Homegirls: The Role of Grace in Friendships with Women, Femmes, and Mothers

WYHST: Read this when your mom friend cancels again.

Recently, someone dear to me said I had failed them as a friend. I wasn’t available enough, responsive enough, or showing up in a way that made them feel cared for enough. For weeks afterward, I centered our conflict in my journal practice and therapy sessions because, like many of us, I lived most of my life measuring my value by how happy I made other people. The sudden conflict rocked me. I let down someone I love and that matters.

I couldn’t have shown up differently without losing a grasp on things I cannot afford to drop.

But as I sat with this truth, I also knew: that over the last year, I showed up as often and as best as possible in every space I inhabit. I couldn’t have given more. I couldn’t have shown up differently without losing a grasp on things I can’t afford to drop.

Our fallout brought the topic of friendship into focus, particularly in the realm of motherhood. For example, how important it is to see each other within the context of our individual lives instead of requiring that we fit into a pre-sized box. I am a girl’s girl, I love to have fun and spend time with my people.

But if you can’t see me as a Black mother, raising a Black son, divorced and co-parenting, and navigating a single-income household, then you don’t really see me at all.

We don’t hold motherhood—especially Black motherhood—as delicately as we should. Parenthood is so embedded in the human experience that we can forget how much it has drastically changed in the last fifty, twenty, or even ten years.

Even if you are thriving in parenthood at all times, unbothered by financial burdens, co-parenting seamlessly, and raising children who have absolutely no exceptionalities or challenges, you still bear the weight of constant worry.  

Being friends with mothers requires grace.

One of the first lessons mothers tend to learn after having kids is that friendships will drastically change. People who expect you to remain the same, respond the same, have the same energy, and the same grasp of things will inevitably be sloughed away. They don’t get it—and maybe they will one day—but their inability to see you in context becomes a handicap you can’t afford.

Patience is required here. Life is seasonal, and there are periods of abundance, starvation, retention, suppression, and harvest. My longest-lasting relationships make space for these seasons. Friendships have to make room for aging, loss, unexpected changes, and the time it takes to recover equilibrium.

Being friends with mothers means understanding that distance is not deadly—it’s self-protection. It’s temporary, necessary, and safe. If we truly love each other, we don’t demand that anyone show up to their detriment, battered and bruised, for the sake of attendance. I don’t want friendships that remove my identity or circumstances from the equation of my value.

Motherhood has taught me how to be friends with women.

We cannot afford to lose ourselves in the fray or risk being emotionally unavailable to our children—or to ourselves. We need all-weather friends. Not the ones who require constant coddling, endless reassurance, or mind-reading. The clicky friendships of youth, where entire identities were wrapped up in each other, can suffocate a grown woman and stifle a mother.

Over the last few months, I’ve been taking inventory of the friends who set my heart at ease. They’re the ones who don’t expect me to check every box or hit every mark but simply make space for me as I am. They offer understanding when I need distance and joy when I return. They accept me in my context, just as I do for them. And part of this acceptance is learning to celebrate not just our capacities but also our limitations.

As mothers, we often cheer each other’s overwhelm, listing out our endless to-dos like medals we’ve earned. In Black motherhood especially, labor and service are so deeply tied to identity that it feels natural to praise our ability to juggle tasks. But just as loudly, we need to cheer for each other’s ability to protect ourselves from overwhelm. Canceling plans doesn’t have to be seen as a letdown; it can be a moment to celebrate someone centering their need for rest.

Friendship, like motherhood, requires grace, patience, and an unwavering commitment to seeing each other fully—even in seasons of absence. Vulnerability is key here. When we date, we have no trouble expressing what we need, want, and expect from someone—but friendships often operate on a ‘vibes only’ system. If we want lasting, supportive relationships, we have to approach them with the same intentionality as any life partnership.

So if you want to be and remain in community with women, with femmes, with anyone existing within the margins of society—love them like a mother.

When You Have Some Time (WYHST) is a monthly essay series from Ashley Simpo that explores themes of self, love, motherhood, relationships, liberation, and identity. Read more from this series here.