I remember it clearly.
I had accidentally dozed off while feeding my first baby in the middle of the night. When I woke up, I found myself doing what so many new mothers do: scrolling my phone in the glow of the nursery lamp, trying to stay awake while a tiny baby rested in my arms.
I loved her warmth. I loved the cozy nursery I had put together while I anticipated her arrival. I had everything I needed. And yet I felt so unseen. Not because I was alone, but because I was becoming someone different, and it felt like no one knew who this new version of me was.
During that season, my sister sent me a cartoon I've never forgotten. It showed mothers across a neighborhood awake in the middle of the night, each one illuminated by the glow of a phone while feeding or rocking a baby. When I saw it, I felt understood.
It perfectly captured how lonely motherhood can feel. But it also reminded me of something important: I wasn't actually alone.
Across town, across the country, and across the world, there were countless other mothers awake in that same moment. Exhausted. Wondering if they were doing enough. Loving their children fiercely while quietly carrying the weight of becoming a parent.
The problem wasn't that I was the only one struggling. The problem was that we weren't together.
Somewhere along the way, we lost something.
For most of human history, parents didn't raise children in isolation. Grandparents often lived nearby. Sisters, cousins, neighbors, and elders were woven into daily life. New mothers were not simply handed a baby and expected to figure everything out. In many cultures, postpartum mothers were cared for intentionally. Wisdom was passed down through stories, observation, and shared experience. Children grew up surrounded by multiple generations, and parents had opportunities to learn from those who had walked the road before them.
No era was perfect. Families have always faced hardship, loss, and struggle. But many parents today carry a burden that previous generations may not have carried in the same way: raising children while feeling profoundly alone.
We have more information than ever before. We can Google developmental milestones, listen to parenting podcasts, read books written by experts, and watch endless videos offering advice. Yet many parents feel less confident, not more. And I think that's because information is not the same thing as community.
A Google search can tell you what's typical for a four-year-old. A trusted friend can sit beside you and remind you that you're not failing just because your four-year-old is acting like a four-year-old. A parenting book can explain developmental stages. A grandmother or mentor can look you in the eye and tell you the hard season will pass, because she's lived it.
What many of us are missing isn't more information. It's people who know our children by name. People who know our stories.
Many mothers spend their days doing work that is both deeply meaningful and largely invisible. Feeding, dishes, laundry, managing emotions, answering questions, driving to activities, and somewhere in the middle of it all, repeating themselves for the hundredth time. These tasks may seem mundane, but they are the work of building a family. And they can feel unbearably lonely when done without anyone bearing witness.
When parents lack support, we tend to become reactive. We carry more stress. We second-guess ourselves constantly. We feel pressure to have all the answers. But parenting was never designed to be a solo performance.
So how do we rebuild the village?
I'm a dreamer, so part of me wants to paint a picture of some idealized version of the past: porch swings and shared dinners and neighbors who knew your children's names. But I've come to believe that the rebuilding doesn't happen all at once. It happens in small, intentional steps, right where we are.
Inviting a mom for coffee. Finding a local meetup group for parents. Asking for help (I'm terrible at this one!). Offering help before someone has to ask. Putting down the phone, going to the park, watching the kids play, and introducing yourself to the parent sitting nearby.
It's in the willingness to let people see both our struggles and our successes that I believe change can begin.
Who is currently in your village?
And if your answer is "no one," what is one small step you could take this week toward building one?
