A Love Letter For The Girls Who’ve Always Been There
A note on sisterhood that raised me, held me, and never let me fall.
I have known love in many forms. But the love that has shaped me the most, quietly, fiercely, without condition, is the love I’ve shared with my girlfriends.
The kind of love that doesn’t ask for permission to care.
That shows up on porches, in DMs, across states, and over decades.
This one’s for you. All of you.
My First Friend: Sisterhood by Blood and Bond
Before I had best friends or group chats or late-night heart-to-hearts, I had my sisters.
We’re five years apart in both directions with me in the middle. Always close enough to feel seen, but far enough to feel different. It gave me perspective. It gave me patience. It gave me practice at loving without needing to be the same.
My big sister was my partner in crime and always a few steps ahead, showing me what might come next. And my younger sister was my baby. She reminded me how to nurture, how to listen, how to cheer someone on as they bloom.
Being the middle sister means learning to bridge worlds. To translate, to soften, to hold both ends of a story. It taught me early that sisterhood isn’t about control; it’s about care.
To grow up with sisters is to never be truly alone. And even when we’ve disagreed or distanced, the love remains like a thread stitched under the skin – strong, quiet, undeniable.
30 Years and Still Growing
My oldest friend and I have over 30 years between us. We were kids then, wild with curiosity and innocence, and somehow, we never lost each other.
We’ve seen each other through scraped knees, a birth, heartbreaks, graduations, and grown-woman dreams. She’s not just a friend; she’s a witness to my becoming. No matter the time or distance, we can easily fall right back into our sisterhood.
College Girls, Chosen Family
Then there are my college girls. Those beautiful, brilliant souls who taught me what it means to find family away from home.
We studied and partied and protested together.
We prayed and healed together.
In that sacred space between dorm rooms and deep talks, we built a bond that no time or distance can erase.
Pandemic Love, Unexpected Sisterhood
And then, the pandemic friends. My unexpected blessings in the middle of global grief. Women I met through Zoom calls, GroupMe discussions, voice notes, and virtual happy hours. What started as screen-bound solidarity slowly blossomed into something real. We didn’t just connect; we clicked.
There was something sacred about sharing space in a time when the world was falling apart. We laughed with masks on. We cried in text threads. We found each other in the chaos and created community anyway. And when the world slowly opened, so did we.
We met up for weekend getaways and healing retreats, showed up for birthdays and breakups, created traditions with no expiration date. Some of us caught flights for brunches. Others sat in living rooms and talked until the candles burned low.
Those early virtual connections grew into late-night car rides, shared Airbnbs, care packages, and honest conversations over wine and playlists.
We reminded each other that closeness doesn’t require history; just heart.
The depth came quickly, but it never felt rushed. It felt earned by mutual care, honesty, and the willingness to be fully seen. These women, these pandemic sisters, are now forever part of my village. Proof that even in isolation, love can find a way in. And stay.
A Legacy of Love: My Mama and Her Girls
I didn’t learn this kind of love by accident. My mother has always modeled it for me. She and my older sister’s godmother have been holding each other down since my grandmother was her kindergarten teacher and would take my mom along to work/school with her. In their 60s now and still laughing like schoolgirls. Their friendship is a legacy of loyalty, laughter, and letting each other be fully human.
My godmother came into my mother’s life when they were teenagers and never left. Through babies and breakups, trips and rough patches, they’ve remained rooted in each other. They taught me that real friendship is not seasonal. It’s not a transaction. It’s a choice; one you keep making, over and over.
In adulthood, she has had other close friends along the way, but The Golden Girls are magical! They travel together, laugh, and pray. Celebrate each other but also their kids and grandkids. Check-in on me and my sisters like they’ve known us forever because we’re my mom’s and they will always have her back and forever beings at different stages of life.
The Sacredness of Black Women’s Friendship
Black women’s friendship is a balm. It is gospel and griot, medicine and memory. It’s holding space when the world won’t, and calling each other higher when we forget our magic. It’s inside jokes, serious check-ins, and showing up with coconut oil, wine, and the truth.
Black women’s friendship is a balm.
It is gospel and griot, medicine and memory.
To My Girls
I love you.
I thank you.
I see you.
You are the rhythm in my joy and the cushion in my fall.
You’ve taught me how to love without fear and to be soft without breaking.
May we always find our way back to each other.
May your legacies, my nieces, nephews, and godson, inherit this kind of love.
And may we never take this sisterhood for granted.
Send this to the women who’ve held you.
Tag a friend and tell her thank you.
Or just text: “I’m so grateful for you.”
Because we deserve to give our girls their flowers while we’re still blooming together.
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