Introduction
Heart to Heart
Deepening Women's Friendships At Midlife

Friends become more important to women at midlife, I told an audience of 150 women when I gave the keynote address for a midlife women's conference at a hospital in Denver in 1997. What's more, I added, women often prefer the company of their friends to their husbands. Heads turned, women shifted uncomfortably in their seats, a buzz rippled through the audience. When I quoted Erica Jong as writing in her memoir about turning fifty, "Are men so interesting? To themselves, they are. Yet, lately, I find women far more interesting," the audience roared.

They laughed because I said aloud what they all felt but had dared not acknowledge, even to themselves. Everyone in that audience knew instinctively that women were more interesting now, and that female friends mattered enormously.

Long after the lecture ended, that laughter-filled auditorium echoed in my ears. When I reflected on its meaning, I realized I had hit a nerve. Women had not fully recognized the growing importance of their friendships. Only when I contrasted their preference for female friends over the men in their lives, did the message hit home.

While the laughter intrigued me professionally, it reassured me personally. Friendships had become more central and more crucial to my life in the last ten years. When my mother died in l988 (my father had died nine years earlier), I was forty-four. I had no family in Philadelphia. Both of my husband, Dick's parents died within ten months of my mother. Andrew and Margot, our son and daughter, then teenagers, were off in their own directions, as they should be. My only sister lived two thousand miles away. Although it sounds trite, my friends became my family and supported me through my children's adolescence.

But it wasn't until Andrew and Margot left for college that I turned to friends in a more life-sustaining way. Sure, I had more time now and I enjoyed being with women, but I needed them in a different way. I felt vulnerable and confused. With a huge chunk of my life gouged out, I wasn't sure what remained of me. Was I still a mother with the kids gone? Who was I now if I weren't mothering every day? As the roles and relationships I had counted on for years shifted, they created a domino effect on the rest of my life. Without kids at home, Dick and I had to renegotiate our relationship. My work, while engaging, did not fill the void as I had anticipated. An empty nest clearly meant I was getting older. I could not deny that any longer.

Trying to make sense of these changes compelled me to connect with other women. No longer did I insist on erecting a facade of being together. I needed to talk about my feelings and experiences. I needed confirmation from my friends that they had had encountered similar disruptions. (They had, I learned.) I found that the more I shared, the more my friends opened up. It seemed easier to talk candidly because by the time we had reached midlife, we had all had our hearts broken, whether through the death of a loved one, a divorce, or angst over a child. None of us had perfect lives and now, we didn't care if anyone else knew. With maturity came acceptance. The shame that cloaked our vulnerabilities when we were younger had evaporated.

Not that my friendships were or are perfect. Far from it. I still struggle with how much to expect realistically from a friend. I wonder why an old friend continues to guard what she reveals. I feel guilty over cutting ties with another long-time friend, as our lives took divergent paths. Should I have stayed in the relationship for old time's sake or could I have, at the least, handled my exit more gracefully?

While these issues can occur among women of any age, at midlife our friendships take on an immediacy. We know that neither we nor our friends will live forever. Many of us have lost dear friends to breast cancer or other diseases. We recognize the preciousness of life and cherish each other more than we did at a younger age.

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