On the first day of 2014, I wrote, as one of my answers in a family questionnaire, that Phil was my best friend. Sitting here now thinking about our relationship, the one that has evolved in recent months, I realise that’s not true at all. Phil acted like my best friend when we were in a romantic relationship, he doesn’t act the same now. I don’t actually expect him to, nor do I want him to. Twenty-five days ago when I wrote about my best friend I failed to see the actual best friend in my life. That friend, my best friend, is me. I am my own best friend. I am supportive, loyal, kind, giving, caring, understanding, patient, fun and definitely always there.
Of course, this is all a little tongue in cheek but also there is some truth in this and who better to be your best friend than yourself. I believe it shows a great deal of maturity and high self-esteem that I don’t need anyone else to fall back on, that I can go within and a best friend is there. I very rarely feel lonely, in fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt that way. What I feel is contentment I’ve never experienced before and it’s wonderful. I live my life for me and for the kids and not for anyone else. I have friends outside of the home that I enjoy spending time with but I don’t need them, I enjoy their company on occasion and that’s enough. When you realise that you are your own best friend it opens up a world of possibilities.