On Friendship after reading Friendaholic by Elizabeth Day
I was drawn to this book as I have found myself, at 38, suddenly reflecting on friendships. Moving away from home 2 years ago meant, for the second time in my life, leaving behind long withstanding friendships. Having grown up in Dublin from the age of 7 years old and going through primary, secondary and even third level education with the same group of girlfriends, I had the luxury of knowing I was a part of something. Each of my friends planted little seeds of themselves in my heart. I could be in the depths of winter but a brunch or book club or night out with my girls could send me bursting into spring, each friend encouraging a different bud to bloom. I am part of a whatsapp group with 20 of the smartest, funniest, most ambitious women who, at different times in my life, have each shown me such kindness, and love.
Of course, it wasn’t always this way, we put each other through the ringer at times! I have known most of these girls since I was 8/9 years old, we have been through a lot together, disappointment, loss, heartbreak and a huge amount of craic. We have also watched each other step into ourselves as we make sense of the grown up world around us and gradually learnt to show up for ourselves. In the past, our immaturities have caused hurt to each other, boys might have got in the way sometimes and life pressures clouded our judgement but when the shit hit the fan, we gather round in love abundant. I hardly even consider them as friends anymore, there’s no breaking up with each other, we’re stuck together, we have crossed the boarders of friendship and have become family. A couple of us are actually cousins, we are Irish after all!
My girlfriend’s weddings have been some of the happiest days of my life.
While my friends began carving out their individual career paths, I fled the nest to spread my wings leaving the comfort of the flock. I had fallen in love with theatre in a way that exceeded the usual school play or fancies of creating a girl group and none of my friends from my childhood could share that with me. Sure, many of them are creative but I needed to be in the theatre, preferably on stage expressing creativity in order to make sense of the borrowed film reel projecting thoughts into my impressionable mind. In my 20s I didn’t understand the profoundness of it all, I just knew I was happiest while performing so I followed that feeling to London where I trained at Central School of Speech and Drama.
That first week in drama school, my whole being tingled with aliveness in the absolute certainty of knowing I was exactly where I was meant to be. I distanced myself from home in every way and started trying on different sides of my personality to see what might fit. Quite frankly I made a balls of it and I am so, so grateful that smart phones and social media were not there to document my “figuring me out.” I gravitated towards creative people that liked to dance and to party. Friendships were embarked upon casually in the comfort of knowing my flock was always something I could return to. Our history of growing up together meant that each of us could disappear for a time and be accepted back after a night of one too many tequilas spilling out our love for each other while our eyes locked as if no one else was in the room until Destiny’s Child Say My Name came on and suddenly it became physically impossible to ignore the pluck of the guitar strings while dramatically whipping our heads into multiple freeze frame poses.
Tequila is a sneaky sorcerer of song and dance and love. I pay tribute to it on the dance floor after each encounter.
After 10 years away, I moved back home to Dublin with a husband and a baby on the way and it felt like I had never left in terms of friendships. Big shifts such as moving away, getting married or having a baby generally put pressure on friendships but I felt that although they might not always have been able to relate to where I was at, they still held a loving space for me.
As I write this I am a mother of three living in a house in the suburbs of Stockholm. Because my husband is Swedish, I arrived into friendships already formed over the 15 years since we had met. In time I also found connections with some of the mothers from the school my kids went to. Some of the new friendships I have made could even rival the old ones. I am more confident and secure in making new friendships now than I was in London. I am more aware of what I am looking for to find meaningful connections and I credit that to growing up in a gaggle of shouting over each other, laughing till your sides hurt, sharp as a tack women.
I have, at the very root of me, this incredible support system to fall back on, to run to in times of difficulty. Knowing that allows me to go boldly into the world open to the possibility of new friendships, trying them on to see what fits best. Isn’t that after all one of the greatest joys in life? Finding a person that fits you so well, when you’re together you feel a surge of positive energy charging back and forth between you, leaving both of you feeling renewed and fresh.
Swimming in the sea with good friends, nothing is better, except of course tequila.
Knowing I am firmly and forever a part of a flock that will still be shouting over each other when we are 80 has been such a support system in my leaving Ireland and setting up homes elsewhere.
Thank you ladies, you know who you are.