Finding My Tribe

I remember being fairly popular in high school, and I was friends with classmates from all different cliques. I went to parties, was just edgy enough to not be a dork, but still pulled good grades and was involved in extracurriculars, so I was able to fit in with all different types of kids. When I left for college, I lost a lot of my high school friends, which was expected. My core group became much smaller and consisted mostly of my husband (boyfriend at the time) and his friends’ girlfriends. I did not make any friends at college. I had a few people to sit next to in class or smile at when I saw them on campus, but I was not invited to any parties and I wasn’t interested in going, anyhow. I was in a serious relationship and I commuted to school from our apartment. I didn’t have much in common with people who attended frat parties or slept in dorms.

Once we were married, built a house, and had full time careers, we held on to a few close friends and a bunch of acquaintances, but I struggled with maintaining close friendships with other women. I remember agonizing over it, analyzing every interaction I had with potential friends, having long conversations with my husband as I tried to figure out why I couldn’t seem to find friends who wanted to spend time with me. I was always a planner, and I’d beg my friends to come over for parties, meet for dinner, go on day trips or overnights together; and they often declined. After a while, I would debate for hours before texting someone to ask if they wanted to get together. I’d count the number of weekends in a row they had said no, type and retype the message to sound casual and noncommittal, pace and wait for a response.

After I became a mother, my last few friends pretty much disappeared. One friend, who I had thought was particularly close with me, stopped talking to me altogether when I told her that I was pregnant. Another one, who was a mother herself (so I looked up to her) accidentally messaged me one night talking about how awful I was - she had meant to send it to somebody else. My daughter was a month old. I was devastated. I turned inward and struggled with severe postpartum depression for a long time. I came out on the other end with a toddler and a huge wall around myself.

I decided that I was unlikable. I would often say things like, “Something is wrong with me. Other women don’t like me. I’m not good at having friends.” I saw it as a character trait; I just wasn’t a person that other people wanted to be around. I tried to be okay with it; to accept it and enjoy my own company. I got a couple of graduate degrees, raised my daughter, worked hard on our home, and cultivated my own interests. I learned how to hunt and started hunting alone. I taught myself how to sew and quilted. I grew and canned my own food, started writing a book, got a gym membership and taught myself all about macros and weightlifting, took solo trips, went on yoga retreats, and I lived my life pretty much friendless. No matter how busy and accomplished I might be, I still had “bad times” when I would cry into my husband’s shirt about how lonely I was, and would sob that I had no friends.

I had a few failed attempts at making friends at work and came out with a bunch of acquaintances who would chat with me in the halls but I’d never see them outside of school. My daughter made friends at school, and I’d try to get to know their parents, but I always felt so awkward and I just couldn’t quite get a relationship to start. I was trying too hard to make myself small and meek, to say just the right things, not let any of my weirdness show, to be “normal” so people would like me. I always felt like a mess compared to the super moms. I was a Sped teacher with a little corner room that nobody knew was even there. I didn’t dress like a mom or teacher…I ate lunch alone at my desk every day.

Then, something happened. You know how people always say they don’t care what other people think, but they really do care deep down? I actually started to not care. For real. I don’t know if it was just an age thing, and I just finally got old enough to drop out of those stupid expectations, or if I was just finally lonely enough for long enough that I gave up, but I literally stopped trying. I always felt the happiest about my appearance when I was expressing my authentic self; I went back to wearing only thrifted clothing (one of my passions), I got rid of my bleached hair and went to dark brown, stopped getting haircuts and started wearing my braids again, painting my nails black, and wearing my beads and feathers. I listened to music that made me feel happy and powerful; I played it loudly. I talked loudly (something that had been shushed out of me a long time ago) and made my opinions known. I stopped seeking approval and didn’t laugh if the joke wasn’t funny. I told people I loved them - loudly.

I went back to my spiritual truth; took up practices that I had long ago stopped doing, but had made me happy when I was young. All of those things that you are supposed to stop playing with once you have a college degree and a baby (or so I thought); tarot cards, crystals, oils, mantras, dancing under the moon, tracking your natural cycles, incense and oracles. I had a trunk in the basement from my younger years, full to the brim with precious objects, and I hauled it all back out. The difference was, this time I was not going to keep those interests a secret. I let my freak flag fly for all to see.

And guess what? My tribe found me. I put my true, authentic self out there with no shame and no expectations, and women who shared my interests found me and loved me. It’s still surreal to me. They were hiding right under my nose! I still second guess what I allow them to see sometimes. “Is this the line? Will this be the weird thing that I say that finally pushes them away? Am I going to wreck it?” But every time I think I’ve gotten too weird, they LOVE ME. They support me and cheer me on and give me advice and tell me I am amazing - I still can’t believe it even as I write this. I honestly cannot think of any other friendships I have ever had in my entire life that were this pure; free from competition or cattiness. I hug them. Like a normal human being does when they see their friends or they are saying goodbye (I’m still getting used to it, honestly; I’ve never been a hugger). I am in love with them. Is that a weird thing to say? Yup. They are probably going to see this and that’s okay. I am in love with my friends.

This morning, I was having my tea while texting with four of my friends (and ordering essential oils from one of them, because we support each other). FOUR friends, people! All four were lovely conversations with lots of heart emojis. And I shit you not, I paused to do my morning tarot card pull and what do I get? The Three of Cups. It is quite literally the friendship card, featuring three women dancing together with raised glasses, celebrating their sisterhood.

And now. Now I have opened my yoga studio and have started classes, and I have old friends and new students who are women that share a common interest in growing emotionally and physically; women who are brave enough to show up and do the work for themselves. After forty years on this planet, I have finally found my tribe. I am overflowing with gratitude.

Did I mention that there is no limit to the number of members in my tribe? All are welcome. Namaste.