When I discovered I was expecting, I had just relocated to a new city with the father of my child. Even before the test confirmed my pregnancy, I sensed what was necessary. Within months, we packed up and returned to the city where I had spent a decade, cultivated a career, and built a solid social network. Deep down, I understood that my partner wasn’t committed for the long haul; I knew that I would rely on my friends, my former neighborhood, my support system. The thought of enduring maternity leave in a new city where I knew only a couple of people felt unbearable.
At 16 weeks pregnant, I arranged our new home, grappling with both anxiety about our future and the comfort of returning to familiar surroundings. I envisioned the days when my old friends would come to visit, bringing casseroles and sharing stories. I imagined attending library story time, meeting other new moms, and forming instant connections while strolling along the seawall with our babies peacefully napping in their strollers. I believed that by the time my child’s father departed, I would have a network of shoulders to lean on, hands to hold, and a home filled with laughter.
Now, four long years have passed since those hopeful dreams. My son’s father is gone, and I have come to terms with that reality. My son is a spirited, enchanting preschooler who brings me joy and exasperation in equal measure. Currently, I am embroiled in a daunting legal battle for his custody. Every day, I fight tirelessly to secure his well-being and happiness. It’s a challenge. I face appointments with my lawyer, medical visits, and the perpetual need for sleep, showers, and the simplest moments of peace. Fortunately, we now have a wonderful man in our lives who wholeheartedly loves us, but one individual cannot fulfill the role of an entire community.
I have explored every mom-and-kid program in the area. I’ve spent countless hours at playgrounds, play gyms, single parent groups, community centers, and pools. I’ve even posted ads on Craigslist seeking mom friends, grandmas, and sitters. Each time, I put on a brave face and strive to connect, only to leave feeling empty-handed. It’s reminiscent of navigating the high school cafeteria, never quite finding the right table. I did meet one incredible, funny, and kind friend with whom I instantly connected, but he moved to another country just as quickly. Our kids were great companions, and I cherished our time together. Now he is just another friend far away.
The reality is this: parents fall into one of two categories—supported or exhausted. The supported ones have grandparents who show up, cook meals, provide date nights, or even grant them a full night’s sleep. They have a network of aunts, uncles, best friends with kids, neighbors with yards, cousins, and playgroups. However, they often seem to have no space for new village members. They glance from their comfortable bubbles, offering vague smiles, forgetting the numerous times I’ve introduced myself.
The exhausted ones, like me, have a single sitter found online, who is often late and rarely available. Our close friends with children live far away. Our families are too preoccupied to notice us struggling to keep our heads above water. The friends I thought would be by my side are busy enjoying cocktails, attending yoga classes, running marathons, or simply resting. While everyone expresses sympathy, few take action. We exhausted ones languish on the couch at 9 PM, after the kids are asleep. We arrange our lives around our one weary sitter. Each day, we muster the courage to don our boots and venture out to story time, play gyms, or mom’s groups, hoping someone will finally open the doors to the Village.
So, the next time you spot me or someone like me at the playground, I invite you to come over. Ask me to grab a coffee together. Yes, my eyes may be weary, my pants could be on backward, and my shirt might be on inside out. But I’m here, still searching through these tired eyes for my Village.
Originally published on Dec. 10, 2014.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s journey of motherhood and the search for a supportive community after returning to her hometown during pregnancy. While initially hopeful, the reality of parenting has led to feelings of isolation and exhaustion. The author highlights the divide between supported and exhausted parents, calling for connection and camaraderie among those navigating the challenges of parenthood.