There’s something beautifully chaotic about female friendships. For a long time, I thought I preferred the straightforwardness of male friendships. I was even envious of it. But the women in my life have taught me everything I know about living—lessons only women could have shown me.

At three, I met my first real friend. Except she wasn’t my friend, she was my sister’s best friend. Six years old with lilac glasses, unruly curls, and boundless confidence — she was the coolest person I knew.

She soon became a second big sister, and our friendship felt like it was written in the stars. Our fathers’ jobs moved us to the same country at the same time, maybe by chance, maybe not.

And lucky me — she became my tween gateway into girlhood. She taught me how to wear my chunky 2000s belts over tank tops, how to straighten my Egyptian curls without frizz, and how to get a boy’s attention at the mall (she was definitely more successful in that last department).

At five years old, I sat next to the girl who would become my childhood best friend. She had the most joyful spirit and a sense of humor both ditsy and genius all at once. More than anything, she made me feel safe — safe to be myself, to share both highlights and downfalls, knowing she’d accept me either way. She was the first friend I ever chose, and I’ll always be proud of that choice.

I miss her every single second of every day.

At twelve, I sat behind a girl with a loud laugh and unfiltered thoughts. She turned to me, the new girl with no friends and no clue, and immediately struck up a conversation. To this day, she teaches me about the power of honesty and self-acceptance. She once told me: “Never apologize more than once, especially if you meant it the first time.” I carry that advice everywhere I go.

At nineteen, I met a girl in the ladies’ bathroom on our first day at university. She would become my housemate, my bridesmaid, and my support through the hardest times. We had nothing in common besides our cluelessness, yet somehow, we clicked. Over the years, she’s taught me everything I know about patience and pursuing dreams with determination.

And of course, throughout all those years, I was lucky enough to be born with a built-in girl best friend. She has been my secret keeper, my makeshift mum, a shoulder to cry on, my biggest cheerleader, and the best companion I could ever ask for. If I were to write about every lesson she taught me, it would rival Ulysses in length.

At twenty-two, twenty-six, twenty-seven, and every point in between, I met women who lifted me up, celebrated my wins, and sat with me in sorrow. But the greatest lesson I’ve learned from my female friends? How to be a good friend, and to show up. Always.

Through all our growth spurts, universities that pulled us to different continents, career switches, and boy obsessions, my friends have been steady pillars I could always rely on. They’re the kind of people who drop everything at the slightest hint of an emergency but — more importantly — show up for happy times, too.

One thing I’ve learned in my twenties is that misery is fertile ground for toxic friendships. It’s only in your happiest moments that you see the cracks where jealousy seeps through. Rivalry is a natural part of human relationships, but only those who truly want the best for you can celebrate your wins, even when they’re still waiting on their own.

The thing about female friendships is that no one will ever know you as intimately as your girl bestie. You hand her the key to your deepest insecurities, your biggest secrets, your wildest dreams, and hope she holds them sacredly.

When she does, it’s the most unbreakable bond. She will grow alongside you, each of you carrying pieces of the other, changing and evolving into larger, more complex parts of yourselves.

And when she doesn’t? It’s a heartbreak that cuts deeper than any romantic breakup. It feels as if a piece of you has vanished because all the little pieces she was holding, in her own way, are no longer yours to share. The memory of you with her fades, taking a part of you with it.

Still, it’s a heartbreak, like any other, that teaches you a valuable lesson. It reminds you that some people come into your life to nurture and cradle parts of you until their role is done. It teaches you to choose carefully who you share yourself with and who to let into the sacred circle of your friendship.

My friends — the good, the bad, and the complicated — have shaped the woman I am today. And I am forever grateful for all the lessons they’ve taught me.