Reflection: Friendship
A love letter to my female friends
Here at Heartfelt Fiction, I mostly share, well, fiction. Even if a story is written in the first person, it’s a fictional point of view. But every now and then, I want to tell the story of my own life. Thus, the Reflection Series. These are little love letters to the people in my life or the moments that matter most.
Today’s reflection is in response to the invitation from to form a virtual daisy chain of female voices in celebration of International Women’s Day. added me to her chain. I’d like to add and to mine. And with that, a love letter…
I am held by the love of strong women.
Their hands sometimes push me, challenging me to tap into a part of my power I never thought to access. They coax me away from self doubt. They sooth me when I am unable to carry the weight of life. They lift me up to the highest joy I know. Those hands are an expression of a love I am honored to hold.
The love of a strong woman gently nudged me to dream.
I had run most of my life, but told myself that I wasn’t built for twenty six point two miles. Then one day, running along the coast of Kauai, a woman whose soul has known mine through many lifetimes told me, “I know that you could, if only you tried.” Six months later, she was waiting for me at the end of my first marathon. I cried in her arms. Last year, we crossed another finish line together. It was our first shared marathon but just one of many journeys we have run side by side — through college, career, marriage and motherhood I have never been alone. And through each journey I have had the fierceness of her love, one that refuses to let me settle for ordinary because she sees me shining with something uncommon.
The love of three strong women has become as necessary to me as air.
They are the faces that blur in my vision when my eyes cloud with the tears of frequent laughter and occasional agony. Theirs are the arms that encircle me and support me when I cannot stand. Their hands are the ones that both beckon adventure and call me home. If you ask who sees me, who truly knows the inner workings of my very soul, I will point you five minutes down the road in their direction.
The love of a strong woman taught me security.
Before her, I believed that love was a conditional thing to be lost through disappointment and gained through fawning. But for a quarter of a century her hand has guided me through the darkest of times and rested on my shoulder when I had to be brave. Hers are the first hands to clap when I win and cup my face when I cry. Every time I have been sure that I am broken beyond the capacity for another to love, I have felt her arms wrap around me, holding all the shards of my soul in place. I am an only child, but in her love I have found true sisterhood.
One member of my writer’s group is not pictured, which tells me we need to be better at taking photos
The love of three strong women is the reason that my words are here, on your screen today.
I had written all my life, even made a career with my craft. But I never believed that anyone would want to read the stories I told myself of imaginary people doing impossible things. Then I joined a group of remarkable female writers whose eyes twinkled with the same spark as mine. Their words and worlds crashed into mine until we swam in a sea of our own making. That loving water has buoyed me in the darkest times and been the calm sea I sailed into the bravery of self belief. In their love, I have found my voice.
I am held by the love of all these women and so many more. I am lifted, loved and cared for with their hands. I offer them mine, for as long as they’ll have me.
Ok crying now. Such an absolute honor to be included in your circle here 💛🌼