I once read that the most crucial decision you'll make in your life is whom you choose to marry. And although I'm discovering this to be true—your partner significantly influences how you live and don't live your life—what is frequently overlooked is another type of partnership, which coexists with a traditional monogamous relationship. A bond I think is equally significant: a marriage with friends.
When I was young, I hadn't understood how completelyIt would be essential to my overall well-being to have friends who are committed for life.. However, as I have moved through each new phase of life, one thing has become increasingly clear to me. The seemingly invisible yet extremely important constant—the element that is essential to my identity as a woman, wife, and mother—is my friendships with other women.
I deeply cherish my husband, and because of that, I can confidently say: He is not my entire world. He is the person I enjoy doing many activities with, but not every single one. He is not the person I like to relax by the pool with for hours, ordering Diet Cokes and nachos. He is not the person I like to attend yoga classes with or snuggle up to watch old episodes ofGilmore Girls.
He isn't the person I would endlessly message about pregnancy symptoms, postpartum discomforts, my new terrible periods, possible UTI, my pelvic floor issues, or my breastfeeding experience, or mymom guilt. He will listen and be compassionate, and IstillSometimes, in these discussions, it feels like I'm speaking to someone from a different world who has never experienced the same life as me. My friends, though? My friends are present for this. They will listen and understand, they will answer the phone when I call, and they will respond to text messages even at midnight.
This has always seemed significant, but never more so than in the early days of motherhood. Motherhood hits you like a pile of wonderful bricks. Many of those bricks are filled with incredible love for your newborn baby. Many of them are filled withfears and worries that you were unaware of, even if you are someone who has always experienced a lot of fear and worries. Many of the bricks are filled with sadness and stress and concern that you will not do all the right things for your baby and for yourself. In my case, my husband was a great person to talk to,sometimes. He said things like I'm sorry, you're doing an excellent job, you're being too harsh on yourself, what can I do?
My companions were the ones whomade me feel seen, who made me feel as if I wasn't alone. It wasn't because they always had the right words or solutions. Rather, many of them had been through similar experiences, had felt the same complex emotions as I did—had also been taken aback by their own intense feelings of love, sorrow, anxiety, and happiness. And those who hadn't, those who weren't parents, were able to approach things with empathetic curiosity. After all, they weren't, like my husband, going through first-time parenthood at the exact same time as me. They served as a link back to the person I've always been, whether a mother or not. They knew me. When I felt lost, speaking with them helped me feel as though I was coming home.
In the midst of my effort to breastfeed while returning to a remote job, I experienced what could be described as a moment of breakdown. I was convinced that the best way to support my daughter was to pump large quantities of extra milk so she would always have an ample supply of fresh food, just in case I was in a meeting on a different floor when she needed it. Rather than taking walks to stretch my legs between meetings, I was busy cleaning pumping equipment and sitting at my desk trying to squeeze out a few more ounces. It was driving me crazy. My husband suggested several times that maybe we shouldadd formula as requiredI wept and informed him that he didn't comprehend. My friends intervened to help.
I understand, I get it, no one truly grasps the emotions of a nursing mother... but that's the thing," they said to me. "In a few years—maybe even a few months—you'll look back on this period and question why you worked so hard for something that didn't require such intense effort.” A friend shared her personal experience, highlighting the impact that exclusive breastfeeding had on her mental well-being. "Your daughter won't appreciate you for exclusively breastfeeding her."She will appreciate you for being a mentally well-balanced mother.So go ahead and do whatever is necessary to become that." It's a lesson I keep using in other areas of raising children.
It wasn't that this guidance couldn't have been offered by someone else or discovered by searching through blogs, Facebook groups, and Reddit. It was because it came from a friend who truly knew me, who took the time to listen to me discuss the same issue repeatedly, and who genuinely wanted to assist in finding a solution that would make me feel better.
This scenario has repeatedly occurred in various ways over the past few years. I have depended on friends—the ones I've known since childhood, those I met in college, during my 20s and 30s, and those I connected with after becoming a mother—not to have the solution, but to be present to listen, to acknowledge that what I'm saying matters, to show enough care to provide the best guidance and insights they can. To help me find laughter at things that feel burdensome when I carry them by myself. To add joy to my life even when I didn't realize I needed it. Many times since becoming a mother, friends have come to my door. They've stayed overnight or for the weekend, or taken me somewhere enjoyable, reminding me that a life exists beyond the world I've built around my baby.Yes, my daughter is everything to me, but I am more than just "someone's mother."
A close friend with whom I lived during my 20s came to visit me a few months before my daughter's second birthday. We spent the day sipping coffee and browsing shops, getting pedicures, and snacking on potato chips on my couch. It was just like the kind of Saturday we used to have together ten years ago. And it made me feel incredibly thankful to realize that I was still that person: I was still someone's friend.
The nature of friendship is distinct from that of a life partner. They are not, in the usual sense of the term, "married" to you, which allows them to be "married" to you in a unique and supportive manner. You don't need to agree or compromise with them on every aspect—where to live, how to manage your finances, how to raise children, or how to handle daily life. You don't have to reach consensus on who will prepare dinner, what they will cook, or how many paper towels are needed to clean up a mess. However, they are individuals who care about you, are committed to your happiness and health, and genuinely wish for you to lead a meaningful life. When I express my guilt over wanting some alone time, they acknowledge my feelings and then say,You need to set aside time for yourself. You absolutely must. We experience guilt as well, yet we still make the time.
I'm truly happy that I found my husband and chose to build a life together. He brings me joy in countless ways, and I depend on him as my partner in many aspects of life. However, long before I met him and even after, I also made other commitments. These were promises to lasting friendships. And just look—how they have enriched my life.
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