When my husband began his Masters Degree months after we married, I was nervous. I wasn’t nervous about moving, money, a new marriage, or any of those obvious things, I was nervous because his master’s program was a Masters of Divinity, and I worried that I wouldn’t fit into whatever the heck it meant to be a Masters of Divinity wife. We moved into student housing at the beginning of the summer so my husband could start a part-time job with a local church, so we were there as some students were moving out, but not many were moving in - not too much for me to fit into, yet.
Towards the end of the summer, as more new students moved in, my husband and I bought a garage sale Weber charcoal grill – that we had to walk home with for at least half a mile. As we excitedly brought it up our backsteps, we invited everyone we saw to join us for a cookout that night - bring something to pass and something to grill, we said over and over again. We were all broke students, no one had enough money to buy grilling meat for everyone! That night we had four students, some with spouses, join us. The next week we had probably ten. As the school year continued, so did our weekly potlucks. Some folks came once, some came every week. As the core “members’” schedules changed, so would the potluck night. Our, now, dear friends would bring a huge table that had to be assembled and unassembled out to the porch every dinner and we would add chairs and additional tables based on that night’s need. It was always a crowded table and it was perfection.
That core group still gets together every year for a long weekend. And every year, we still do a dinner where we each bring something to pass and something to grill. Throughout the years, members of our group have had children and grandchildren. We have supported each other through weddings, deaths, job changes, health scares, and everything between. Some of us may go a year between real conversations, but we always pick up right where we left off. These friends aren’t friends because they were part of a pivotal part of my life, they are my chosen family because they have always seen and heard me. They offer me unconditional love and support, they have cheered me on and brought out the best in me. My life has been forever altered because of this crowded table, and I’m eternally grateful for it.
When we extend the table, when we invite those who are worthy to our table, we also allow ourselves to be truly ourselves. Who are the people who really allow you to be you? How can you thank them for their love and support? I know that I’ll be sharing this story with them as a very small token of the very large impact that they have each played in my life. #ShermanFamilyForever
I’ve heard a lot about Framily the last couple years. "Framily" is a portmanteau of "friends" and "family," referring to a group of close friends who are considered as important and supportive as family members. This term is often used to describe relationships that fill the roles of traditional families, especially for those who may not be in contact with their biological relatives. The folks in my COVID bubble became framily when we couldn’t be close to parents, siblings, children, or even the friends we couldn’t take the risk to see. Prior to the pandemic those relationships were good, and that connection became life-giving, sustaining, and crucial for mental health over that period.
In the mental health field, feeling isolated and alone are well-documented features of depression. These feelings are diagnostically significant. Or, as a mentor of mine once pointed out, illness starts with an “I,” but wellness starts with a “WE.” Humans are social animals, designed to live in tribes of 70 to 100. We are wired for community and connection to survive, thrive, and feel fulfilled. When our community isn’t within reach, our biological wiring begins to fray.
Each of us has different ways we want to be in a community that feels life-giving. For my spouse, it's a crowded table filled with family, a couple of strangers, yummy yummy food and raucous laughter. I enjoy those occasions with him, but they aren’t as lifegiving for me. I find myself more drawn in the drama of hosting, all the preparations and struggle to relax into the moment. It’s the moments after the meal when everything is cleaned up and I get to sit around a table and have a conversation, play a game, make a list, do a puzzle, or hunch over a crossword puzzle with my framily. Charging one's social batteries might not look the same for everyone. It is important to know what kinds of social interactions you do best in, so you can know what doesn’t work for you.
For me this song resonates as an aspirational tune. I hum it all the time—while sowing seeds in the spring, dreaming of the harvest I will share in the summer and fall. I hurriedly hum this song when I’m panic-cleaning my house before guests arrive to center myself. I reluctantly hum this song when I don’t want to leave my house. It’s a reminder to my inner curmudgeon that I will be glad I did the work when it’s over. I love that the songwriter doesn’t claim to already have a crowded or full table. Instead, the song is a hope for a place in their house with room for everyone to feel like they belong. Me too Highwomen, Me too.
