When I discovered I was expecting, I had recently relocated to a new city with my partner. Even before the pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions, I felt an urgent need to return to my roots. Within a few months, we packed our things and moved back to the city where I had spent a decade building my career and nurturing friendships. Deep down, I sensed that my partner wasn’t committed for the long run, and I would need my friends and support network. The thought of navigating maternity leave in a city where I only knew a couple of people was unimaginable.
At 16 weeks pregnant, I set up our new home, filled with a mix of anxiety about the future and relief at being back. I envisioned my old friends visiting, bringing casseroles and sharing stories, and I imagined bonding with other new moms at library story times. I looked forward to long walks along the seawall with our babies resting peacefully in their strollers. I was certain that by the time my partner departed, I would have a solid support system of friends to lean on.
Fast forward four years. My partner is gone, and I’ve come to terms with that. My son is a vibrant and spirited preschooler who fills my days with joy and chaos. However, I am currently engaged in a difficult legal battle for custody, fighting tirelessly for his safety and happiness. My days are consumed with appointments, and I often find myself yearning for a moment to breathe. Thankfully, we have a wonderful man in our lives who loves and supports us, but one person can’t replace an entire community.
I’ve tried every mom and child program available in my city. I’ve spent countless hours at playgrounds, play gyms, single-parent meetups, and community centers. I even posted ads online seeking mom friends and sitters. Each time, I put on a brave face, hoping to connect, but I often leave feeling disheartened. It’s like trying to find a seat at the high school lunch table, but never quite fitting in. I did meet one fantastic friend, someone I clicked with instantly, but he soon moved abroad, leaving me with another distant connection.
The reality is that parents can be categorized into two groups: those who are supported and those who are exhausted. The supported ones have family nearby, helping with meals, providing much-needed breaks, and offering a shoulder to lean on. They have circles that seem impenetrable, where new members are rarely welcomed. On the other hand, the exhausted parents, like myself, often feel isolated. We rely on an occasional sitter found through online ads, while our best friends are miles away. The friends we believed would share this journey are often caught up in their own lives, seemingly unaware of our struggles.
As I sit on the couch at 9 PM, after my son is asleep, I strategize how to make the next day better. I plan how to muster the courage to attend story time or a mom’s group, hoping someone will invite me into their supportive circle.
So, if you see me—or someone in a similar position—at the playground, please don’t hesitate to approach. Invite me for coffee. Yes, I may look tired and a bit disheveled, but I am still searching for that community, that Village that can support and lift us up.
Summary
This article reflects on the challenges of parenting in a new city without a solid support system. The author shares her journey of returning to her hometown while navigating single motherhood and the quest for community. Despite the hurdles, she emphasizes the importance of connection and reaching out to others in similar situations.