By Her View From Home 
Growing up, it was extremely difficult for me to make friends. I wasn’t smart enough for the smart kids, athletic enough for the athletic kids, talented enough for the talented kids, cool enough for the cool kids, or pretty enough for the pretty kids. I never exactly fit anywhere.
I was able to make a few close friends, most of whom are still acquaintances 20-something years later, but after falling prey to some mean girls who I naively trusted in early high school, I was never really able to allow myself to open up and be me, especially around girls. I was the funny girl who hung out with the dudes. I labeled myself a guys’ girl.
My insecurities stayed with me through college. I didn’t have the typical college experience—very few frat parties and never even considered pledging a sorority. I got by with a handful of friends who I lost touch with quickly after college.
I made some friends in the workforce, which I entered two weeks after graduating at the age of 21. A couple of those girls became long-lasting friendships and serve as my lifelines still today. Unfortunately, they live in different states, and one even in a different country. They are always there to thoughtfully answer an AITA text or lend a sympathetic ear when I have a problem that I just can’t go at alone, and I love them for it.
But being a mom is hard, and it can be lonely. My husband and I moved away from my hometown for his job before we were married with kids, but we were slow to find a network outside our coworkers. When my daughter was born, we made the decision that I would leave my job—the one place I was forced to go every day to interact with other people.
You hear all the time about how hard it is to make mom friends, then throw a global pandemic in there just as you’re learning to navigate parenthood, and forget it. As things began to open back up, I tried the baby gyms, but I’m an old mom, and when I made a Beverly Hills 912010 or Friends reference, I was typically met with blank stares. I couldn’t bring myself to say hi to the in-shape moms in name-brand yoga pants when I showed up wearing actual sweatpants that probably had more than one hole in them.
It wasn’t until my daughter entered preschool at age three that things really changed for me. There I was, the same old mom, in ripped sweats, unbrushed hair, and multiple stains on my shirt, walking my daughter into school while carrying my precocious 18-month-old son surfboard style kicking and screaming to and from the parking lot.
But you know what happened? The other moms helped me catch him when he broke loose or offered him a cupcake when they brought them in for their child’s birthday, or even just gave me a smile that said, “I get it.” I somehow struck up a friendship with a wonderful woman who had kids the same age gap as mine, who didn’t judge my 40 pounds overweight body, and unbrushed hair. She was more put together than me (obviously), but she didn’t seem to care. She got me.
She appreciated my self-deprecating humor and never once made me feel bad about being awkward or for my not-so-award-winning mom moments. She is wonderful and outgoing, and of course, made other mom friends from school as well. But to my surprise, she didn’t leave me behind for a mom who has it much more together than I do. She brought me along to the play dates and introduced me to them as well. Soon enough, I had formed individual friendships with the other moms too, and I truly enjoyed watching my kids play with their peers outside a school setting.
It wasn’t until I was invited to a pool playdate with three other moms that I realized just how lucky I was and how far I had come. I am not sure why or how, but at some point, I just began pouring my heart out to these women I had known for less than two years. I opened up about my struggles with anxiety, the difficulties in my marriage, my mom guilt. Those ladies gave me such encouragement and advice, and treated me with such understanding and empathy; it was truly amazing.
I left there that day somewhat embarrassed that I had opened up so much to these women and that maybe I was just too much. But the very next week, I was included in a group text inviting me to the next play date. Even after all that—all my baggage—these women still wanted to hang out with me and my kids. It had been years since I was included in a group chat! I was filled with relief, gratitude, and amazement all rolled into one.
In the last four and a half years since my daughter was born, I have gone way out of my comfort zone and developed relationships with other moms I’ve met: the pool lesson mom, the neighbor mom, the Facebook group mom, the realtor mom who helped us buy our house. Once I let go of my past experiences and insecurities, it wasn’t even really that difficult. Here I am, at 38 years old, in the worst physical and maybe even mental shape of my life, and I am putting myself out there to start new friendships . . . with women. Something I wasn’t able to do for the better part of my life.
So it is lonely being a mom, and it is super hard to put yourself out there, but what I have learned is that moms want to help. They don’t care what you look like or where you came from. They want to make another mom’s life easier and help her not feel so alone. They share their kids’ snacks when you forgot to pack some, they volunteer without being asked to watch your children while you take your sick dog to the vet because you don’t have any family nearby or sitter you trust yet, or they are simply a safe place to go to when you just need a break. You’ll also realize they don’t actually have it all figured out either, and they can benefit from your friendship as well.
Think about how preschoolers can run up to a random kid at the park or a library and say, “Hey! Do you want to be friends?’ and run off and play with each other for the next hour. Think about how easy it is for them. They haven’t yet learned about being self-conscious or how truly cruel the world can be. Let them teach you a wonderful lesson about life. Since being a mom and feeling the freedom to truly be me, I have learned that I am, in fact, enough.
by Brianna Baranowski 
by Amber Kuipers 
by Whitney Fleming 
