‘How is your heart?: There’s never been a better time to pay tribute to female friendship
Between us, we’ve shared experiences of divorce, separation, grief, heartbreak, major surgery – and more
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.If there’s one thing that I’ll treasure forever on days like National Best Friend Day – it is the women who stood beside me during the pandemic.
By “stood”, and “beside me”, I mean virtually, of course, but despite the frustrations of forgetting we were on mute, and having to sing each other happy 40th birthday remotely, over Zoom, I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as loved as after almost 18 months of near-complete isolation.
I stand poised, now, two years on; about to turn 41 – and in fitting tribute, I’ll be celebrating my birthday with my beloveds who I’ve known for more than 30 years. We’re going to Florence together, to spend a single weekend laughing, eating, drinking and swapping stories of scrapes and mishaps, broken hearts and hilarious stories from school, like always.
The past two years have seen my closest friends battle some major life changes, moments that would be tough-going even if we weren’t in the middle of a global pandemic. Between us, we’ve shared experiences of divorce, separation, grief, heartbreak, job loss, childbirth, major surgery, miscarriage, the struggle to keep businesses afloat, the difficulties of homeschooling, battling on the NHS front line – and more.
We weren’t able to get together in person, yet we exchanged photos of our shocking “new normal” on WhatsApp, images that made me both weep and cackle. In March 2020, as the pandemic gathered pace, the steady “ping” of the group chat I have with my schoolfriends grew muted as we realised the seriousness of what was happening in British hospitals. One of our tribe – our marvellous Doctor Sarah – sent us selfies of her face, bruised and battered, after a 12-hour night shift on A&E wearing full PPE.
The rest of us shared images of ourselves trying to do our jobs whilst thrust into secondary roles as teachers, our kids clinging to our legs, fighting over laptops or scattering toys over our new “work spaces” (our kitchen tables).
To cheer ourselves up, we dug around in our collective lofts; found old snapshots taken when we met at school in 1990 – decades before whispers of Covid-19. We teased each other mercilessly over terrible hair cuts and memorable teenage relationships; I even fished out my old diary, which in 1995, read: “I had a REALLY good time round Gem’s with Roz and Ems. It makes me feel so special to have such good friends and be able to talk to them about anything. They still make me feel really left out about periods, though – all joking together. When will I start?”
Throughout all three national lockdowns, if one of us put out a clarion call to say we were struggling, we rallied; both together and apart. When I felt bruised and broken-hearted, Dayna left home-baked sourdough loaves and fresh flat whites on my doorstep, Roz picked me sweet peas from her garden, Katy sent me 15 bars of my favourite chocolate, Rachel tempted me out for walks, and Claire on bike rides. Mel brought round a socially distanced bottle of prosecco, and we clinked plastic cups from opposite ends of my driveway; while Hannah sent me a gorgeous vintage skirt. Annette offered to stand at the end of my driveway whenever I needed her. When life gave me lemons, Stef sent me a lemon tree. Amelia wrote me poetry, and checked in every single day with the simple text: “How is your heart?”
To keep up to speed with all the latest opinions and comment sign up to our free weekly Voices Dispatches newsletter by clicking here
Other friends in Wales and even Australia made efforts to keep in touch with similarly simple, yet vital words: “How are you feeling?” – and I told them the truth. Sometimes great, even giddy and buoyant. Sometimes so heavy with the burden of parenting young children and of spending evening after evening alone on my sofa, watching endless TV, that I didn’t know how I could possibly keep going. But I did, I made it through – and it was mostly because of them.
And that’s the truly unique thing about female friendship: at times it can feel like a therapy session, but in the best and most beautiful way. I can say anything; admit to times I’ve messed up, and still know that no matter what happens, they love me unconditionally – and I them.
Greta Gerwig said in 2013 that “in college, and right after college, there’s this sense that your friends are your family”. I feel tremendously fortunate to have such incredible women as my chosen family, and saccharine as this sounds (it is National Best Friend Day), I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with them “beside” me – even when we’re miles apart.
The true loves of my life are these strong, fierce, independent women, and I celebrate the warmth, joy and laughter that spreads like wildfire when one of them sends a text to show me the awful fringe I had in 1999; or reminds me of the Terrible Port Incident after our school reunion in 2014.
But that’s a secret – if you want to know more about it, you’ll have to ask my friends.