Girlhood has become a trending word, a secret bond, a noun and a verb that subtly nods between two strangers who then become strangers no more.
Girlhood is complimenting a girl in the bathroom and running in a circle holding hands, laughing and knowing that this feeling is forever.
It’s offering your lip gloss before they ask because you know it’ll go with their outfit, and it’s the heartbroken call at 3am when your forever suddenly becomes never again.
Girlhood is talking about the same situation late into the night, trying to understand all perspectives that led to the fork in the road.
It’s sending photos of your favourite glass, and it’s chatting even after the lights have turned off.
Sisterhood is a special type of girlhood.
To be part of a group of sisters is probably the best gift that my parents ever gave me.
Being a sister is something so central to who I am that I sometimes forget to consider myself without it.
I have always known myself with them, and until this week, I had forgotten how a tiny part of me always feels lost when they are not around.
There is a special part of your character that can only come alive around the people who understand you so deeply you don’t have to explain a thing.
To have people in your life where they understand you so completely, where they have memorised the prologue before it’s been published, where no matter where you grow, your roots always remain crossed — is not something to take for granted.
But being a sister has not only made me feel seen, it has made me forgive parts of myself I used to look at with regret and expectation.
Part of being the eldest is the constant feeling that you should know what you’re doing.
There is no one to look up to, so you convince yourself you’re meant to get it all right.
But no one gets it all right.
Having two younger sisters has shown me the reality of different ages.
It has shown me how young I was — without the lens of expectation that I held on myself.
I’ve forgiven myself for making the wrong move.
I’ve let go of the regret I used to hold so tightly.
Seeing the ages for what they are, seeing youth without the pressure I used to attach to it, has allowed me to see who I was for what I actually was: young.
For the past week I have spent every day with my sisters and my parents, and it’s made me wonder when a situation like this last occurred — a series of consecutive days where we have had breakfast together, spent lunch chatting, argued over outfits, and had silly little private jokes that only made sense between the three of us.
think we spend a lot of our life wondering about our childhood self — considering how we can make it back to a time where life felt less complicated.
As life gets busier, the disconnect between now and then gets larger and larger.
Sometimes we forget the anchors we have around us that take us back to moments we want more than ever.
The sad thing about getting older is that these moments get less and less.
We grow and find other people to stand next to.
We surround ourselves with new friends and cities, move for jobs, travel to find ourselves — but this week has shown me a small part of me will always stay at home, sat at the breakfast table, waiting for them both to take their seat.