The F Word

My Field Guide to the Ins & Outs of Sisterhood

If there’s one theme that’s followed me my whole life, it’s female friendship. Figuring out how to have them, keep them, and not lose myself in the process.

For some girls, the early drama was boys. Not me. My first real relationship started when I was fifteen and lasted through high school and most of college, on and off. The real battlefield was female friendships: boundaries, honesty, connection. That was my first real life-lesson curriculum, and it continued well into my thirties.

Now, in my forties, I’ve finally landed with a small, solid core of friends I’ve known for decades and a few newer ones who’ve shown up in surprising, beautiful ways. But the road here? Bumpy.

I’ve had more friendship break-ups than I can count.

For years I saw those endings as failures, but now I understand the old saying: people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Learning which was which, and letting them be that, has been the work.

When I was younger, I longed for the Sex and the City version of friendship: a little tribe of women to roam New York with, share secrets with, brunch with. A girlhood support system. But I was a chronic people-pleaser. Being liked was oxygen. I’d say yes to everything. Plans I didn’t want, favors I couldn’t manage—just to avoid disappointing anyone. I’d push my own needs down until they exploded later as last-minute cancellations or quiet ghosting.

Eventually I decided honesty had to win out. I started speaking up at work, with family, in friendships. At first it was terrifying, then liberating, then—let’s be real—a bit much. I went from silent to sermon. I’d voice every opinion, solicited or not.

Even now, as a fully grown adult, I still fumble the balance. I’m emotional, intuitive, and deeply tuned in to people’s energy. My superpower is connection but it’s also my Achilles’ heel. I used to think the kind of love my family showed, especially my mom, was the template for how friends should love me back. It took a lot of healing to realize that the people who felt familiar—slightly closed off, withholding—weren’t actually the safest for me emotionally. I’m open, vulnerable, quick to help and share, and when that is met silence or “I’m sorry,” it crushes me.

Thank God (and Spirit) for the lesson that I can’t change anyone but myself.

Astrology helped me put language to all of this. As a high-school freshman making birth charts for my friends, I discovered the concept of the Nodes. My North Node is in Libra; my South Node is in Aries. Translation? My soul is moving from self-reliance toward interdependence—from me to we. It clicked instantly. My instinct is to do everything alone, but I’m most aligned when I ask for help, when I lean. I’m here to learn relationship.

To be a good friend, I’ve learned, I have to meet people where they are and not where I wish they were. I used to spiral when people didn’t respond how I thought “an emotionally healthy person” would 🤷🏽‍♀️. I’d show up as my whole heart, then feel let down when it wasn’t mirrored back.

Recently I opened up to a friend and left the conversation feeling unseen and unsupported. But I’m realizing not every friend is meant for every need. That friend? She’s my ride-or-die in a crisis—the one I call when the sky is falling. But when I need gentleness and emotional presence, I have another friend, newer but beautifully attuned, who meets me there and still laughs at my dark humor.

It’s all about balance: setting friends up for success by letting them be who they are, not who I want them to be.

The other truth is I’m a giver. I’ll go above and beyond if it’s in my power and for a long time, even when it wasn’t. That’s the habit I’m still unlearning: giving without boundaries, then resenting the emptiness afterward. My love languages are acts of service and words of affirmation, but that doesn’t mean those are theirs.

That mismatch used to leave me feeling unloved, especially when I’d show up for people who didn’t (or couldn’t) show up for me. It still stings sometimes. Like realizing some of my closest friends have yet to read a single story on my Substack, while people I’ve known for five minutes have not only read but subscribed or shared.

But now I see it more clearly. It’s not a reflection on my worth; it’s a reminder that everyone speaks love differently and my work is choosing how much I give, and when, so I don’t empty myself to prove I’m worthy.

Maybe that’s the lesson of my Libra North Node after all: friendship, like love, isn’t about symmetry. It’s about sincerity and about learning which bonds are for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, then loving them accordingly.