Being an only child means you get used to the loneliness that comes with the absence of growing up with siblings in your home. School becomes a crash course to understand how to be a part of the crowd without feeling as special as your people have taught you to feel. Privileges like being considered in planning the meal you will eat are something you may take for granted without understanding the value of that kind of autonomy and the lack of choice for other children with larger families.
For me, my community was defined by three different groups that all related to family. I had my father’s family who had a hand in raising me during my early years in East Harlem. I had my mother’s family who were the main staples throughout my life and were the people who ultimately raised me. A subsidiary of my mother’s side also included her best friends, my godmothers, who were her chosen family that loved me so much they too adopted me as a part of their own family. Then there was my church family introduced to me by my Grandmother Jackie who I saw religiously every other week. These communities were consistent in my life for eleven years. Somewhere between leaving the only church home I’d ever known by my mother’s protest against the minister’s verbal public disrespect in the sanctuary and puberty, I had the responsibility of recreating my community.
I often enjoyed befriending people of different backgrounds and would find myself connecting with two different groups of people. They were mainly comprised of women and one group felt a bit more familiar to girls I had grown up with who were book and street-savvy. The other had the right amount of quirk and creativity enough to make me feel like my full self whenever I was around them. Both groups were needed for me to feel balanced. This trend began in high school and would continue to be my trajectory throughout my adult life.
Community is a word I recently took ownership of a few years ago after making new friends as an adult in my 30s. It’s what defines my chosen family without discrediting the tribe I blossomed from based on shared DNA. Right after my separation from my ex-husband a few years ago I would often unwrap my pain and anxiety in front of a dear friend from college I got reacquainted with during the first year of the pandemic. This woman had never seen that side of me when we were younger nor did she know if providing me with a solution was helpful as she had never been in my shoes. The best thing she was able to do for me was lean in and provide support. When it came time for her to hear me out, I would often apologize for opening up too much, a reaction from my former relationship where I had often felt like expressing myself weighed too heavy for my ex-husband to manage. I felt I had been rambling to her, unable to get to my point fast enough, and that I was boring her. When she reassured me that I wasn’t, noticing that I had been retracting and talking in fear as a side effect she eased my worry by letting me know that it was okay to just be. That’s when I knew this was the foundation for my community. Providing a safe space for me to feel seen and cared for is the main pillar my circle stands on.
My community has changed since I turned 31, a newly liberated woman fixed on prioritizing myself, making up for lost time. I was to live and breathe without hiding who I was or assimilating into a version of me I had gotten too comfortable being to please someone else. I reopened the door to connecting with older friends from the past I had distanced myself from during my marriage. Although the reunions were sweet, the consistency of those relationships didn’t quite fit me either. The love was there but the shared interests we once had dissipated with nothing to blame but growth and time apart.
Shortly into my 33rd year the energy within my community drastically shifted that it almost crushed me. The faces of friends I had known for decades were becoming unfamiliar. It was shocking to accept the new truth that was being revealed to me about these relationships. A truth that I had to let those relationships go to move on with my life in the direction that aligned with my values. This was probably the hardest part during that time because I had attached myself to the bonds I shared with some people in this tribe through trauma bonds we were experiencing separately but together. I hadn’t considered if some of these people were really my people or were around to be entertained by the occurrences I had too often shared about my new reality of being single and dating. I had to wonder if my decision to reopen those relationships stemmed from the familiarity of their energy or if they were truly people I needed to grow with. Familiarity will have you stuck if you allow it. Being cautious about feeling emotionally safe around people after divorce is important. Feeling unsettled about my emotional safety was uncomfortable and I decided creating a smaller community would be a better fit once those relationships ended.
Putting myself out there isn’t a problem for me usually if I am comfortable and confident in certain environments. However, intentionally setting out to meet new people whom I am open to developing platonic friendships with takes effort and is harder than it seems. Online platforms like Bumble, help you meet people, but nothing beats authentic in-person relationships when there’s a synchronicity about the way you meet. As with anything new, you are taking a risk by putting yourself out there but the same can be said about not showing up and losing out on the opportunity to meet your people. I am still learning myself and the kind of people I want to evolve within my community. I am grateful to keep trying and learning, communicating, and being in connection with new and different people in this cycle of my life.
Only child crew unite 🙌🏾