I found myself moved to tears yesterday. Not out of pain or heartache, but out of literal awe of the sisterhood I now find myself in.
You see, female friendship is something I’ve always struggled with. I grew up with brothers and male cousins, often wishing for a sister that never came. I made friends with other girls, but friendships with boys were always easier and came with less pressure. Conversations with boys were straightforward, direct, often accented by activities and sports that I was more than happy to partake in.
I know full well the heartbreak of friendships ending, often without cause that I could easily identify. I was 10 the first time my mother offered an explanation that I would hear often over the years: “They might be jealous. They might see you as a threat.” How could I be a threat? I just wanted to be liked. I just wanted to belong. How could I possibly pose a threat to anyone? It was as if I was put on this earth to make other girls feel uncomfortable, just by my presence. It made me feel even more different than I already did and it confused the hell out of me.
So, with this knowledge of my capability of posing a “threat” that I did not understand or feel, I continued to navigate relationships with women with trepidation and insecurity. With every new relationship, I gave my heart in earnest, hoping that the receiver would know my true nature and not perceive me as this “threat,” but also knowing that it would most likely end in the inevitable heartbreak that seemed to follow me like a dark cloud. The female friendships I made over the years waxed and waned, with only a cherished few I can still call friends after all of these decades.
I was taught that women were in competition with other women. That women were not to be trusted because of unknown ulterior motives and because of the unique female capability to undercut another woman at a moment’s notice in order to better oneself. I was taught to compare myself to other women because they were doing the same. I had to stay vigilant to stay ahead, even though all this comparison did was make me doubt myself and my own abilities/beauty/worth. The evidence was there to support this theory, having been the target of such behaviour all too often over the years. I never stopped to think that this wasn’t in my personality, so perhaps it wasn’t innately built into the personalities of others. Perhaps we were all being taught this lie and were simply actors playing a role we thought we were all destined to play.
When I was pregnant with my first child and was told that the baby was female, the dread I felt was visceral. This tiny human growing inside me was going to send my life into a spiral that I’d never be able to escape from. I had been sure I was built to raise boys. Boys I could handle. I was surrounded by them, I had taught them; they were straightforward and seemed to come with roadmaps and instructions that I could read easily. How could I raise a girl when my experiences with other women had been so negative? How could I navigate raising a person who would potentially go through the same experiences I had? It would be force me to relive that pain over and over again. Of course these fears are still with me, especially as my oldest is now beginning to experience the pangs of exclusion. But she also has a sister. I’ve got two girls and I have the privilege of living the sisterhood I always dreamed of vicariously through them.
And, at the ripe old age of 40, in a moment where I am pivoting to new ventures in more ways than one (giving up a pensionable, well-paying, respectable career to pursue freelance anti-racism work and writing, aka finally allowing myself space and time to pursue my passions), I find myself for the first time surrounded by women and non-binary folks who are speaking my name in rooms that I am not in. They are generously opening doors for me that I didn’t even know existed. They are pushing me down the paths they know I should be on, even when I couldn’t see where to take my first steps.
These are the people that are moving me to tears. I’m not naive to think that those who perceive imagined threats and are willing to behave in cutthroat ways to get ahead aren’t still out there, circling and waiting to make their move. I know they are. But this circle I am now enveloped by, this sisterhood is something else, something I’ve never experienced before, and I want to shout from the rooftops (or write in my Substack for lack of said roof) about how vitally important this is. For the first time in my life I feel confident, I feel validated, and I feel like I belong. And I hope that I am paying back this generosity ten-fold every chance I get.
Maybe I was wrong about my tears. Maybe they are from heartache after all. Heartbreak for the little girl who never knew what it was like to have faith in other women because she’d been taught not to trust, not to expect loyalty, that she was not worthy of these things. Maybe this essay is for 10-year-old Briana who would spend 30 years of her life lonely and not knowing why. The hugs I give my daughters now are for her too.
We should be teaching our children to embrace others and to lift each other up whenever we can. We should be teaching them that everyone is valid and deserves love and recognition. We should be teaching our girls that other girls can grant them sisterhood beyond blood ties, and that this sisterhood can move mountains and change the world.
Thank you to the folks who have become my champions, the rainbows in my clouds. I bring you with me everywhere I go.
*Thanks to Maya Angelou for the “rainbows in my clouds” metaphor. She was a formidable woman who knew the value of being kind and supporting others and I am eternally grateful for her inspirational work.*
