Finding Friendship

Confession time: I have never been very good at making or keeping friends. In elementary school, I was frequently the "too much" kid. I talked too much, I was too loud, too nerdy, and too weird. At my small private school I felt adrift, floating between groups without ever really belonging anywhere. By the time I moved to a public middle school, where I found "my kind of people", I was overly sensitive to criticism and incredibly guarded. I got along well enough with people during school, at extra-curricular activities, and in my jobs, but unless I was invited somewhere, I usually didn't reach out much. My fear of rejection made it difficult for me to go out on a limb with anyone but a few of my closest friends. Even then, I remember practicing potential conversations in my head, rehearsing to make sure I didn't come off as awkward or strange. I rarely put my guard down enough to be myself, and when I did, I always worried that I'd gone too far and would be ousted from that particular social group. 

Generally speaking, I took those cautions into adulthood with unsurprising results. If someone didn't initiate contact, I assumed they didn't want to interact with me. Because of this, I'd go years without talking with people who I once considered close friends. Outside of structured activities, (school, theatre, music, etc) I didn't interact much with others; as I became older and those activities dwindled, so did my social life. I became more and more reclusive, not because I didn't long for connection, but because I felt like I didn't have anyone who would want to connect with me. 

Then, while struggling through my divorce, I found a best friend, a woman who had taught with me early in both our teaching careers and who stuck by me without judgment. She was the glue that kept me from completely falling apart, offering me no-nonsense advice and a sofa to sleep on whenever I needed it. At my lowest, most vulnerable moments, when I had nowhere to hide, I found someone who I didn't have to fake it around. I found someone who told me the truth without making me feel like I was less-than. 

Several years ago, I took a series of professional development courses for music education. While there, the members of the class, myself included, did some outlandishly creative music-making that led to a complete breakdown of social barriers. We became like a little family and completed the three intense, yet incredibly fulfilling, levels of Orff Schulwerk training together. The friendship and commiseration of these beautiful, faith-filled women is without a doubt one of the greatest blessings of my life. In the joy of making music, we found the joy of sharing life.

Then, recently, I reconnected with a former colleague (whose daughter is friends with my daughter), and little by little, our friendship has grown. We now carve out a few hours every weekend to talk about our lives, our kids, our single-motherhood, and our uniquely challenging experiences on the path of faith. Through our shared faith and the difficulties of living that faith in less-than-perfect circumstances, we found a sisterhood of understanding. 

It's taken me until my late thirties to have found the real, deep, and lasting friendships that others always seemed to have as I was growing up. It's taken years for me to find my community, a group of women who aren't my friends because of proximity, but because we mutually rely on each other, trust each other, and genuinely enjoy each other's company.

Maybe it took living some hard life experiences to be the kind of person who could let others in, or who had to let others in to survive. Maybe it took learning that I can't really find friends who love me if I don't let them see the parts of me that feel unlovable. Maybe it took outgrowing the childish fear of rejection and using that fear as an excuse to keep people at arm's length. Regardless of why, I am truly grateful for the women in my life who continue to shine their light in my life. 

So I'd just like to say: Ladies, I'd be lost without you. Thanks for being my people.