When I was 19, I met a girl through a mutual friend. She was funny, exuded confidence, and said and did whatever she wanted to. She and I were both tentative with each other. We circled cautiously but eventually found ourselves laughing hysterically at the same things. This would be the beginning of an almost 30-year friendship. This friendship would sometimes be tumultuous, yet it is the most loyal relationship I've ever had—the longest outside of my family. Our relationship even surpassed my marriage. However, there have been hurtful moments along the way. Some were petty, some we were not sure we'd recover from, some we had to take breaks from each other, and some brought us closer than we ever thought we could be. For lack of a better description, she is my "ride or die" because of the honesty and painful confrontations our friendship has gone through. 

What I have found interesting in this journey, not only with her but with many of my female friendships, is that my Mother Wound is mirrored back. Some of these wounds have been transformed; by that, I mean they left more extensive damage or filled something I missed with my mother. The path to finding out which is which was never predictable. Sometimes we also feel we need our ONE person, our BFF. Yes, we do, but we also need others who give us things we can't find in one person. Knowing our friendship is strong enough to allow others to form outside of it is the trick. That at the end of the day… They are your touchstone. They know you like no one else, making you remember who you are and what is true.

My closest friend was not there in that chaos when I lost my mother. At the time, I blamed her for not being emotionally available. It was intense and overwhelming for everyone. I needed her, but I did not know in what capacity. Looking back, this was not her fault. This was me, not knowing how I needed her to be there for me; this was also me engulfed in so much grief that I decided to continue aggravating a large wound and blame it on someone else. If this was too much for me and my family, how could I expect her to find the words or space to help me through it? Not only that, but I now understand there weren't any words of comfort in my situation. I would've likely pushed her further away, and I did when I needed her most. 

There were also plenty of times I was not there for her; I didn't ask; I pretended she was okay. I was NOT the person she went to in times of pain or crisis. Because I was not present, I regret this. I missed out on so many of her points of growth. I only got to experience her on the other side of those. I "checked out" after my mother died. I was not a good friend to anyone, especially her. Yet somehow, we survived. She is still my go-to, who tells me the truth, and she still cares for me in the ways she knows how. She doesn't know how grateful I am or that I SEE who she has become. We have wounded each other on the way, but we have also tried to heal independently and together. We still laugh, even through tears and frustration. We have grown up together; there are still pieces of the 21-year-old I met all those years ago. I see her greatness and her wounds. I believe she sees the same in me. I think we have built a friendship that will last for decades. I believe there are no more wounds to reflect on each other, and we know we are not the reason they exist. I thank every day that she is there when I need her, no matter how many days, weeks, and months have passed. 

“That’s when I realized what a true friend was. Someone who would always love you—the imperfect you, the confused you, the wrong you—because that is what people are supposed to do.” —R.J.L.