A couple of nights back, I had a dream that one of my girlfriends had the most dreadful case of fester face I’d ever seen and she’d come over to have me squeeze the life out of the offending pimples. She needed to have “perfect face” because she was heading out on a date with Barnaby Joyce. I know right? Seriously weird dream. I defy anyone to give me a meaning for it other than the fact that Barnaby has been front and centre of late. Personally, I’m blaming too much chilli in my Pho earlier in the evening.
Anyway, it set me to thinking about friendships and how we’re lucky if, during our lifetime, we have a handful of friends (I’m not including family or partners here) who will drop everything if needed, love you without judgement and always support any hare-brained schemes you might come up with. People that you have no hesitation in farting, burping and taking your bra off in front of. Friends who are as comfortable with your silence as they are with your conversation. Let’s call them our Pimple Poppers shall we?
Last week a girlfriend came over. She arrived slightly flustered and jittery. It was SO unlike her to be unmasked in this way. I know she suffers from anxiety but she has become super clever at hiding that to most of the world. She always appears upbeat, full of humour and spends nearly all her time lifting up those around her (although she doesn’t believe that she does which exacerbates her anxiety).
She has always encouraged my writing, giving honest advice and encouraged me (particularly when my writing mojo has disappeared entirely), to continue putting a few words on paper each and every day, even if it’s just writing out a shopping list. Never have I thought that I might need to lift her up. I hope that I did. We spent most of the day together chatting about the relentlessness of parenting; the hard work that can be marriage, the things that make us snort with laughter, incense us and the things that make us weep. I told her that I genuinely believe that sometimes wallowing a bit can be a good thing. We had two gin and tonics before midday. I made her laugh and I think I helped her to relax. But I didn’t consider that at the time. I was more bound up in the gift that she was giving me. Which was trust. She trusted me enough to be vulnerable and to look for a little help and I will always cherish that.
I have a friend who lives a million miles away which is a huge pain because she is the most tactile of my friends. I miss her hugs terribly. She has taught me that it is ok to feel unsure, but that it’s important to continually assess yourself, particularly your failures if you want to achieve true contentment. She is a very good mask-stripper, always getting to the nub of things in a flash. She is also a great painter and cries at the drop of a hat.
There’s another whose intellect is fierce. She has given me the gift of curiosity. She is originally from Melbourne. This makes her even better.
I have a friend who reminds me that women are strong; that we have the right to be fearless and can do virtually anything we want in life so long as we persist, brook no bullshit and nourish ourselves. Some people have commented that she can be hard. I know that she is actually the opposite. She is soppy and squishy and tremendously tender.
There is Susan. She has taught me that resilience is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves and instil in our children. She also has one of the driest senses of humour on the planet and a shoe fetish, which makes me like her even more.
Another friend, who I’ve known the longest, lives a distance from me but we remain in contact. She is incredibly intuitive; in fact she’s a Reiki master. I’m not entirely sure what that means and I’ve sometimes worried about how many crystals she owns but her gift to me is the gift of spirituality.
One friend has been through an absolute pizzling over the past few years. Despite this, she has taught me the value of throwing yourself headfirst into your problems. To seek out e.v.e.r.y single opportunity that comes your way. She is one determined chicklet and I have loved watching her find a level of contentment after a shitty period in her life.
So there you have some of my Pimple Poppers. I am lucky to have as many as I do. With so much hate in the world today they keep me honest, laughing and bra-less.
Who are your Poppers and why?
Until next time…