My Friends are my Sisters

Ever since I can remember I wished I had sisters. I have one brother and I adored (adore) him. He is four years younger than me, so he was my dolly for a long time before he was my peer. I love having a brother, but I still longed for sisterhood.

As an adult, my friends have become my sisters and they are exactly what I needed all my life. If they’re having a bad day, I’m there with an iced caramel espresso. If they’re sick, I’m taking kids or bringing soup. If their heart is breaking, so is mine. If something seems off I’m texting a, “hey, are you okay?” I’m not saying I do it perfectly (I don’t). I’m not able to do everything all the time, but what troubles them troubles me.

If I’m having a bad day, no one understands like my fristers (Can we make that a thing? No? Okay.) They’re down for last minute happy hours and late night texts asking for prayer. They’re excellent listeners and they hold space for me when I’m falling apart.

To me, sisterhood means being entirely safe to be you. It means being seen and loved for who you are. It means having room to make mistakes and be forgiven. It means being able to be filter-free with someone and share your feelings without fear. It means believing in each other more than you believe in yourself. It means choosing each other. It means being vulnerable and it means listening (really listening) to each other. It means having inside jokes and laughing about hilarious (and gross) things. It means loving each other’s kids like your own. It means being each other’s allies no matter what. It means fighting sometimes, and then making up. It means that no matter what happens you choose each other. It means getting into the nitty-gritty, the deep stuff, the hard stuff, the shameful stuff…the REAL stuff. No topic is off limits in sisterhood. Sisters are the ones you hold hands with and walk straight into the most painful, confusing places in your heart.  No place is too dark when you walk there together. 

Today, I got a text from one of my friends letting me know good news about something heavy in her life. I laid on the floor and tears streamed down my face. Sisterhood is so precious to me. I didn’t get to be born with them, but I do get to choose them.

I love my husband and he is my best friend, but he is not my frister (I’m still sayin’ it, sorry not sorry) and I’m not his bro. I don’t understand how he stays out until 3AM playing pool and shootin’ the breeze. He doesn’t understand why almost every conversation ends up on either sex or childbirth. We understand that we need our friends. God knows he doesn’t want to hear about how my cervix wouldn’t dialate 47,000 times. Speaking of which, y’all want to hear my cervix story? Okay, another time. 

When I was a kid, I used to imagine getting marooned on an island in the middle of the ocean. I thank the education of Gilligan’s Island, Swiss Family Robinson, Shipwrecked, and Cast Away for that. I always decided that I would be able to be hungry, lost, and naked…as long as I wasn’t alone. That’s how I feel about sisterhood (motherhood is basically the same as being hungry, lost, and naked).

My fristers and I have walked through cracked nipples, pregnant butt, postpartum anxiety, regular anxiety, heartbreak, sickness, miscarriage, and so many different shades of darkness and struggle.

I can honestly say the darkness isn’t as dark because I have them.

So, I don’t have sisters by blood, but I do have sister-in-loves (one of the best gifts of my marriage), and I have sisters by choice. You have family, and you can choose family too. There aren’t rules on belonging, and if there are…they’re made to be broken.

To my fristers, I love you to the moon and back.

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Frister, I am with you.

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