I can’t hold it in right now. This feeling has been building for a while, pressing against my chest until it finally spills over. My gratitude is loud and glittering—crowns and gold, Rosie-the-Riveter bandanas, fierce you can do it energy wrapped in unapologetic womanly strength.
I am deeply, profoundly grateful for girlfriends.
Truthfully, I didn’t really get it until my 30s—until life stopped flirting with drama and started delivering it full force. The lifetime-level heartbreaks. Pregnancies. Cancer scares. Divorces. Career upheavals. Health battles. Death. The real stuff. The real real. The kind of experiences that don’t gently teach you lessons “one day,” but instead grab you by the shoulders and permanently shift the direction of your life in the painfully obvious right now.
I’m so thankful I discovered what sisterhood truly means in my 30s—both through brand-new friendships and the ones I carried with me into this decade. It’s different now. Deeper. It feels like we’re all actively doing life together, fighting hard to make sure life isn’t the one doing us. When I look at my closest girlfriends, I see that no two lives look the same. It’s like standing in the middle of a massive bookstore aisle, surrounded by dozens of New York Times best-selling novels you can’t put down. Not one story bores me.
Tell me more.
Let’s brunch.
Catch me up.
The truth is, things happen fast at this age—and they matter more than ever. Sometimes it makes you want to dig your nails into the steady and hold on for dear life. And it’s those friends who run alongside you, painting your nails while your grip slips anyway. They hold your body when you’re sliding under the weight of change. They sit with you, slumped on the ground, for as long as it takes before they help you stand again. These are the friends who show up during the heart-crushing, soul-pivoting, this-will-break-you-before-it-makes-you-stronger seasons—and those are the friends who matter most.
These are the women who long ago formed tribes. The village members who help raise your children. The humans who rebuild with what’s left, in your honor, when everything you knew gets taken away.
They don’t just understand your pain—they breathe deeply and step straight into it with you. They don’t hesitate. They carry it alongside you. And in your 30s, these are the friendships where you can’t go long without saying I love you, because you need them to know—truly know—that you might not be able to do this life without them.
When life evolves this much, surrender becomes inevitable. Your arms reach out—and then suddenly, whoosh, you’re spinning like a tornado. In the chaos, sometimes your arms knock someone over. Sometimes that someone is one of these friends. Some of the hardest conversations I’ve had in this decade are the vulnerable ones that put friendships in peril. But I’ve noticed something else, too: they’re also the easiest moments to admit I was wrong, to tell the truth, to say I’m sorry, to cry, and to ask for forgiveness. Because honestly—queens, I’m talking to you—I don’t think I can do this without you. My ego doesn’t stand a chance against this level of love.
So hold tight to the ones who say yes to midnight, Richter-scale-10 anxiety phone calls. The ones who keep asking how you feel about that one thing, even though they’ve heard it a hundred times. The ones who celebrate your wins as if they were their own. The ones who say, “Tell me the truth,” and when you do, they hate it—and love you more. The ones who say, “Wear a pink wig for my birthday,” and you reply, “I hate wigs, but I’ll buy extras in case anyone forgets.”
To my girlfriends—all of you—the ones I talk to every day, the ones I talk to every month, and especially the ones whose only conversations are, “I love and miss you so much, we need to hang out soon” (because sometimes just knowing you’re there is enough)… I freaking love you. I truly don’t know another way to express how intense this conviction is.
I just freaking love you.
Every part of my soul that is fierce, feminine, bold, and warrior-strong—every roar and every quiet sob—is really just you. Your permission. Your love. Your unwavering sisterhood.
Thank you. I’m sorry it took me so long to arrive in a world where you are my heroes. But I’m here now. And you are all wearing capes made of 1,000-thread-count gold. I’ve never felt prouder standing beneath a sky lit with ongoing bat signals that appear and disappear in an instant. We swoop in together like a hive tending its queens—and it is the most beautiful masterpiece of life I’ve ever known.
I love you. You are my deepest gratitude. I can’t do this without you. And I hope, with my whole heart, that you feel the same.
