Text Chains of Love

Group Texts Have Kept Friendships — and Spirits — Afloat in Covid Era

“Everything is impossible,” texted my friend Rachel. She’s usually the upbeat one. The one with a solution. You know, the kind of person who went to camp for fifteen years and still wears the sweatshirts to annual reunions.

“That’s inspiring,” I responded. “You should make that your new mantra and have t-shirts made: Everything is impossible!”

“No, but seriously,” chimed our friend Meg. “Everything is impossible.”

We all agreed. Rachel, Megan and I are best friends from college. We live in three different cities — Oakland, LA and New York. We all have small children, ranging in ages from 3 to 10. We all have full-time jobs and working spouses. And, for the last eleven months, like everyone else, we’ve all been struggling in different areas. But, along the way, we’ve been there — via texts throughout the day — to support each other. And we are not alone.

When the world is normal, Rachel, Megan and I take a yearly trip together to catch up and reconnect without the distraction of husbands and families. We lie by pools, order room service, laugh until we cry. But, like so many others, Covid has stripped us of that possibility. It’s been nearly two years since we’ve seen each other in person. We’re burnt out on zooms; and the time difference, work demands and constant family obligations make scheduling them virtually impossible, anyway.

So we text.

All day. Every day.

I know when Meg runs an errand alone and revels in what feels like a “break” because she sends a picture from her car. I know when Rachel responds to one of my laments while on a hike because she sends images of her kids on top of mountains. I show them when snow collects beneath the twinkle lights of my Brooklyn backyard, when I’ve actually bothered to shower and do my hair, when I try on new sweatpants (in a color which they, of course, helped me pick out). We share wins and losses — book releases, promotions, arguments with loved ones, children growing up or acting out. We text when we’re sad, amused, anxious, angry, lonely. We text when we miss each other — which is always.

Sometimes it’s just a quick note. At other times, it becomes a longer conversation between the three of us or even just two when someone is busy cooking dinner or on a call. Mostly, the conversation is mundane, especially to anyone but us. We talk about what everyone is talking about — being locked down, a sense of unrest, unsure footing, hopes for change and why season one of Schitt’s Creek is hard to get into. But what is friendship if not keeping up with the every day, so, when the major things happen, there’s no need for catchup?

In the last eleven months, I have become part of more than one text chain with female friends that has kept me sane — or as close as possible — in this isolating time. I have one with my preschool mom friends, which involves lots of commiseration and parenting advice, but also logistical support when we need it daily. (Membership includes a special “Brooklyn Social Distancing Club” mug, compliments of one friend.) I have one with my cousins and my sister, which involves checking in on the larger family and also, randomly, sharing beauty tips. I have a chain with some of my high school girlfriends too, which occasionally touches on politics and kids, but more often involves reminiscing about simpler times: songs we loved, boys we loved, the freedom we loved when we were unencumbered and young.

Of course, I text with individuals I miss too and that has its own very important place. And there are more sporadic offshoots of these conversations, too, involving more people. But the truly regular, ongoing chains serve a separate purpose: Each one offers a different outlet for staving off that sense of encroaching suffocation, that impulse to scream with the knowledge that no sound would come out.

Not long ago, I was thinking back to college and post-college life and realizing how much we all take for granted in that period. In those years, we don’t realize that the proximity, time and space we have for female friendships is unique and finite. As we get older and build lives, the relationships might stay strong in their ways, but they can’t possibly be as entwined and intimate. There literally just aren’t the hours to while away together, sitting on a stoop or on someone’s floor, drinking cheap wine, laughing and complaining about first jobs and crushes, about the family dynamics we’re only starting to understand, about the reality of life versus what we imagined.

I never thought that a text chain could begin to compensate for what I missed about those days. That these constant short bursts could add up to something somehow substantial, a legitimate social interaction that simulates regular togetherness. Of course, I didn’t. What could seem more sterile than texts? And, yet, as much as possible, the chains have made a difference in my friendships.

Of course, in Covid, friendships have been tested too, especially with people who live nearby who might have — at various points — subscribed to different notions of what’s “safe” and what it means to be “cautious.” Outdoor playdates with mom friends became complicated early on, as suddenly different parenting styles raised legitimate concerns about safety. It felt like everyone had read and glommed onto a different speculative article and, thus, had different ideas of what was okay. Even seeing friends solo became stressful and awkward, as some people subscribed to stricter rules than others and the resulting discomfort — or unwillingness — around spending time together felt personal, like a rebuff. The situation underlined the chasms between us. Still now, some people choose to live their pandemic lives in looser ways than others. The definition of “careful” has remained horribly unclear.

So, we text. Because it’s not stressful. Because it keeps us connected. Because it allows us to respond when we’re able. Because it reminds us that, somewhere in the yawning abyss, there are people out there who care.

In a year with so much loss, these chains have become a way to hang onto something — a way to help each other through moments of grief and relief. And maybe also, in this time when everyone is under terrible stress, when it’s doubly difficult to ask for or expect support from people who are also depleted, it’s easier to meet the needs of friendships in these small bites.

Small bites with big rewards.