Your Friends Are Your Valentines, Too
Written by Sophie Abbott
To me, there are few better feelings than opening the mailbox to discover a letter from a friend. After days of recycling credit card offers, Kroger coupons, and Marlboro Christmas cards addressed to the woman that used to live in my house (shoutout Linda), seeing my name written in familiar handwriting is a total rush.
Sometimes it’s Kellyann, who also lives in Georgia, sending me a recipe for buttermilk biscuits or Thai red curry because she’s one of the best home chefs I know. Other times it’s Brooke, writing from Scotland on her old-timey typewriter just to say hello. Or it’s MJ in Memphis, whose skincare samples have never led me astray and who has been my longest-standing Valentine — for the past decade, we have sent each other mail on February 14th, just as a reminder that no matter what happens, we will always have each other.
It’s a common early-twenties misconception that friendship is a placeholder, or a test run, for romantic relationships. That platonic love is important, sure, but ultimately secondary to an actual partner. However, when February rolls around, and I’m thinking about everyone I love and want to show appreciation for, my partner is in the company of my friends.
Allow me to reference the foundational text that is All About Love by bell hooks. She writes: “Most of us are raised to believe we will either find love in our first family (our family of origin) or, if not there, in the second family we are expected to form through committed romantic couplings, particularly those that lead to marriage and/or lifelong bondings. Many of us learn as children that friendship should never be seen as just as important as family ties. However, friendship is the place in which a great majority of us have our first glimpse of redemptive love and caring community. Learning to love in friendships empowers us in ways that enable us to bring this love to other interactions with family or with romantic bonds.”
Would I know how to love without my friends? The day after my disastrous high school breakup, my best friend Connor showed up at my door and drove me around in his car, blasting Lady Gaga with the windows down as I cried, unable to speak but relieved that I didn’t have to say anything. I was grateful for the reprieve from my Phoebe Bridgers-fueled depression den. I can still feel the late May sun on my puffy, tired face, and that memory has become fonder to me than any of my experiences in that HS relationship.
When I was in the throes of my insomnia in London, I would sometimes show up to my friends’ flat on the other side of town, looking to not be alone. Emma and Rachel let me crash on their foldable couch, watch reality TV, play a card game, have some pasta. We would go to clubs in Central London, traveling home by night bus in the early hours of the morning, and protect each other from men who hassled and followed us, learning very quickly that we did not play about each other. Protective love. Redemptive love. I was held at knifepoint alone at a bus stop that year, nineteen and stupid and restless around 3 A.M. It’s a miracle I walked away unharmed. I saw my friends in that terrifying moment, thought of them in what could have ended brutally, and I realized I didn’t want to be tough all the time anymore. As much as it sounds like the conclusion to an after-school special, my friendships have taught me the importance of vulnerability. When my now-partner landed in London a few days later, those friends were the same ones telling me to follow my heart.
Love is being picked up from the sidewalk I’ve just drunkenly stumbled over. It’s knowing I can knock on a roommate’s door just so we can both doomscroll on our phones together. It’s flying to Oklahoma with a sinus infection because my friend Sutton only has a few days in America before she goes back to England. It’s my friend Zoe not only reading the first draft of my latest short story, but typing out a detailed breakdown of what she loved about it, line by line, and what she thought needed tweaking, because she knows that to pay attention to my work is to pay attention to the most exposed versions of me. Love is my roommate Mia chasing down an Uber in her house slippers because I accidentally left my headphones in the backseat, and celebrating their reclamation with How I Met Your Mother reruns next to the first-floor leak that we affectionately called Mr. Puddle. Love is a phone call, a road trip, a flight to catch. It is sharing ideas and feedback and hard truths. It is seeing someone’s flaws and understanding that their love is not disposable.
My friends are as important to me today as they ever were, especially now that we’re scattered across cities and continents. I’ve made new friends that I love and appreciate, too, friends that have taught me to love the city that I now call home. If there’s one thing this upcoming Hallmark-branded holiday has taught me, it’s that Valentine’s Day is the perfect opportunity to show all your loved ones that you’re thinking of them. Call your friends, plan your next in-person or virtual coffee date, send a Valentine in the mail and sign your name with a heart. Care for your community this year, as well as your partner, because these days it’s one of the most important things we can do.
