By Peyton Garland 
It doesn’t take a village to raise a child. You and your partner can go it alone. But the cost is high, and everyone loses something. Your mental health collapses, romance fades or turns bitter, and the grace you once extended to your child and yourself disappears. It’s too high a price to pay, too lonely an island, but some of us have no other option.
Our families live across the country, or they promise to show up and don’t, or they aren’t healthy people. Some of us don’t have the money for childcare even with a job with hours that balance our spouse’s. And friends we trust? Nothing is more challenging than those speed-dating coffee shop visits required to cultivate such a daring thing.
I’ve fought hell itself to weed out unhealthy people, set boundaries for my family, and discover who to let inside my child’s life. I firmly believe finding a healthy village should be a priority, but I also recognize some life seasons don’t grant comfortable room to make friends, extra money for date nights and self-care, or time for anything outside survival.
To the mama whose village never showed up, is financially impossible, is constrained by time, or isn’t healthy, I see you. I get you. And I’m so sorry.
The world groans. She’s unhealthy and worn, and man has turned her unfair. I didn’t fully understand this until I became a mother and someone needed me to be the barrier between their innocent heart and a cold, cruel, sin-stricken world.
It’s natural for mamas to feel it’s us against everyone and everything. Social media and technology have only amplified this feeling. Too much grief, too much chaos, and too little kindness bombard the countless screens at our disposal. We learn to keep our doors locked, windows shut, and lights turned off. We remind ourselves that a village is too great a risk. There’s far too much at stake; too many hearts can break. So we keep hustling, neglecting ourselves, and trying to make this balancing act of raising a child without a community as sane as possible.
When we feel this is our sole option, we force ourselves to swallow the lie that this feat is sustainable. We convince ourselves we’ve found a healthy rhythm without a sitter, a trusted friend, or that grandparent who was supposed to help. But life throws curveballs, Mama. A car breaks down, a job demands overtime, a debt collector calls. Then schedules, normalcy, and routine are shaken.
If it’s not outside chaos banging on our doors, it’s inside turmoil ensuing. Just as we tackle one phase of motherhood, another shows up, and we’re back at scary, lonely square one with the same gnawing thought: I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m so tired.
For new mamas, the overwhelm of motherhood is so raw and unsettling you aren’t sure you’ll survive. But your body adjusts to no sleep, you discover some semblance of a feeding routine, and your husband eventually discovers you need 15 minutes to sit in the bathroom, alone—to pray, cry, and process the day’s stifled emotions.
But then there’s teething, toddling, and tantrums. Then come daredevil stunts, defiance, and no need for dependence on you. Then they are grown and gone. And you’re a shell of a woman. You’re still a mother, a beautiful mother who showed up and fought for your baby and did what she had to do. But you’re hollow. I ache for you. Oh, how my heart aches for you.
But if you’re a mother still in the thick of it, one subjected to reality’s tough blows who still craves that safe, healthy village, then make it happen. I had to learn it was okay to look desperate on Facebook and bug that mom I met at a life group event to set up a play date for our babies. I had to learn everyone else at the coffee shop could get over my little one tearing through the cafe because I needed a friend to talk to. I had to learn it was worth attending church even if I ended up in the nursery because I needed the other mamas there.
There have been seasons when I couldn’t process the thought of finding a village. But in those 30-minute intervals when I felt my head was above water, I fought for it. I sent the text, showed up when I didn’t want to, and made myself as uncomfortable as possible to meet new people, discover who I trusted, and make a hodgepodge village for my baby.
It’s untypical, doesn’t follow a set schedule, doesn’t keep me comfortable, and requires me to reprioritize things on the fly, but it provides my family with a life of joy, balance, and friendship.
Fight for that village, Mama. I’m cheering you on.
by Katelyn Stoll 
by Mary Ann Blair 
