Walking up to the pool where I used to bring my daughters when they were little, I can almost feel the ghosts of old mom friendships built on too-sweet vending machine snacks, shared sun-soaked towels, and the beautiful chaos of helping our children learn to swim.
I can still see the spot on the sidewalk where our kids ran off together in a pre-tween rebellion, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief after catching them, united in our shared exhaustion and fear. I consider putting my legs into the deep end where they learned to swim, summer after summer, while we joined them in the water, day after day, trading life updates as we watched our children grow—present for every moment with them. And with each other.
Today, after divorce, the pool feels different. My daughters, now in 7th and 10th grades, are with their father for the weekend. New moms gather in circles, their husbands close by, toddlers in Puddle Jumpers splashing in the shallow end. There’s so much safety, security, and community there. An army of strollers. Familiar laughter. And I, alone, feel like a visitor to a life I used to belong to. So I retreat to the tennis court and work on my serve, by myself.
Back then, I took our closeness for granted. We swapped birthday invites and “summer camp at home” days with one another, bringing a break to the monotony of long summer days. But I held back, not diving into the deep end of forging real friendships, sticking instead to the safety of the acquaintance zone.
Convenience built relationships on long days that started at the playground, moved to the pool, and didn’t end until the sun went down. But as our kids outgrew the playdates, the daily contact faded. The check-ins stopped. And during my marriage, I never pursued deeper friendships.
I didn’t realize how isolating it was to pour everything into my kids. I certainly didn’t want anyone to see the cracks in my marriage. I was married at 24, still figuring out who I was—and sometimes, I was afraid that if I let anyone in too close, I’d have to admit just how lonely I already felt.
Now that I’m divorced, the absence of friendship hits harder. I thought I’d find a group of women more easily, as though marriage had been the barrier. But it turns out connection still takes work. I crave the kind of friendship that breathes spontaneity into my life. That finds joy in the little moments.
Some days I scroll through my phone, wondering if there’s a new friend out there whose number I haven’t saved yet. Someone I can talk to without needing to catch up on the last six years first. There’s no more stroller army or snack time chats to keep us tied together. And without those built-in moments, I’m learning that friendship in this season takes more effort and more courage.
Still, I’m not giving up. I’m reaching out when I can. I’m also learning who I am while my daughters grow closer to being on their own, and I can’t exactly build deep friendships if I don’t know myself first.
I may feel like a visitor now as I walk through the pool gates again, but I once belonged to this world of community. And maybe I still can. Maybe I’ll meet a friend here again—not because our kids are the same age or because we share a neighborhood, but because we both know what it’s like to start over.
And maybe that’s enough.
by Bridgette Ross 
