“Behind every successful woman, is a tribe of other successful women that have her back.” Unknown
Recently I returned from the 14th girls’ weekend I have taken with a group of women who I have known for 18 years. This year, to celebrate our 40th birthdays, we pulled out all the stops and headed to Scottsdale, Arizona for three days of talking, lounging, eating, drinking, laughing, and trouble making.
As usual, I returned refreshed, recharged, refocused, rejuvenated, and possibly in need of a partial liver transplant.
I am a huge advocate of any woman seeking an annual girls’ weekend. It does me so much good that I have considered trying to write it off as a business expense. Like exercise, I no longer see this trip as a luxury but instead as a mandatory component of my personal wellness regime. I am convinced that the healing powers of three short days just might offer a full year’s protection from burnout, madness, and aggressive haircuts pursued in an effort to stave off monotony.
Of course I know that my ideas are certainly not for everyone. I am reminded of this each December when attempting to execute my vision for exterior holiday décor. However, for those already onboard or looking to plan their first escape, I have come up with a few justifications that might help secure your existing annual getaways or perhaps propel you into starting your own tradition.
Unless you break your glasses doing the worm, or front teeth falling off the bar, a girls’ weekend can actually save you money. Although this year’s venture was costly, most of our gatherings have been held at a home or borrowed cottage. Entertainment usually consists of each other, wine, home-cooked meals, and a lot of chips. For many years our squealing conversations were interrupted by the hee-haw of a breast pump or discipline from the pregnant and sober. “Now might be a good time to switch to coffee.”
Jointly we have saved money on therapy, bad purchases, and divorce lawyers. Each year I depart with an internal glow bright enough to stave off the need for costly beauty products.
These getaways can also be highly educational. A creative space to plan, set goals, and receive all the encouragement needed to go forward. This trip I learned that letting the extroverts choose the hotel can result in a gyrating pool scene, complete with DJ. I also discovered that if you joke about “surprising your husband and his mistress” while requesting a replacement room key, two security guards will escort you upstairs.
My best reason for making a girls’ weekend mandatory is based on the theory that these girls are my family, and that one should always make the time to go home. We first met as lost, wild children in the early weeks of law school. I had made great friends in undergrad but had never needed an additional family. Weekends with my parents were regular and I was able to maintain a high average even when there was pot routinely being smoked in my room as I typed.
I met Allyson on day one as we stood in front of the orientation board doubled over with imposter syndrome. “I feel like I got in by mistake,” she said. “I have no business being here,” I replied. We moved closer together and soon added more. By October Erin, Eva, Corie, and Christina had completed our tribe.
Collectively and silently a decision was made not to compete. It was as if we knew that six brains and hearts working together might accomplish more and they did. Together we still feel like one person.
The timing was ideal as we were reaching above our heads in every way. Jobs could become careers, boyfriends could turn to husbands, and mistakes came with a much bigger bill. It no longer seemed fair to ask my parents to manage the many complicated components of my nearly grown self.
Together we celebrated each other’s accomplishments and milestones with gifts, dinners out, homemade cakes, and late night airport pick-ups.
And like a home, there were expectations and forced accountability on topics such as nutrition. “You can’t eat pizza pockets for breakfast every day.” and “Do not take another sip of that margarita until you have used the payphone in the basement to end it with him!”
Fashion advice flowed freely, “Those running shorts are actually underwear,” and “Did you ever consider that the reason that dress was $19.99 was because the lining is sold separately.” Healthcare was prioritized: “Your shy bowel is ridiculous and you are the only person who has ever bought laxatives in Mexico. They literally dusted the box!”
Boyfriends knew that their behavior would be moderated by a tribunal of five and a curfew was enforced: “Do not let him come over to watch E.R. on a second date you hussy. This could be your future husband!” Turns out he was…
During these years I grew stronger in the safety of always having a place to fall. I could push back and then run home crying to those who would wipe tears, pick up the pieces, take on the bullies, and join my battles. Plus it was always handy to have friends who would retrieve whatever was stuck, examine the possibly infected thing and still watch Dateline with you on a Sunday night.
And when I see the girls who raised me through my 20s each year nobody ever really changes. Maybe that is a good lesson about people in general. I do worry, as I travel each fall, that this will be the year we will have drifted. But it never happens. Like clockwork, we drop our bags, admire each other, exhale, and the beautiful cycle repeats.
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