What a painful breakup taught me about platonic love

Dolly Alderton makes a lot of sense right now.

I’m looking at a small printed card sitting atop a magazine stack on my desk. It says “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”, my favourite quote from Oscar Wilde. 

It’s been a few weeks since my partner broke up with me after we recently moved in together. Pressing backspace on romance is one thing, but what about friendship? In hindsight, I should’ve remembered what Oscar said! Loving oneself first is the only guarantee, no matter how safe or secure another human makes you feel. This is because you’ll always have you. 

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Despite grappling with a lot of change, I’m finding solace in the people who remain in standing ovation around me. I’m taking stock of the beauty in the breakdown. In the last 10 days, I’ve experienced more consolidation, wit, humour, support and unconditional love than ever before. I’ve been blown away by my friends’ resolute certainty in my deservingness of more, and the promises of how dazzling my life will be on the other side of all this. 

What I’m here to attest to is the irreplaceable and unrivalled power of female friendship and platonic love at a time like this. The same week my relationship abruptly ended and my living situation suddenly changed, I was also booked in for a small medical procedure. Basically, it was a lot for my tiny brain and fragile heart to handle. I was a blubbering, flailing, forlorn, numb, angry, aching, breaking, lost human. I felt really betrayed and sure I’d never trust anyone ever again.

On the day of my breakup, my oldest friend drove to collect me and take me back to her family home, a recurring safe haven of mine during life’s happiest memories and worst crises. We sat, we cried, we hugged and we got mad, together. She is one of my world’s constants and a cornerstone friend. No matter which one of us enters a relationship next, and no matter which hemisphere each of us chooses to dwell in for the rest of time, I know she is one of my biggest loves.  

What followed in those blurry hours was calls with other friends (new and old), prompting varied reactions and degrees of shock-horror. Some rightly cackled at the ludicrous nature of what had ensued, and others shared in my tears, realising the gravity of what had gone down. Regardless, all of them were there and ready to rally around me, whenever I was up for the chat.

I wanted to immediately tell everyone I held dear because I knew at that moment, they would be the ones who would be there for me. No, actually, they were the ones who would reassure me that I could be there for myself.

All of this made me consider the vitality of platonic relationships, no matter where you find yourself between falling in or out of love. The one thing I’ve always felt so intrinsically is that my friends are my family. I only grew up with my mother and grandparents, so the lasting relationships I form with people around me (mainly women) are my greatest triumphs. 

My mum has been my rock throughout this process, offering physical comfort in after-work hugs and putting things into perspective. We’ve watched free-to-air TV in bed and unpacked all of my stuff from the move with pace. We’re a team, and we have been since the beginning.

When you go through a big breakup, you’ll also notice how acquaintances, friends of friends, past colleagues and maybe some tenuous friendships reappear and emerge as stronger connections. They have this chance to blossom in freed Saturday nights, open Sunday mornings and better-monitored inboxes. I was shocked at how intuitive, caring, kind and patient my work clientele, editors and fellow industry mates have been.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and wanted to be honest with everyone, despite what they say about keeping your personal and business lives separate. From flowers to far-too-kind words, it’s been a momentous influx of care that’s kept me afloat. I’ve received some of the best text messages and DMs and physical cards and hilariously-scribed brownies. They should be framed, they’re that good.

Now the dust has settled, I think I can answer my burning question: but what about friendship? That wasn’t friendship, not in the way it’s burned bright and built me up time and time again throughout the many eras of being me. The non-romantic relationships I’ve forged, fostered and fallen madly in love with are the ones who will eternally be in my corner, no matter what.

They’re the people who remind me each day that I’m destined for something much greater. And they’re the ones who will rejoice when I’m one day with someone who unequivocally wants to be with me. 

It’s Soph holding me while I let it all out on day one. It’s Sophie making me Peter Bouchier sausage pasta in her flat on day two so I ate something. It’s Bridget for taking me in for a home-cooked dinner on day three and pouring me a beautiful glass of pinot noir. 

It’s Emily telling me that this is indeed “a gift”, and an “opportunity” to start again on day four. It’s Grace’s card, reminding me of the “queen” that I am on day five. It’s Michaela letting me cry on the phone, and Izzy crying for me on day six.

It’s Alex bringing me my favourite Gleadall Street Market doughnuts and fresh tulips because I couldn’t complete my Saturday ritual that day. It’s coffee around the corner with Eloise, check-ins from new friends and walks in the cold winter air. It’s a spin class, cheeky baristas, fresh brows, Maisie Peters and a good blow-wave. 

It’s Justine, for everything. And it’s everyone who I’ve realised believes deeply in me. It’s me, forever, and so that’s who I’m giving my all to from here on. And it’s you, for reading my writing. That’s the lesson in the letdown and the learning I will live by.