I pulled my hair back, cracked my knuckles, and prepared to greet my friends. A group of people I relied on for guidance, and to feel heard. In return, I provided the same. For almost two years, we’ve convened every Monday night for what we affectionately refer to as “weekly therapy.” But we all come from separate homes and locations, and most have never met in person.
Our initial chance encounters started when we all joined a virtual writing class with a popular teacher and mentor separately. After it ended, I was desperate to hold onto the community I’d cultivated. Like any freelancer, life was lonely at times.
When I decided to organize my own group, my initial intentions were simple — to gain accountability and feel less isolated.
I’d been in online groups before, but this one stuck
It had worked during the 2020 lockdown, when Zoom events and Skype meetups with friends became as essential as food and water. In the midst of infertility, I joined my first online support group. A safe space filled with women, none of whom I knew, but who actually related to me. Having them was crucial for my mental health.
Once life returned to a version of normal, and my fertility struggles continued, I came to outgrow the forum. I organized the writing critique group a few years later, assuming, like the other virtual spaces I’d been part of, it would be an outlet for extra support and company — and likely be short-lived.
Instead, the two-hour, once-a-week gatherings surpassed my expectations and evolved beyond what I imagined.
I’ve shared things with them that my IRL family and friends don’t know
In the first online meeting, 12 strangers showed up. That dwindled to eight people, who turned into real friends despite our access to each other being mostly relegated to the tiny squares that housed us all virtually. At times, I felt more authentic with them than with family or people I’ve known my entire life. One woman, to whom I’m particularly close, I told things I haven’t shared with my closest confidantes.
When I got pregnant, I never announced it on social media. However, I confided in my group, who knew of my past struggles. To my surprise, my friend — the one I’m closest to — organized an entire baby shower for me over Zoom.
On a warm Monday night last May, they blanketed me with love and support and watched as I opened the packages they’d sent me. I was teary-eyed to find that each one contained a children’s book for my baby. In that moment, I felt an aura of love around me that stayed with me long after I signed off.
Despite our differences, we’re important to each other
Under different circumstances, we might never have known one another. We’re a band of intergenerational members, ranging from early 30s to late 60s, including one guy, with vastly different personalities and from differing cities and backgrounds. Together, we’ve formed a healing community of love and belonging, one whose existence provides me with a sense of security, even when I’m not online with them.
My Monday nights reminded me that you don’t have to go far, or always look hard to find your people. A common goal — in our case, writing — connected us all in the beginning. Now, it’s our links to each other that keep the heart of our intimate bonds pumping. Sometimes the most unexpected, worthy friendships — even those separated by distance, or bound by a screen — become the most significant.
