Anyone who knows me knows that my poetic muscles are strong. I write poems often. I have a directory of depth and bullshit for whatever the occasion requires of me. However, recently, I was asked to perform a piece specifically on friendship. And upon further research, I discovered I did not have one. Coincidentally, this request came right after I had posted to threads, “I want to flex my poetry muscles through commissioned poems. Writing on topics not because I have motivation, but because I’ve been asked.” So naturally, I took this as the universe’s way of affirming me, telling me to get my ass to work. And with a whole month ahead of me, I just knew I would write a new poem about friendship.
Well, it is a day before the performance, and as fate would have it, I DON’T HAVE SHIT. Hell, I am here writing this SubStack when I should be writing this poem, but I can’t. And it is at this moment that I realize, I’ve never actually tried to put the value of my friendships into a poem. Not because I don’t have any, but perhaps I’ve fallen into the common narrative of knowing my friends mean the world to me, but doing very little to acknowledge it.
I know of love poets. I know of love poems. But finding ones that decenter romance seems harder. I won’t say I am surprised. As a society, I think we are conditioned to place romance on a pedestal. For women, we are expected to seek a husband and family, but we are seldom, if ever, told to seek friendships with the same kind of fever. Sadly, I know what it’s like to be the woman consumed in motherhood and marriage.
It’s hard to admit, but there is some merit to the idea that women change after marriage. Sometimes it is by choice, sometimes not so much, but it is a reality. Your partner and children become your immediate family. They become your first priority. Quickly, you lose yourself in caring for them first and foremost. Slowly, you lose other relationships too. It wasn’t something I noticed until it was too late. I looked up one day, and I was Mrs. and Mom, but far from myself and all the people who knew and remembered her.
My friends were already long-distance, so limited communication was already a usual occurrence. And generally, while I’ve always been popular or known, I never really had many close friends. The ones you call on when things get rough or to celebrate the major accomplishments, and very little time to myself or the people I loved that weren’t my daughter or husband. Marriage and motherhood left me isolated. Nothing made this fact clearer than when divorce came knocking.
As my marriage slowly began to crumble, I found myself doing everything to get out of the house. Searching for ways to reclaim myself, my sanity, and a bit of joy that didn’t require my daughter’s smile. I was desperate to call my old friends, but too guilty and embarrassed to do so. Besides, who wants to unload after going missing? Who was to open the doors to welcome others into their misery? I was left rebuilding. In a city that wasn’t my home, in search of community. Tapping into the old, like engineering, but also leaning into the new, like poetry. And lucky me, four years in, when the reckoning came, there were people there to carry me.
A crew that let me cry. Had the guns loaded—literally and metaphorically. They wrote beside me, performed on stages. Stayed the night. Took care of my daughter when I underwent surgery. Made me laugh. Let me curse. Scream “ fuck that ninja” on my behalf. And when I was ready to date again, they played the role of wingmen and women. Encouraged my shenanigans. Babysat so I could have fun again. I showed up at events, birthday parties, book releases, and weddings. I built a small but mighty community. My daughter gained a village of new aunts and uncles, and favorite people. My friends became a priority, but also a non-negotiable. It’s been nothing short of a blessing.
They say that people change when they get into relationships. I was one of those people for the majority of my marriage. But as I step back into the world of romance, I don’t want to be the girl who forgets her friendships, who gets so caught up that I am left behind. My friendships mean just as much to me. And now I’m working on this first draft. Trying to put into words how much they saved me. Hoping the gratitude I feel for the chance to start again shines through. It’s not very good yet. I don’t know when it will be or if I could truly do it justice. Regardless, when I finish, I’ll probably share it here and, more importantly, with each of my friends.
LeChell Rush 