I adore my male friends. They’ve been with me through a lot. They’ve given me love, support, good times and true friendship.
However, every time I hear a girl go off about how she “can’t stand girls” and can “ONLY get along with guys” because “there’s less drama,” a little part of me dies.
Yes, women have faults. Yes, some women are mean to other women. Some women have treated me horribly, for a variety of reasons. But my lady friends have also helped me develop some of the strongest bonds I’ve ever known.
My lady friends helped guide me through my first relationship, through my second relationship, through the extremely public trauma that is a highschool breakup. They tell me that I’m smart and funny and beautiful and incredible,
even when especially when I’m feeling like none of the above.
They cried with joy when I announced my pregnancy, when my daughter was born, and throughout her life to date. They welcomed us into their lives, their families’ lives, their pregnancies, their children’s lives.
My sisters have held my hand, both literally and figuratively, as I left an abusive ex. They’ve helped me dust myself off and carry on. They’ve given me shoulders to cry on and tissues for my runny nose. They’ve inspired me with their own tales of strength and triumph.
My girlfriends were the first ones I confessed my rape to – almost a decade after it occurred. They were an unwavering pillar of support. They believed me, supported me, helped me to move on from a painful memory I had never quite gotten over. Those same girlfriends were the ones who texted and called and held my hand after my second rape. The ones who let me rehash the details and refused to let me blame myself. They stayed in touch, made sure I got up every day, made sure I carried on. They wouldn’t let me curl up and die, even when that’s all I wanted.
My ladies have stayed up all night with me, dissecting pop culture, current events, oppression, fashion, music, racism, sexism, the beauty myth, what makes Tim Hortons’ coffee so addictive, why that guy hasn’t called yet, and if I even want him to. They’ve held my hair back when I’ve drank too much, put me to bed, and then laughed hysterically when I woke up hung to the tits.
They’ve been there for birthdays, for anniversaries, for graduations and funerals and everyday bullshit. They’ve talked me through breakups and rejection and shared their own stories of heartbreak to make me feel less like an unlovable wretch.
These same women have given me hope, laughter, love, and cast-off clothing. They’ve joked about my big ol’ butt and my penchant for dating assholes. They’ve told me when a guy’s a complete dickwad and then watched me ignore their advice for years. They’ve also helped me move on when that same asshole broke my heart. Not only that, but they did it without even an “I told you so.”
My sisters live far away. I don’t see them nearly enough as I would like or they would like. Distance and finance are formidable foes. Despite this, my sisters are a part of me, and I, a part of them.
Ladies, if you “can’t stand girls,” maybe you haven’t met the right ones. Maybe you’re intimidated by them. Maybe they make you feel threatened, feel less unique, feel inferior. Maybe they challenge you, your beliefs, and your actions.
But me, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my sisters. My sisters hold me up. They inspire me. They challenge me and support me and help me better myself each and every day. My sisters are my strength, and I am blessed to have them in my life.