This hit home. These lines in particular: "We’re pushing back against the standards our parents and grandparents might have considered signs of strong relationships and community—like stoicism, avoidance, self-sacrifice, or the belief that emotional intimacy is a weakness. Instead, we are embracing vulnerability, honesty, and the understanding that true friendship is built on mutual care, not silent endurance."
This essay felt like a true intake of breath, not just a superficial exhale. A genuine breath...
You’ve articulated conflict as a threat, silence as self-preservation, and friendship as a gradual unveiling of oneself in a way that isn't just relatable but profoundly familiar.
Reading this made me realize that the most significant relationships in my life weren’t formed through similar styles or shared music tastes but through the challenging, quiet process of unlearning. Of affirming "I’m still here" after moments of silence.
Your description of those moments carries a certain tenderness—not polished, but authentic. There's a balance between honoring your roots without being confined by them. That's what I keep revisiting.
Thank you and Carefree for providing a platform for essays like this. These aren’t merely stories about Black friendship—they’re guides for survival.
This hit home. These lines in particular: "We’re pushing back against the standards our parents and grandparents might have considered signs of strong relationships and community—like stoicism, avoidance, self-sacrifice, or the belief that emotional intimacy is a weakness. Instead, we are embracing vulnerability, honesty, and the understanding that true friendship is built on mutual care, not silent endurance."
I wrote about Black woman friendship and solidarity here: https://open.substack.com/pub/francia/p/sisterfriends?r=wahd&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false
I enjoy these conversations. We are not a monolith and we shouldn’t allow anyone to conform the diversity of experiences we have.
This essay felt like a true intake of breath, not just a superficial exhale. A genuine breath...
You’ve articulated conflict as a threat, silence as self-preservation, and friendship as a gradual unveiling of oneself in a way that isn't just relatable but profoundly familiar.
Reading this made me realize that the most significant relationships in my life weren’t formed through similar styles or shared music tastes but through the challenging, quiet process of unlearning. Of affirming "I’m still here" after moments of silence.
Your description of those moments carries a certain tenderness—not polished, but authentic. There's a balance between honoring your roots without being confined by them. That's what I keep revisiting.
Thank you and Carefree for providing a platform for essays like this. These aren’t merely stories about Black friendship—they’re guides for survival.
—Ms. Maine