The night my marriage ended, my head felt like it was minutes away from exploding. I needed to speak to someone who understands me. Unfortunately, I had ostracised every one of them. My circle was now made of people I couldn’t trust. 

I called a friend I hadn’t spoken to in years. It was late, and he was at work. I had no right to expect anything. Marriage had made me isolate from the people who knew me because we were not the same gender.

He made time anyway.

That phone call saved my life. Literally. Because in the weeks that followed, I would discover my sanity depended on our calls.

“It’s like this is now a trend,” people would often say when I tell them about my divorce. 

I don’t know about trends. What I know is this: many people my age are leaving their marriages. Easily. And I wonder if part of the reason is that we’ve forgotten how to keep our people after tying the knot.

Before marriage, I had friends. Not many, but they were mine. Most of them were men, which, I learned, is “not a good thing” when you’re married. So I let the relationships wither. My husband never asked it of me. I offered it as a gift. A sacrifice. Proof of loyalty. In return, I made his friends my friends. At least, I thought they were mine too. Lol. Delulu on steroids.

When things fell apart, those “friends” wasted no time choosing his side. Turns out I’d always been the plus-one. The borrow pose.

I went from having “many friends” to one. My childhood friend. The only one I allowed myself to keep because she was a she.

One of the beautiful things I have been blessed with is great friends. But I didn’t fully appreciate this gift till the ground under my feet quaked. My real friendships that I’d abandoned didn’t miss a beat when I crawled back. All it took was a beckon, and we were right back where we’d stopped. As if nearly a decade hadn’t passed.

I wish I could say it’s because I’m such a wonderful person. But no. It’s them. It’s love. The kind that doesn’t hold grudges. The kind that covers a multitude of sins – including the sin of disappearing for years because you thought you didn’t need them anymore.

The friend I called that first night stayed on the phone with me that night. And the next night. And the night after that. When I was drowning, my health was failing, my mind fraying at the edges, the nights I would question any and everything I ever believed, he was there. Listening to me rant. Who knew that just listening to someone rant could be the best gift ever?

Of course, there were days I needed the “Keep paddling. Just keep your head above water,” to make it through the day.

My other friends turned up too. This post is not about family, so I will reserve my thoughts on it. Essentially, I had a chorus of voices pulling me back from the edge.

Imagine if I didn’t have them. Imagine needing to rant, to rage, to fall apart, and having no one to catch you because you’d isolated yourself from your circle. No voice of reason. No hand reaching into the dark.

I would not have survived.

For months I teetered on the edge of sanity. My body gave up in ways I’m still recovering from. But my head stayed above water because people I’d abandoned years ago refused to abandon me back.

Every day I thank God for my life, I doubly thank Him for the gift of beautiful friendships.

Divorce has taught me grief of a certain kind that I am yet to assign words to. But ultimately, I have learned that even though we need companionship, we also need our own people. Our partners can only do so much. They cannot fulfill all our emotional needs. That job is for a community, not one person.

Maybe that’s why there’s so much expectation in marriages now. We ask our spouses to be everything: lover, friend, therapist, cheerleader, anchor. We pile it all on one relationship and wonder why it buckles.

Maybe, just maybe, this contributes to why marriages are failing.

When the turbulence had calmed, one of my friends said, “Even in marriage, you need your friends. Your partner is your partner. Your friends are your friends.”

And he is right. I have heard variations of those words since he said them. Genuine friendship is a gift that keeps giving. Everyone should experience it in their lifetime. And no one should go through heartbreak alone.

I almost did.

Don’t be like me.