Friendships tend to get short shrift on our priority list. Maybe it’s just me, but enough has been written about this to know it’s not. From our Disney princess days, we’re taught that the holy grail of relationships is that between a damsel and her prince. Add the baked-in glory of pronatalism (only for certain types of families mind you, generally white, Christian, traditional), it’s understandable why prioritizing the time we spend with people outside our immediate family has never been deemed quite as valuable.

But as I get older, I’m thinking a lot about friendship — especially friendship in your forties when time, energy, partnership, family, and selfhood start to rearrange themselves. For context: I’ve spent twenty of my twenty-three years of adulthood in two monogamous, hetero relationships. One was perhaps a rebound who stayed too long. But both lasted because I was too scared to be alone. I’ve always maintained friendships and had my own interests and hobbies outside my romantic relationships, but the pandemic made that harder. It was easier to rest in what felt like the safety and comfort of just the two of us.

Then in October 2023, I went to Portland, ME with my two best friends from college. We saw Jonathan Van Ness, made literal magic happen, walked and talked and shopped and talked some more. It’s not hyperbole when I say that weekend reminded me what love felt like. I came home feeling so full and warm and enough. It was something I’d been missing, and I couldn’t remember when I lost it — if I’d lost it or if I’d simply never had it.

I want to be friends with myself.

Fast forward a couple years, and now I’m in my woman era. That’s what I told my cousin two years ago when she came to visit. I still like the way it feels in my mouth. I want to be friends with myself. Why does that feel radical? I want my relationships and especially my friendships to be mutually uplifting, reciprocal, and supportive. The older I get (and the less often I drink), the more in tune I am to the finite resource that is my own energy — and the more I want to spend it on and with the people I care about most. Not the annoying person on the subway. Not the ego-driven tech bro. And not the friend who I leave feeling more depleted than before. But habits are hard to break and it’s easier said than done.

Friendship is part of a healthy life.

Studies show the importance of friendships in support of happier, healthier lives as we age. This is especially true for women regardless if they have partners or families of their own. In fact, quality friendships in older adults (which encompasses quantity, frequency of contact, and depth of intimacy) are a stronger predictor of overall well-being, while strained friendships were linked with more chronic illnesses. This exists alongside what’s been termed a “friendship recession,” which began even before the pandemic. 12% of people surveyed in 2021 reported having zero close friends while nearly half said they had three or fewer. In a 1990 study, the rates were 3% and 27%.

I’m done waiting to be rescued.

I’ve had to rewrite the internal monologue about who I am, what I value, and how I want to spend my time. A few initial takeaways in what I assume to be a forever journey: I’m done taking care of men. I’m done being blind to my own needs. I’m done wishing and hoping someone would notice me struggling, wafting, wasting away and help. Part of my woman era is learning to care for myself so I can show up to my life in a way that makes me feel good. In a way that feels aligned and authentic and all those fun buzzwords people like to throw around as proof they’re walking the walk. Boundaries. That’s another one of my faves.

Permission to say no.

I’m learning to listen to my body and my intuition. I tried out this alternative speed-dating event. Though speed wasn’t the point. True connection was. It was about only saying yes, only asking for more, if it felt deeply right on both sides. It was intimate. There were four rounds of a musical-chairs-like exercise to find a partner. Then we spent a few minutes in conversation and literal connection with each one — staring into one another’s eyes, hugging, holding a hand on each other’s heart space. Afterward, the question to ask yourself was: how did that feel? Awkward. What was your body telling you? Not this one. The element of permission felt powerful.

For people socialized as women especially, we can be loath to reject a suitor too directly for fear of retaliation or merely being perceived as rude. We’re taught to put men’s emotional needs before our own. Smile pretty. You get more bees with honey. (Side note: I thought it was pollen? I like that better. You might be allergic to me, which will be great to know early.)

Somatics, the practice of being in one’s body, is another one of my buzzwords that the event helped me hone. When my mind gets confused and my anxiety spikes, it’s amazing the data my body has ready. It knows truths beyond this realm and deeper than matter. Like, who is friend and who is faux.

Not every friendship has to be everything.

In relationships, I tend to hold on for dear life no matter what. As if I could make it work if I just put my mind to it. As if that could ever be good enough. All or nothing. I need to know: are we in or out? As if anything worthwhile could be so black and white. I’m learning to get comfortable in the gray space — where some relationships flounder, some serve certain needs but not others, and some surprise you in the best way. Some people can play a long-term role in one’s life without being there for all of it. As my own friendships have evolved, I often find solace and truth in the adage that people come into your life for a season, a reason, or a lifetime. I’m learning it ultimately comes down to me and my willingness and ability to be vulnerable. Give and take. Repeat.

People say you can’t love anyone else until you love yourself. I don’t think that’s true.

Another thing that’s dawned on me in my woman era — I’d never learned to love myself, not really. I’ve had love. I’ve loved each of the men I was with. Including my high school boyfriend. But without that deeply rooted, grounding self-love, it’s hard to know which way to turn when things get hard. It’s too easy, as Katy Perry once said, to feel like a plastic bag floating through the wind.

In this latest round of more intentional friend-making as a forty-something, I’m learning to realize my agency in making choices about who fills which needs and who is great for others. It’s ok if they’re different people. It’s ok if they overlap, and it’s ok if they don’t. I read an article on Vox about how to turn casual friends into something deeper. Strawberry friends, as they’re termed, are the people we want to prioritize when they text us or when we have a free spot on our calendar, for example. There are also the friends we value and want to keep in touch with, but do so as we have the space. And beware of the energy vampires who perhaps we should reconsider investing too much time and energy in. It’s an individual thing. It’s not about good versus bad. For me, it’s about self-love, awareness, and the desire to show up with intention and care for both me and the other person. Authenticity. Alignment. Reciprocity. Boundaries.

A future built on friendship.

As a happily unattached queer childfree woman with a new cat (shout out to Penelope), it’s also not lost on me that my friendships hold a different kind of weight as I continue on in this life for however long that may be. Perhaps I’ll have another committed partner, perhaps I’ll live out my days in a wise woman commune. I know I need to plan for the future, and as studies show, in addition to smart financial decisions, investing in the friendships that make me happiest is a smart bet. The ones that make it easy to share and be vulnerable. The ones that make me feel seen, warm, loved, and enough.

That same cousin is coming to visit again this weekend. I’m excited to share some updates on what I’m learning in my woman era.