Shaded Sisterhood

I once told a friend that I’d landed an internship at a law firm I’d been silently praying about for weeks. I told her with half a smile and a cautious tone, because I’d grown used to friendship reactions being… let’s say… noncommittal enthusiasm at best, thinly veiled jealousy at worst. But this friend? She shrieked so loudly down the phone I nearly dropped it. And then she cried. Actual tears. As if she had been interceding for me. That’s when I knew, this is the kind of friendship I’ll write about one day.

So here we are.

In your twenties, there’s an unspoken pressure to treat life like one giant scoreboard. Who’s married first. Who earns more. Who “snaps back” after having a baby. Who books trips to Greece while the rest of us are still trying to sort out our overdrafts. And too often, female friendships get caught in the crossfire of comparison.

It doesn’t always look obvious. Rarely does someone say, “I don’t want you to succeed.” Instead, it’s the little things. The sarcastic “must be nice” when you’re blessed with something you’ve prayed hard for. The exaggerated eye-roll when you post about your joy online. The backhanded compliments about your “boujee” taste, as if enjoying quality is a crime. It’s subtle, but it stings. And over time, those small fractures in friendship can make you shrink without even realising it. You start minimising your wins to avoid guilt. You downplay your blessings so you don’t make someone else uncomfortable.

That’s why finding a friend who doesn’t do any of that feels like a miracle. Someone who claps with both hands and a full chest, who reposts your wins like she owns shares in your success, who brags about you as if she’s your unpaid PR agent. Someone who reminds you that your light doesn’t blind her, it helps her see.

These are the friends who don’t shrink when you shine. They don’t feel the need to one-up your news with a bigger story or a more aesthetically pleasing Instagram reel. They just see you. They get that your success isn’t their failure. That God's blessings aren't handed out in limited edition.

They’re the kind of women who’ll:

• Show up to your launch, book signing, graduation, or “I just needed to cry” night, without needing a spotlight.

• Laugh at your jokes even when they're more legal-in-jokes-meet-existential-crisis than actual comedy.

• Read every blog post (hi darlings, love you) and actually text you about the part that made them weep, or cackle.

• Never forget your coffee order, but also remind you why you don’t drink coffee (because we don’t, darling, we’re built different).

They’re rare, but they’re real.

I’ve got one who will message me paragraphs that feel like a devotional when I’m spiralling. Another who brings baked goods to my door because “something in her spirit told her I needed carbs.” And not one of them has ever made me feel like I’m “too much.” Too driven. Too curated. Too vulnerable. Too honest. Too… me.

That kind of friendship is divine. Not just emotionally intelligent, but spiritually rich. Grounded in a love that doesn’t ask, “What do I get out of this?” but instead says, “How can I serve you better as a friend?”

And here’s the truth: friendships like that are grown, not stumbled upon. They take intentionality. They take vulnerability. They take pruning. Not every woman in your circle will end up in your corner, and that’s okay. Some friendships are seasonal—good for a time, but not meant for forever. Others, the rare few, will feel like covenant friendships: the ones that don’t break under distance, busyness, or even misunderstandings, because there’s a deeper glue holding them together.

That glue, I believe, is humility and love. Humility that says, “Your moment is not my loss.” Love that says, “Even when I’m hurting, I can still cheer for you.” That’s maturity. That’s womanhood at its finest.

So if you’ve got women like that in your life, celebrate them. And if you don’t yet, wait for them. Don’t settle for women who only want to be your friend if you’re the messier one. Or the quieter one. Or the one with fewer things going for her. That’s not friendship. That’s proximity built on a power imbalance. And it will break your heart slowly.

You deserve friends who make space for your wins and your wounds. Who don’t weaponise your vulnerability. Who don’t view your calling as competition. Who can sit beside you in silence or shout for you in the front row. Who want the best for you, even when they’re still waiting on the best for themselves.

In a world that often teaches us that women should be each other’s rivals, there’s something rebelliously holy about women who choose to be each other’s safe place instead.

Because here’s the thing: women who celebrate other women become the kind of women who change the culture. Every time we clap for another woman, we’re undoing centuries of conditioning that told us our value is measured in scarcity, that there’s only room for one of us at the table. But when we choose to celebrate, we build longer tables instead of higher fences.

So here’s to the women who never make us feel like we need to dim our light to be loved.

Who clap loudly, love gracefully, and never, ever compete.

May we find them. May we be them.