It was my turn to speak and my throat burned with emotion. We had each taken time to share updates about our lives before we jumped into board meeting business the next day. I sat among women who were different from me in many ways but got me in a way that few did. This small group represented decades upon decades spent away from their passport countries. They were acutely aware of the strange tension I sat in. Their stories that held echoes of mine had undone me. So when it was my turn to share, my initial coherent words crumbled into sobs that burst from my core.

Have you ever related to something so deeply that as soon as you hear it you’re like, “Yesss, yes, that is me”? Maybe your response isn’t melting into a puddle of tears like I did that weekend. Perhaps you react with a simple but exuberant exclamation of gratitude in your “Yes girl, me too!”

We don’t need an algorithm or a list of societal trends to let us know that there are circumstances that just hit us differently. There are areas we relate to in each other because although our lives vary, there are similarities in our experiences. I can’t say how many times I’ve sat in a group of women and our initial discussion on makeup turns into revealing all the places we stash tweezers in order to be ready to catch those stray hairs that seem to pop up when we least expect it. You know, when the sun hits just right.

Those moments with others hit us just right. They trigger familiarity and solidarity and perhaps remind us in seasons of tension that we are not so alone or unalike after all. There is fun and belonging in all the sometimes hilarious ways our aging bodies make our humanity known. Our quirks and personalities shine and flow within the context of these types of settings. Our knowing looks mingle with our laughter and rolled eyes and groans. The collective sounds of “Yes, me too” form the backdrop to deepening relationships — authentic connection.

Years ago when I worked full-time in youth ministry, I tried to be intentional to ease the initial nervousness in my cabin each summer at camp. I would gather the girls into the living room and with a huge grin on my face, dive straight into potentially awkward situations. I encouraged them not to be embarrassed when they had to take care of certain issues in the restroom. Yes, I went there with them because I wanted to name every unspoken fear they might have about being away from home for a week and rooming with girls they may not know. I reassured them that I had packed smell-good sprays and supplies — we were going to be in this together. Their collective laughs of “whew, you too” inevitably filled the room and set a more inviting atmosphere for them to lean into Jesus.

I thought of this recently when a friend sent me a funny video clip about how women in biblical times were separated from others during their monthly cycles. Growing up, I had always thought of it as some kind of punishment, but the older I got, the more I realized the provision in that process.

Can you picture that time away? And if monthly cycles matched, you would potentially be away with other women who got you, echoes of yes, me too, filling that sacred tent. Perhaps the conversations of our biblical sisters weren’t always rippled with peals of laughter. I’m sure the circumstances produced hormonal rawness and emotional vulnerability that wasn’t always pretty. But that’s the point, isn’t it?

Connection isn’t always clean and curated. Connection is lamenting and laughter over bodily rhythms. Solidarity can be understanding and uniqueness over ages, stages, and seasons. Similarities can be found whether we hold space in marriage or singleness. And those moments still relate to current and future generations like you and me.

Maybe we don’t have specific spaces for monthly separation set aside like our biblical sisters did, but we have living rooms, break rooms, kitchens, small groups, online communities, nursing mother rooms, dressing rooms, and more than we may realize.

And yes, even here, there is room to remember that though we are different, we are connected. You may not have access to the sisterhood you long for but aren’t you thankful for what we get to cultivate here? Here in this place too, our brokenness can be mended and burdens lifted by the words of our sisters echoing out the truth of Yes, me too, therefore girl, I see you.

 

Explore these themes of connection, belonging,g and more in Jenny’s faith-filled novel, Her Part to Play.

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