Group Chat is a weekly series where HuffPost UK writers discuss friendship, diary dilemmas and how to reclaim our social lives in a busy world.
At four, we learned the difference between ‘good toes’ and ‘naughty toes’. At seven, we giggled in the wings of a stage. At 12, we grew self-conscious in our leotards. A year later, we navigated the perils of periods and tutus. Between 14 and 15, our passion for pirouettes clung on despite our desperation to be popular.
And by 16, we realised we had survived it all – and we had survived it together.
If, like me, dance classes defined your childhood, you’ll recognise these life stages well. You’ll also have an inappropriately large collection of fishnet tights in your mum’s loft – plus the most fiercely loyal friendships a woman could wish for.
[Read More: Ashley Banjo On How Dance Feels Like ‘Therapy’]
I don’t remember the exact moment I met my friend Lisa, but I do remember being obsessed with her ponytail. It was long and glossy and swished from side to side as she pranced around the room. Four-year-old me decided this alone made her worthy of my friendship. It was a solid choice. A few years later, we met Jenny in a tap class and the three musketeers were complete.
We’ve welcomed others into the fold over the years, but it is these two girls – now brilliant women – who have been a constant in my life. They are my oldest friends, the people I can be so unquestionably myself with, they might as well be family.
We’ve stood (or pliéd) at one another’s side through dance exams, shows and embarrassing school fetes. We’ve laughed and inhaled more glitter and hairspray than can possibly be healthy, helping each other through ‘the big stuff’ without even realising.
When you’re thrust together at least twice a week, every week, you can’t help but witness the highs and lows of each other’s lives – from tweenage arguments, first loves and first breakups to my parents’ divorce and each of us losing grandparents.
Big condolences or grand gestures are never needed; our friendship has provided endless comfort, simply because we know it will always be there. Our final dance class in our local studio when we were 18 was a tearful affair, but life (and university) called.
I thought our bond was unique, then I joined the university dance team where members spoke with equal warmth about their own dance pals back home. Over the next three years we forged new friendships, proving once again the uniting power of a shared passion.
Now in my late twenties, I still dance every week for fun, enjoying the chats with fellow dancers before and after class almost as much as learning a new routine. When I moved to my Hertfordshire suburb four years ago, I knew no one; last week a dance friend invited me to her wedding.
Of course, no one quite compares to my BDF (best dance friends), Lisa and Jenny. Our days of regular class catch-ups have long gone and you’re more likely to see us boogying on a sticky club dance floor than in a mirrored studio. But I’m not worried about the future of our indestructible trio.
Because friends that dance together, stay together.