"Oh how we need each other"

I finally mustered up the courage to do a little internet search.  I’d hesitated for longer than you might think prudent given my history. But I was afraid to find out if it was serious. I’d had a tingling of sorts under my left arm for several months.  I never thought to mention it to my oncologist back in November when he asked if I’d been having any pain. I simply attributed it to my node-removal prior to my mastectomy and figured if it got any worse I’d deal with it then.  But when I finally checked it out by typing in something like “pain after node removal years later,” women who’d had the same procedures shared anecdotes highlighting similar pain years after as well.  Those few invested minutes changed me.  Instead of worrying, I felt calm. If it’s just a normal side effect, I can live with inconvenience, a little discomfort.  What a relief it was to realize I’m not the only one!

I think of our friend who just had a baby and who is new to nursing.  We commiserated with her over lunch, remembering back to our own pain and awkwardness.  No one had told her what to expect after the delivery, so it was all sort of a surprise.  I think she felt that same relief when we told her everything she was experiencing was completely normal and to be anticipated, from emotions to soreness.  I remember reading in my What to Expect books; just knowing that what I was dealing with wasn’t uncommon, comforted and settled me as a new mother.  Likewise, I think it helped her as we shared stories of our own.

I joined our small presidency meeting early one morning a few weeks back. It didn’t take much, I don’t even remember the exact context, but essentially one of my friends was telling me about a talk she’d just listened to that made her think of me, the kind of mom I am.  I warned her, she was going to make me cry if she said anything more about me as a mom that morning.  But she didn’t listen; so then out of nowhere, the tears just came.  I confessed that I felt like a failure.  I was the last person in the world she should be calling a good mom.  I think the tears surprised them.  But not really.  The four of us talked.  One came around the table and hugged me.  Kleenex came out.  What happened was so good for us.  Each shared her own current sadness.  We all ended up crying, each more concerned for the other than we’d been about our own heartaches.  I felt so validated, I knew they understood because they are mothers too with heartaches of their own.  And I know it helped them feel better to share their worries in a safe place.

I’ve learned that instead of acting like we’ve got it all together, as we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and authentic, we give others permission to do the same.  I feel like sometimes we walk around holding our breath, afraid someone will discover our secrets, that we’re just trying to figure things out as we go, that we’re just doing the best we can, even though it doesn’t look like much. I just read The Nightingale, but it could be any book on World War II actually.  Everyone seems to be holding their breath.  Even the German soldiers who seem so powerful and strong can’t truly rely on one another.  No one trusts anyone.  Everything seems to be a facade.  But what consolation when a downed airman finds a citizen he can count on to house him for a night, and when that citizen trusts him to do her no harm as she does.  Stories like that remind us how good it feels to exhale, to just be able to breathe, to not have to keep up pretenses.  This is how it feels to have found a true friend.

I’m drawn to people who, when I open my heart, don’t barrage me with a litany of suggestions that worked for them, but instead commiserate and share that they’ve had similar struggles, that I’m not the only one.  I don’t want an expert, I just want a soft place to lay my head for awhile.  I simply need a friend beside me as I figure out what my best course of action is.

I think new moms want to know that other moms once felt frumpy and overwhelmed and tired too.  That nursing was weird.  That they didn’t bond with their babies right away.  That it changed their marriages in unsuspecting ways.  It strengthens that sisterhood more than if the experienced mom simply gives advice and counsel, showcasing all her strengths as an experienced mother.

I think it helps when other women admit they’ve got questions of their own.  That they of course experience times of spiritual highs and lows.  I think it’s off-putting when they hear others who seem to be riding the wave without ever losing their balance.  Where does that leave us who sometimes feel like we’re just treading water?

I don’t need a circle of women who constantly complain any more than I want friends who are perfect.  I don’t want to be around women who endlessly criticize and gossip any more than I want to spend time around women who never seem to get annoyed, frazzled, worried, or down.  I just want women friends who are real.  Who admit their failings (perceived or actual) but get on with life.  Who can cry over a major loss with me one minute but who will laugh with me till we ache the next.  Who I can share my deepest questions with, as well as my long-awaited answers to earnest prayers.  And I expect and love it when they do the same.

I don’t need—or even want—girlfriends who have all the answers.  Sometimes I’ll ask them for advice, but most of the time I think we already know what we need to do.  No, mostly all I want is to know I’m normal, that I’m not alone.  That the pains I’m feeling—either in my arm or in my heart—have been felt by someone else.  I don’t necessarily want to dwell on it all, but I long to be validated, to know I’m not the only one who’s dealt with this before.  And maybe I’m not speaking for all women.  Maybe you feel you’ve got this, your parents and siblings have your back, you’ve got your husbands and your kids, you’re good.  So what happens even if you have it all now but lose it one unsuspecting day?  Or simply get lonely? What if someone like me needs someone like you?  What if we’d just love it if you’d walk with us as we raise our families in this crazy world?  What if we need you to hug us when we cry, to laugh with us through the absurdities of life, to celebrate how far we’ve come and to mourn with us when we feel overwhelmed or sad?  You might not need us, but you might be exactly the friend we’ve been waiting for.  We might need you.

Interestingly, I think it might just as hard for some women to let down their guard and let friends see their weak side as it was for me to finally decide to figure out if my arm pain was serious, but I think the reason is the same.  Most of us are scared.  To discover the truth.  To let others in. 

You’ve heard this all before, and maybe you feel the same, I don’t know. “Oh, how we need each other. Those of us who are old need you who are young.  And, hopefully, you who are young need some of us who are old. It is a sociological fact that women need women. We need deep and satisfying and loyal friendships with each other.” (Marjorie Pay Hinckley)

Any maybe I’m preaching to the choir.  We’ve found amazing, authentic friends and families we’ve connected with who’ve shared their own heartbreaks and questions as we’ve shared ours over the years.  And I know you have too. In fact, I can’t help but think that’s exactly what makes people close, just knowing we’re not alone in all of it, that someone else is going through something similar.  A little pain—however persistent—just seems to soften when we know others have felt something like it too.