We hold certain beliefs when it comes to how we make friends in adulthood. We imagine our bond will be forged through a shared interest – a hobby, maybe, like a book club or finding each other in the local yoga class every Saturday. Or it’s a life-phase thing – children at the same school, working in the same office or living in the same part of town. But part of the joy of friendship is its indefinable quality. There is simply no predicting when you might meet a kindred spirit. Some of the most beautiful friendships might also be the most unexpected. This was certainly my experience when, at one of the lowest points of my life, I made one of my closest friends.
Let me take you back. It was 2014. I was trying and failing to get pregnant with my now ex-husband. The specialist I was referred to told me it was “unexplained infertility”. This was such an unhelpfully vague diagnosis it seemed to raise the question of whether it was a diagnosis at all. There was no clear course of action, but the male consultant thought we “might as well give IVF a go”.
