I wish we’d stop telling girls to make lists. And that instead we’d tell them to have more sleepovers. To paint each other’s nails. To braid each other’s hair. To take each other to prom. To write letters to each other when they move to college. To hold each other’s hands. To fight for each other. I wish so badly that someone would’ve told me in middle school just how romantic friendship love could be. How lovely it is to complain to a girlfriend after a long day at work, or eat Talenti ice cream together while watching shitty rom-coms. I wish someone would have told me that everything I’d listed for what I want in a boyfriend I could find in the women around me. That the love of a friend is just as valuable as that of a romantic partner. Though it took me multiple heartbreaks and disappointments to come to this realization I am so glad that I finally did. And what a refreshing realization it is—to realize that what you’ve been looking for, you already have. And that you have it in abundance. That although it doesn’t always feel like the search for love and affection is over, it very well is. Because the women I’ve surrounded myself with support me in ways that boys I’ve had crushes on never have. They cook me dinner, remind me to bring a jacket before I leave the house, let me cry on their shoulders, reach over and squeeze my hand in the car. They nurture me with their actions and their words in a way that is so familial, maternal even.
The women I surround myself with are phenomenal because they dare to give the love in friendships that we’ve been taught is meant for romantic partnerships. When they love they love deeply, they hold nothing back. They love like they might never get married or have kids. Like they’ve found their happily ever after. Because they have. And so, if I am blessed to have daughters of my own someday, I know what kinds of stories I’ll tell them when I tuck them in before bed. I’ll tell them about my best friend from 5th grade, and the group of girls I went to prom with. I’ll tell them about the friend who edited all of my articles, and the friends who read each and every single of them. I’ll tell them about the girls who came with me to the barbershop the first time I shaved my head, and the girls who let me squeeze their hands when I got my first tattoo. I’ll tell them about the long distance friends and the girls who tolerated me enough to be my roommates. I’ll tell them about how the women who had been hurt like me were able to help me heal. How the women who really listened to me made me feel heard. I’ll tell them about each and every single one of my happily-ever-after’s. And I hope they’re ready, because the list is long.
local wolves — 21
