For my Sahara Girls, one year on..... -

I’m sure those who have followed me for a while will remember a certain Sahara trek I did back in March of last year. I guess there’s a chance I *may* have mentioned this just once or twice since then, ahem. Although it was undoubtedly the most incredible, exhilarating and completely life-affirming adventure imaginable, the very best part of it, and the thing I will be eternally grateful for, is the friendships I made with the strongest, most supportive group of ladies along the way.

My Sahara Girls.

When we each signed up to the trek we were complete and utter strangers, each searching for a challenge for our own individual reasons. For some that came following a cancer recovery, looking to raise awareness, raise money and seize the day, knowing all too well that life was so very short. For others it came following a heartbreak, at a time their whole lives had been turned upside down; for some at a time when their mental health had taken a beating, when they felt lost, alone or completely uninspired. But whatever our reasons, over the course of the eighteen months leading up to the trek, we forged a bond so tight that on the day we flew to Morocco, gripping each others hands with both fear and excitement, it genuinely felt as though we were doing that trek with our very best friends.

For all of the beauty of the desert, all of the excitement at seeing the stars on that very first night or seeing the sun rise on that very first morning, it was tenfold for sharing it together. With every single sand dune, the enormity of which literally took your breath away, it was a thousand times better for knowing we had each other. And on that very last night as we danced in the hotel, drank way too much wine and cried with exhaustion, relief and complete and utter pride, it sounds like a cliche but I knew, unwaveringly, that these girls would be my friends for life.

The other month down in Devon, when we’d all got together to attend the wedding of one of our group, as we revelled in the excitement of our matching pyjamas and drank far more wine than anyone should ever consume the night before a wedding, we got onto the topic of friendship and questioned how we had become so close in such a short space of time. And one of the girls – possibly one of the kindest and wisest human beings you will ever meet – said something so profound that I literally haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

She explained her theory that childhood friendships and adult friendships are very different for one fundamental reason. When you form friendships at a young age, perhaps at primary school or secondary school, at a time your whole future lies before you, your place within that group is set in stone. Whether you’re silently labelled the loud one or the quiet one, the crazy one or the sensible one, the wild one or the studious one, your role is already determined at such a young age. And although, of course, you love each other regardless, you rarely allow each other the space to grow.

She theorised that no matter how much you go on to support each other in all that you endeavour, fundamentally, within that group, you will always be viewed as that same young girl because those core memories are almost impossible to forget. I’m sure we can all relate to meeting up with our school friends and the conversation inevitably reverts back to stories from our teenage years, discussing old flames or incidents on nights out, mistakes that were made or things that were said, many of which we’ve long moved on from. She shared how sometimes, unintentionally perhaps, we have a tendency to retreat back into these old versions of ourselves, the versions these friends know and love us by, even if they aren’t reflective of who we are now. And as much as there is something comforting about sinking back into that role, a persona you know like the back of your hand, it can often feel quite conflicting when that eighteen year old who got it all so wrong is unrecognisable to who you are today.

As the drinks flowed we decided perhaps that’s why it’s very different to forge friendships as a grown adult, at a time our lives are already established, when we’re all meeting on an even playing field with nothing more to judge than what stands before us in the here and now. And more than that, it’s incredibly special to build friendships in a place like the Sahara, where we were literally shut off from civilisation spending time together with no phones, no social media, no distractions of work or family life. From day one we were forced to expose ourselves, both mentally and physically, and in the solace of those Saharan sunsets something pretty magical happened, the intensity of which took us all by surprise.

And although our friendships are very much based on the here and now, over the last two years the conversations we have shared have spanned our entire lifetimes, told during gruelling walks across sandy plains, with tears streaming down our faces at the mutual heartache we have endured or the battles we have faced. We’ve shared secrets from our childhoods whispered from our sleeping bags under starry skies, confessed our deepest fears on questionable flights, squeezing each others hands in a terrified silence. We’ve shared our moments of shame, dating right back to our teenage years, told over one too many cocktails where we have laughed until our sides hurt and covered our faces in absolute horror. We’ve shared our partners, our children, our hopes and dreams for the future, and all of it, all of our highs and all of our lows, has been embraced, accepted and understood.

