finding softness in chosen family — faith
as Black women, sisterhood is essential to our livelihood and survival.
“playlist 6 / love can be soft + easy + gentle. thank you.” that’s the description of the playlist that i created for one of my closest friends. my chosen family has been a space of safety. an emphasis and affirmation of my self worth and ability to be loved. an extension of a sisterhood that i’ve been familiar with my entire life.
my friendships have been a reassurance that love outside of familial love exists and can find me. my friendships have been some of my favorite love stories. they have been some of my biggest heartbreaks. platonic relationships, same as romantic relationships, doesn't come with a guarantee—yet we take that risk. we give the girl who waits at the same bus stop as us our number after a few awkward small conversations that somehow become the laughs you look forward to at the end of the work day. we tell the random girl in the club’s bathroom that she has lipstick on her teeth and somehow that lipstick check between the two of you turns into years of lipstick checks. we make the quiet girl laugh in the back of an elementary school classroom and that turns into you witnessing years later, her child, less shy than she was, laugh for the first time. we meet in miraculous and unexpected ways.
similar to dating, friendship can be difficult. meeting a person that you’re compatible with and willing to build a life with is not a guarantee, and although it isn’t always viewed as such, friendship is choosing to build a life with someone. it’s allowing yourself to be seen and to continuously be seen as time and life changes you. we think about those friendships when we consider moving. who will be our support system? we think about those friendships when we plan motherhood. who will be the godmother? who will be allowed to be considered an aunty to my child? subconsciously and consciously, we think about those friendships and prioritize them. we squeeze brunch dates into busy work weeks. we facetime during lunch breaks. we heal our inner child by having sleepovers as adults, compensating for all the time that we didn’t know each other.
i learned how to be vulnerable through my friendships. sometimes, we grow up silent. feeling unheard. silenced when we do speak. our feelings are disregarded or put as second priority. we walk on eggshells until we believe that’s what the ground under our feet should feel like. our vulnerability weaponized against us. our friends, the good ones at least, choose us and continue to do so. they’re under no obligation to love me. we are not bound by contract. we are not bound by blood. (most) families love you because you are their blood, but family doesn’t always like you. if you all crossed paths in another lifetime as strangers rather than family, some wouldn’t choose you. they’d cross the street. they’d move their seat away from yours in the classroom. they wouldn’t laugh at your jokes. they wouldn’t be interested in getting to know you.
my chosen family loves me because of who i am. they like my sense of humor. my style. my conversation. they chose me. they didn’t cross the street, but moved closer. my chosen family came into my life carrying light, opening windows of rooms that were locked for so long, and showing me how tender and warm love can be. that vulnerability is a tool for change and deepens relationships rather than threatens them. they taught me the importance of learning one’s love languages in relationships outside of romantic ones. that love will never feel like love unless you love a person in the way that they need to be loved. the safety, the love, the softness, the tenderness, the gentleness of these relationships have kept my hope and belief in love alive.
as a Black woman, sisterhood is essential to our livelihood and survival. it’s what makes our days lighter. it’s what helps us raise our children. it’s what heals us. it’s community. it’s love. it’s a village of our own making, and whether that village is small or large, it’s still a village. i’ve been blessed to find softness in both my chosen and given village.
BY FAITH
(she/her)
IG — @somuie
faith is a creative writer from the south side of chicago. her style of writing can be loosely defined as poetic prose and is centered around healing, the mother wound, and the many layers to Black womanhood.