In our culture there seems to be this idea of “girlfriends” — typically grown women who get together just to drink wine and bitch about their husbands.

I both recognize the stereotype and rail against it. I think there’s a lot more to it.

I’m fortunate to have female friends who challenge my assumptions about what it means to be a woman and a mother and a professional, who sympathize with the things that I find challenging, reassure me when I feel like I’m coming unhinged, and remind me of what I should be thankful for. They are sympathetically furious when I am wronged, soothe my fears when I’m worried, are boisterously proud of my small successes and — icing on the cake — laugh at my jokes.

I try to do the same for them, but the bar is set high.

For a long time after we moved to Vermont, I didn’t quite feel at home. Now I do. It’s not that I’m suddenly outdoorsy and super fit, either. I’m as much a fish out of water as I ever was. But I’m realizing now that it’s because I have women friends who ground me in my space.

There are never enough nights with my friends in Vermont, and never enough phone calls with my loved and valued friends who live far from here. But I’m thankful for every single minute and every single friend. I need them like I need air. The wine is just an added bonus.