It’s a blustery day in Margate and I’m sitting at a rickety wooden table outside a waterfront “brewery”, nursing my hangover with a pint.
I’m discussing what the ideal proposal would look like with my friends. I hypothesised that “If someone were to propose to me… I’d want it to take place somewhere special to our relationship… And then ideally, they’d have organised a surprise engagement party with all of my best friends there to celebrate.” My best friend, Isobel, cut in “I think your friends are the loves of your life.” Well, yeah, duh.
I’ll never understand society’s insistence on putting romantic love on a pedestal. In my experience, romantic partners come and go, but friends—for the most part—remain. I would be 100 times more heartbroken if one of my best friends were to “break up” with me than if I had to go through another routine romantic split.
I think this is because my friends make me feel safe. In my third session of trauma therapy, the therapist instructed me to conjure up the most positive memory I could. The idea was for me to have a “safe memory” on hand, that I could return to if the experience of “reliving” the reason I was at trauma therapy in the first place became overwhelming. It needed to be a vivid, warm—potent enough to pull me back from a downward spiral.
As I closed my eyes and began searching for a memory, a movie-montage of moments with friends flashed before my eyes. I saw us laughing, dancing, curled up on the sofa in front of the telly. I saw myself streaking through my college’s gardens under the light of a full moon. I saw myself lying naked on a giant tree stump next to Isobel, drunk on red wine and counting shooting stars. I saw myself taking shelter from an abrupt downpour in St Ives in a dingy club with three of my best girlfriends, and dancing to our song, “Tubthumping”, which we had implored the middle-aged DJ to put on. I think about all the times I clambered into the beds, unshowered and devastatingly hungover, of my university housemates.
It’s hard to find the words to appropriately convey the love I have for my friends. And although I have a boyfriend—whom I’m very much in love with—my friends will always have the lion’s share of my heart. My boyfriend knows that and seems pretty at peace with the idea that my friends will always come first; they’re the most important part of my life.
They’re the ones who have taught me how to love and to be loved in return. Through minor quibbles and larger falling outs, they’ve taught me how to manage conflict in a way that’s respectful and productive. I feel safe with them because I feel seen, heard and understood for all my flaws—my occasional distance and failure to keep in touch, my drunken mistakes.
Because friendships are less burdened by expectations, there’s more room for error and subsequently for the grace required to forgive
Whenever therapists or GPs have enquired about my “support network”, they’ve always been impressed (if a little taken aback) when I reel off the list of names of people who I consider to be “best friends”. They’re all people who, at some point or another, I’ve shared a living space with—who’ve celebrated with me at my best, consoled me at my lowest and never failed to call me out on bullshit when I’ve been behaving my worst.
Friendships feel equal parts “safe and comforting” and “exciting and challenging” because platonic relationships tend to provide a kind of elasticity. Within friendships there’s no “escalator” of commitments you’re expected to take (meet, date, sex, exclusivity, cohabitation, mortgage, marriage, children). There’s no quota of time-spent-together you’re expected to fulfil. You see them when you see them and you spend time with them because you simply enjoy their company.
Because friendships are less burdened by expectations, there’s more room for error and subsequently for the grace required to forgive and move past mistakes. I mostly mean things like drunkenly getting with someone your best friend had expressed interest in, or Irish-exiting a night out in Clapham, leaving your friends frantically concerned about your whereabouts. Or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or snapping at housemates because you’re PMSing and someone snaffled your secret stash of chocolate.
These are all mistakes I’ve made and resolved within my friendships. I don’t subscribe to the belief that we should meticulously draw “boundaries” around our time and energy, or “cut ties” with friends for whom we do too much “emotional labour”. If it weren’t for the patience, compassion, and unconditional love of my friends I would not be the woman I am today.
