I am at the stage in my life where, if I don’t like something or someone, I am absolutely fine with editing them out. If it’s wrong or unfair or stupid, I’ll pay my dues in this life or the next (I’m a Hindu), and I’m cool with that. But I am also at the stage in my life where I know there is a single exception to this hard-won self-care practice: my closest girlfriends.
There is no denying that these women are in my life to stay – regardless of how much they irritate, infuriate or frustrate me. Why? Because the bald truth is: these girlfriends are the scaffolding of my life. Whenever they are absent, I come unstuck. I need them.
Leaving someone you have loved and shared your life with for many decades – AKA your “life partner” – is an absolutely devastating experience. Yet it happens quite a lot and it is sometimes even celebrated as a new start. Sure, there is a certain protocol – get professional advice, don’t bitch to the kids and get ready for some truly extraordinary sex – but if I see a woman who left her partner because “it just wasn’t working” and she is happier now, I think: good for her – go, you!
Divorce is one thing but “GFD” – girlfriend divorce – is another. Choosing to leave someone you loved since a time when you didn’t even understand the heft of that word is different. Choosing to leave someone who can recall moments from your life that you have long forgotten, who held your hair back as you drunkenly puked in an alley, distraught over the guy who didn’t call back, and who, eight years later, unquestioningly adjusted the bow in your hair when you married that same guy – when you dump that person “because things really weren’t working out” there is no celebration, no new beginning and absolutely zero protocol.
I know because I’ve been there. And, boy, did it suck. I won’t go into all the reasons we arrived (after a long, savage time of riding the suppression/resentment/guilting/gaslighting rollercoaster) at GFD and the extremely brutal final break. But I can share with you the aftermath.
After divorcing my girlfriend, the map of my road in life thus far became blurred, and the needle on the compass that showed me where to go next became wonky. There was no one to relive the thing that happened when I was 25 that made me opt out of an arranged marriage, or the fight with another close friend that left me ragged. Sure, I could tell other friends about these things and old ones might even recall them, but only as static stories – none had lived them with me, from the inside, as she had.
After my initial self-righteous fury wore off (this took a while), every time she crossed my mind I felt a blinding sadness. Gradually, this became an ache of confused shame that I had not been able to do better by her. And then my life continued: new baby, new house, new friends, yada yada, yuck yuck, puke.
Then, one day, she sent an email and I replied – and that is the beginning of the story of how we got back together. But the real point is, I learned (the devastating way) how important my closest girlfriends are to me. Making up with her was the only way I could begin to make sense to myself again.
But the threat of shit hitting the fan still lurks. These days, I’m reliant on a mix of therapy, my spouse’s ear (he would rather chew glass but he cannot handle another cataclysmic implosion in any of my friendships, so he soldiers on), and just keeping my mouth shut. I’ve also learned to lean on my other close girlfriends, and sometimes on alcohol and lies. Because, no matter what it takes, I ain’t going back to yada yada, yuck yuck, puke-land.
• Sindhu Vee is a comedian, writer and actor. She is taking her show Alphabet to the Edinburgh festival fringe this August.
