Brené Brown tells a story about a village where the women gathered at the river to wash clothes together in her book, Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone. Day after day, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the water, scrubbing shirts and linens, sharing stories and worries and laughter. They talked about their marriages. Their children. Their fears. Their hopes. The ordinary details of ordinary lives.
Then one day, washing machines arrived and the women no longer needed the river. Not long after, something unexpected happened. Depression spread through the village. The culprit wasn’t the washing machines themselves. It was the disappearance of everything that happened around the washing. It was the loss of community. The loss of shared labor. The loss of belonging.
I’ve thought about that story often because it feels uncomfortably familiar. We have become remarkably self-sufficient people. We order groceries from our phones. We work from home. We stream entertainment alone on our couches. We text instead of call. We multitask our way through our days and convince ourselves that independence is the highest virtue.
And when someone asks how we’re doing? “Fine.” We’re always fine. Fine when we’re exhausted. Fine when we’re lonely. Fine when we’re carrying more than we can reasonably hold. Fine when days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and we realize we haven’t had a real conversation with a friend in far too long.
We’re fine. We’re busy. We’re managing. At least that’s what we tell ourselves.
The truth is that many of us are quietly starving for connection, not because we’re weak, because we’re human. Somewhere along the way, friendship got demoted. We began treating it like a luxury item—something we’ll get around to once the work is finished, the house is clean, the children are older, the calendar settles down. Except the calendar never settles down. Life never suddenly creates space.
Connection is not what happens after everything else is done. Connection is one of the things that sustains us while we’re doing everything else. In Braving the Wilderness, Brené Brown cites research showing that chronic loneliness carries health risks comparable to smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. That’s a startling statistic, but I don’t mention it to scare anyone. I mention it because it validates something many of us already know deep in our bones: the longing for connection is legitimate. The ache is real. We were not designed to do life entirely alone. Yet modern life makes friendship harder than it used to be. Not impossible, just harder.
We have our own washing machines now. We don’t need our neighbors to help us do laundry. We don’t depend on the women next door to bake bread or preserve vegetables or watch our children while we work in the fields. Most of us can move through entire days needing almost nothing from another person. And while that independence is a remarkable achievement, it comes with a hidden cost.
Dependence created opportunities for connection. Efficiency quietly removed them. Now friendship requires intention. It requires reaching out first. Sending the text. Making the call. Planning the dinner and following through. Showing up even when you’re tired, especially when you’re tired.
The older I get, the more I realize that strength and independence are not opposites of community. Strong women need other women. Not because they can’t stand on their own, because no one was meant to. The strongest women I know are not islands, they are bridges. They understand that there is wisdom around every table. That someone else’s perspective may illuminate a path they couldn’t see. That burdens become lighter when they’re shared aloud.
There is something sacred that happens when women gather. Not the polished, Instagram version. The real version. The version where someone admits she’s struggling. The version where mascara occasionally runs. The version where everyone talks at once. The version with endless bowls of salsa and half-finished cups of coffee. The version where stories are exchanged like gifts. Where experience becomes wisdom. Where grief becomes bearable. Where joy multiplies simply because someone else witnessed it.
One woman brings compassion. Another brings courage. Another brings humor. Another brings practical solutions. Another simply knows how to sit quietly beside pain. Each arrives carrying something different. Each leaves carrying something she didn’t have before.
That’s the magic.
Not that we’re all the same. That we’re not. You bring your gifts. I’ll bring mine. And then we’ll make room for the woman over there; the one with the completely different set of talents, experiences, and perspectives. We’ll pull out another chair. We’ll scoot over. We’ll pass the chips. And together we’ll build something none of us could have created alone.
Be independent. Be proud of your resilience. Build your career. Chase your goals. Learn how to stand on your own two feet. But don’t confuse independence with isolation. They’re not the same thing.
You can do it alone. Many of us have proven that. But you don’t have to. And honestly? Islands are only beautiful for so long. Sooner or later, every heart starts looking for a bridge.
This Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and all year long, please be on the lookout for PinkWashing and if you missed the #LightUpMBC live show on October 13th, the ONE day all October set aside for those of us living with MBC, it’s always available on the Metavivor YouTube Channel.
