What is Friendship?
Girl Friends!
Isn’t it fascinating how, as young children, friendship seems to bloom effortlessly? We don’t search for it—it simply happens. But as we grow from toddlers to preschoolers and beyond, the dynamic shifts. We become selective, sometimes judgmental, and our criteria for connection evolve. In my experience, this change appears more pronounced among females. I don’t have scientific data to back this up—just the lens of a woman who has navigated her own journey with friendship.
From ages 0 to 9, I was surrounded by many friends. Two in particular—Norine Cortner and Sharon Allen—remain cherished parts of my life even after 75 years. We lived on the same street alongside boys and girls from different faiths, ethnic backgrounds, and economic levels. As children, we didn’t see those differences. Our world felt like a miniature United Nations, bonded in play and innocence.
But everything changed when I moved to a new neighborhood at age 9. I still remember my first day at Bagley Elementary. My classmates seemed to view friendship through a more critical lens, choosing companions based on specific influences. That was my first encounter with the word “clique.” It took time, but I eventually found my little corner in that new social ecosystem.
Five years later, at 14, life shifted again—not just a new neighborhood, but a new state. Leaving Michigan for Minnesota felt like crossing into another world. I recall my dad asking if I knew where Minnesota even was. I didn’t—I only knew it was far away, wrapped in both excitement and uncertainty.
Saint Louis Park became my new home, and those years offered fresh opportunities to build connections. Thanks to Facebook, I’ve reconnected with many of those friends. Still, I often felt like a duck out of water—an outsider in disguise. But I was growing. I understood that not everyone needed to be my best friend, and I started to build a circle where I felt safe and accepted.
College, however, was a different story. I wasn’t quite ready. I entered that phase still searching for a lifelong friend, and that longing sometimes distracted me from the very goals I had set out to achieve.
While in college, I met the man who would become my first husband—and no, there’s not a long line of exes behind him. His circle of friends quickly became mine, and in the process of trying to be the best partner I could be, I inadvertently let some of my own connections fade.
The first four years of our marriage unfolded in Philadelphia, where he was attending Dental School. We were newlyweds navigating unfamiliar terrain: a new city, new responsibilities, and limited finances. Many of his classmates came from the Northeast and enjoyed comfortable upbringings. We didn’t share that privilege, and I often felt that quiet divide when trying to forge new relationships. It was a time of growth, yes—but also of subtle isolation, as I learned how to carry the weight of expectation while searching for belonging.
After graduation, we returned to his hometown in Ohio. Though it brought us closer to his roots, I remained at a distance from mine—far from my family and the friends who had shaped my early years. I leaned into this new chapter, meeting his circle and finding comfort in the proximity of his family.
Shortly after he passed his Dental Boards, we welcomed our son—a beautiful beginning wrapped in fresh challenges. Over the next four years, I sought connection with other young mothers, yearning for that unique bond known as the girlfriend connection. It was a time of growth and search, of building a support system in unfamiliar soil.
But by the seventh year of our marriage, cracks had deepened, and the foundation we once stood on began to crumble. Divorce became an inevitable painful turning point that carried both loss and the beginnings of renewal
Starting life as a divorcee in what still felt like my ex-husband’s territory was a complex emotional landscape. But rather than staying in that space, I ventured outward, seeking connection with others who had walked a similar path. Joining a singles group was a turning point—it gave me both acceptance and the courage to begin redefining my life on my own terms.
It was there that I formed my first truly deep female friendship after my divorce—a bond with Helene that has lasted for 45 years. She and her future husband, Lanny, played an extraordinary role in my story: they introduced me to Richard, the man who would become my husband. This July 15th, Richard and I will celebrate 41 years of marriage—a testament to the serendipity that can emerge from seasons of change.
We met at Helene and Lanny’s rehearsal dinner and began a long-distance relationship that lasted a year. When it came time to take the leap, I moved to Cleveland to begin our life together. I didn’t know anyone in the area, but Richard’s friends welcomed me into their circle—and through him, I found my footing.
During those years, I formed friendships with colleagues at work but found it difficult to connect with other mothers through my young son’s school. Looking back, I sometimes wonder if I didn’t try hard enough—but the reality is, I was working full-time, trying to be a devoted partner, and nurturing my relationship with my son. I didn’t always have the energy to extend myself socially. And truthfully, I often felt like the odd one out—the ugly duckling in a pond of picture-perfect moms.
Fast forward to 1990, when I gave birth to our son, Alex. By then, Steve had moved five hours away to live with his father, visiting us regularly. I hoped this new chapter would bring opportunities to bond with other young mothers, but—for reasons I still can’t fully explain—that sense of sisterhood never came.
When Alex turned six, he was diagnosed with Asperger’s. And with that diagnosis, the few connections I had vanished. It was as if our family had become contagious, a social risk others didn’t want to take.
My husband and I quickly learned that we couldn’t depend on others for friendship or support. Instead, we poured our energy into each other, into our work, and into building a network of acquaintances that could accompany us as we navigated the complex and often isolating world of autism.
In the past four years, through a group session program, I found myself surrounded by a remarkable circle of women I now call friends—most notably, Kristy. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that friendship isn’t measured by how many people you know. It isn’t about numbers—it’s about depth. True friendship evolves organically; it can’t be forced.
When I first met Kristy, she wasn’t one to share much, but something about her resonated with me. I sensed a quiet strength beneath her reserved demeanor, and I’m grateful we crossed paths. Kristy could be my daughter, my sister, or my soul-friend. She’s filled a space in my life that had long felt empty—a space where I’m accepted fully, without judgment. With her, I don’t have to explain or edit who I am. I’m simply me, and that’s enough.
I feel like the little girl from age 0-9 years of age who played with other children without judgment.
A Special thanks to:
Norine C
Sharon A
Cheryl K
Carol S
Carol W
Sally B
Carol G
Janet E and of course
Kristy