closest friends, we hardly found time to get together. Those without kids were often busy with their careers, relationships, and travels, while those who were mothers were trying to juggle the unpredictable chaos of parenthood. I found myself trapped between these two worlds, striving to carve out a creative existence outside of my responsibilities as a mother from the moment my children were born. Like many stay-at-home moms, I often felt like I was falling short in both areas, continually orbiting around my partner’s full-time job obligations.
While the isolating experience of motherhood has had its difficulties, it has also relieved me of the burden of vulnerability that often accompanies in-person friendships. There have been times I craved a heart-to-heart chat or a night filled with laughter and wine, yet I’ve surprisingly found solace in the absence of pressure to maintain consistency in my relationships. After all, when you’re not actively present in someone’s life, you can sidestep the discomfort and potential conflicts that come with being there for them. This comfort has been a welcome relief, especially since I’ve long struggled to open my heart to female friends.
If you asked my therapist, she would undoubtedly pinpoint a psychological reason for my hesitance to connect deeply with other women. She would be right, and that realization is a bit frustrating (just joking). Coming to terms with my unique childhood experiences has been a long and painful journey, resembling a marathon run in New York City with no training at all.
From a young age, my closest friend was my mother. Before you cue up a cheery song to celebrate, let me clarify. It’s one thing to feel unwavering love and support from a parent; it’s another to feel an unspoken obligation to never disappoint them and to share every thought that crosses your mind. My relationship with her was marked by a combination of unconditional love and a struggle with her mental health that made it difficult for me to develop healthy friendships with other women.
As a child, I believed our close bond was a sign of a perfect relationship. In hindsight, I see it as a lack of alternatives. My peers envied our connection, unaware of the complexities beneath the surface. I excelled academically and maintained a polished image, but internally, I was a perfectionist who constantly sought approval. If my mom faced challenges, I would step in, often neglecting my own needs to be her emotional support. This dynamic limited my ability to trust myself and my own judgment in both my personal life and friendships.
The fallout from my upbringing manifested as an aversion to vulnerability. I learned to equate my worth with my ability to please others, leading me to keep friendships at a distance. The fear of being rejected or disappointing someone caused me to either withdraw completely or form intense attachments that I would later abandon.
The chronic low self-esteem I battled throughout my youth has tainted my relationships with women. I oscillated between avoiding intimacy and rushing into connections, only to ghost friends when things became uncomfortable. Communication has often been a struggle, and I’ve taken things personally that didn’t warrant such reactions. I feared that deep connections would lead to the same enmeshment I experienced with my mother.
As I transitioned into motherhood, the walls I had built around myself began to crumble. The pain I had long suppressed demanded my attention. With the support of my loving partner, family, trusted therapists, and even the aid of medication, I am beginning to confront the trauma that has held me captive. With the encouragement of a fantastic group of women, I’ve started to embrace my female friendships with newfound courage.
I want to emphasize my enduring love for my mother. She did her best given her circumstances, and while I’m working through the impact of her mental health struggles on my life, I’m also grateful for the lessons learned about what true female friendship can be—and what it should not entail.
This past year, after receiving a diagnosis of complex PTSD, I felt empowered to open up to my friends about my experiences. After hitting a low point, many of these incredible women stepped in to support me during my darkest days, showering me with love and care. I’ve found the strength to support them in their times of need, creating a reciprocal relationship that enriches us both.
For the first time, I’m genuinely frustrated by the physical distance separating me from the women I love. I’ve discovered the profound rewards that come from showing up for each other and allowing them to show up for me. I want to express my gratitude to the remarkable women in my life for their unwavering support.
To the incredible women I’m fortunate to know—Katie, Sarah, Mia, and Rachel—thank you for your unconditional love, encouragement, and steadfast support. I may be late to the friendship game, but I’m learning quickly. I’m taking a risk by trusting that you’ll join me on this beautiful and sometimes bumpy journey, and I’m realizing just how worthy I am of this connection.
While I couldn’t choose my past, I am choosing my present, and that includes surrounding myself with inspiring women.
For further insights into home insemination, check out this article on fertility insurance FAQs, and to learn more about at-home options, you can visit Cryobaby for reliable information.
In summary, the challenges of developing and maintaining female friendships can be influenced by past experiences and emotional history. Yet, with support and healing, it’s possible to cultivate deep, meaningful connections that enrich our lives.
Leave a Reply