Who knows, maybe it’s far easier to sympathise with the tales of someones struggles when you weren’t the ones left picking up the pieces? Maybe it’s far easier to celebrate their successes when you didn’t have to endure another of their failings? Maybe it’s far easier to love a person for all that they are now because you didn’t have to cope with the repercussions of all that they were back then? Maybe it’s very different to build friendships at an age where you have the life experience and the emotional capacity to accept all of those broken pieces and love them regardless?

Whatever the reason, in no time at all these girls became the people I found myself wanting to talk to about my day, to tell them when I felt happy, or when I felt sad, to reminisce about our adventures or laugh at our drunken memories after one too many Aperol’s. These girls fast became a lifeline when I needed advice or when I needed comfort, the ones I’d send a funny meme to because I knew it would make them smile or who I’d think of when “our song” came on the radio. In such a short space of time it became apparent that these girls, with all of their different personalities, professions and stages in life, were my people.

I can honestly say that as a 43 year old woman, I feel more empowered, more confident, more certain of my choices with these ladies by my side. I don’t ever need to apologise for being too much, for being too little, for standing up for the things I truly believe in. They make me feel as though I’m interesting and successful, lovable and appreciated; I feel as though these girls see past all of my broken pieces and bring out the very best in me.

They know that I over talk when I’m nervous, that I laugh at completely inappropriate moments, that I’m an absolute state when I’m drunk and I can’t make a decision even if my life depends on it. They don’t judge me for my loud laugh and my relentless sarcasm, my self doubt and my dramatic nature; they make me feel like it’s okay to share all of me, even the parts which for such a long time I was made to feel weren’t very lovable at all.

And making new friends isn’t about replacing old friends, or restricting your circle, or lessening the friendships which have spanned the distance of time. The older I get the more I realise that there is room for everyone in our lives, even if sometimes my diary disagrees. There is something so special about my childhood friends who knew me as that shy little girl with her hair in pigtails, about the friends who stood by me through those awkward teenage years just trying to figure out exactly who I was. The friends who held my first born for the very first time and stood beside me on my wedding day, who held my hand at Joseph’s graveside and picked up the pieces when my whole life fell apart.

I think it’s just inevitable that sometimes, when your life falls apart quite as spectacularly as mine did, when the pieces finally start to slot back together they’ll never be quite the same, you will never be quite the same. And perhaps that’s why adult friendships feel so different? Perhaps trying to place all of those broken pieces back together into a version of yourself your childhood friends remember is hard sometimes? Perhaps sometimes it’s refreshing to just be you, without all of your baggage, all of your failings, without all of those tangled memories spanning decades of absolute chaos.

And realising that, and accepting that, has been a revelation. It’s made me understand why I’ve struggled to stay connected at times over the years, why I avoid certain social situations, why friendships have felt difficult or even been lost. These girls, with all of their battle scars and all of their strengths, have reminded me that it’s perfectly okay to move forward, to grow and to change, and to stop feeling guilty about the mistakes that we made and all the things that we’d change, and just embrace all that we are today.

I feel so lucky to have friendships spanning right across the years. Friends from school, from college, from various work places and Mummy groups, and the wives and girlfriends of Gaz’s own childhood friends. I am so fortunate to have a best friend who knows all of my secrets, all of my mistakes, has witnessed all of my milestones and still loves me regardless. Those friendships and those bonds are unbreakable, no matter how life twists and turns. But to have friends who have come into my life at a time I needed them the most, who have taken me right as I am this moment, a version of myself I have worked so hard on, with all of my quirks and my cards laid out bare on the table, that’s pretty special too, isn’t it?

Someone once said, you really find your people when you know yourself better and I believe in that whole heartedly. And finding your people can come at 43, 53 or even at 83, because when friendships are anchored by mutual respect, adoration and a shared love of adventure and bottomless brunches, they can come at any stage in your life.