By Traci Rork
Raise your hand if someone you love has stressed you out. Now raise your hand if venting to a friend gives you instant relief.
Exactly.
We all know of Ernest Hemingway. The hard-drinking author believed men stayed sane by standing shoulder to shoulder in silence. Friendship, in his world, was forged through shared danger. Intimacy was expressed without words. Men survived by enduring — together, but quietly.
But Hemingway never explored how women stayed sane. (Which could help explain his multiple wives.)
Femingway — if I may — is my belief that women survive, and thrive, by sitting face to face in conversation. By watching what the world throws at us, claiming what we deserve and helping each other dodge what we do not. We stay grounded not through conquest or quiet, but through witness, celebration and validation — and through friendships that say, I see you; I believe you. You’re not crazy.
A recent Vogue article suggested that boyfriends are currently “embarrassing,” largely because many women aren’t getting the better end of the deal. There’s also a frequently cited statistic that shows married men and single women report higher happiness levels than their single and married counterparts, respectively. Make of that what you will — but it may explain why the beloved sitcom “Golden Girls” feels less like nostalgia and more like a blueprint.
Perhaps the goal isn’t to reject romance, but to redefine the role men play in it and in our lives. They can be the cherry on top, but we must be the whole dessert — and resist deserting ourselves while baking the one and only precious little life we get.
And yet, I still hear those familiar refrains: You’ll find your person. He’s out there somewhere. As if my life is incomplete without a man around to mess it up. Life is already full. Careers. Caregiving. Children. Money. Aging parents. Love. Loss. Hormones. Hope. Disappointment. Cortisol runs high. Sometimes, a man is simply one of many stressors.
And the antidote isn’t a solution — it’s telling the story to a woman who knows how to listen without trying to land the plane. We don’t always want problems solved. We want them heard. Witnessed. Validated. Men aren’t poor listeners — they’re just often listening for an ending many women aren’t trying to reach.
Female friendships arrive already ready. They regulate our emotions, preserve our reality and safeguard our sanity. They remind us who we are when grief, stress or love temporarily erases our sense of self. Friends are the polish and elbow grease required to remove the tarnish of the world — and help us shine again and again.
From training bras and braces to first heartbreaks and first cars. From weddings and funerals to new babies, lost parents, pets and the youthful versions of ourselves. Our female friends bear witness not only to our triumphs, but to the moments when we are barely holding on — when we need someone to remind us that this, too, will pass. And ideally, they’ll crack the right joke at the right time to assure us that life is absurdly, beautifully, survivably funny.
Yes, many couples create magic together, and that is admirable. Relationships are among the hardest ships to maintain. But in my experience, women are often the ones paddling furiously to keep the boat afloat — while their friends scream encouraging words from the shore with towels and wine already waiting.
Without instruction or hesitation, our girls bring the humor, wisdom and support we need to persevere with style and grace. They are the cheerleaders, the truth-tellers, the keepers of our stories. These friendships deserve to be treasured not only for our sanity, but because they remind us of who we are beyond the titles — daughters, mothers, partners and professionals — we strive to be.
Hemingway’s men go to war together.
Femingway’s women go through life together.
Hemingway’s friendships keep men alive.
Femingway’s friendships keep women whole.
These bonds are not consolation prizes. They are the scaffolding of a life well lived. They allow women to love without vanishing, endure without erasing and thrive without apology.
If Hemingway taught men how to survive, Femingway reminds women how we rise — together — in a world that often expects us to fold, one by one.
And in that rising, we learn the quietest, most radical truth of all:We are enough.
We have always been enough.
We are not waiting for rescue.
We are the rescue.
