To the mama who comes home to an empty house after delivering her baby. To the one whose family is too far away, too busy, or can’t afford to be there for her—or chooses not to. 

To the mama whose husband works long hours or late nights, leaving her to rock her baby alone in the wee hours of the morning. 

To the mama whose friends are scattered across the country or don’t have kids yet. To the one who has no one to share in the excitement of her baby’s first steps, and no one to sympathize with over the challenges of parenting.

To the mama who’s tried it all: church groups, gym classes, book clubs, and after-work events. Volunteering in her kids’ schools. Chatting up parents at the playground. Making small talk with other moms at baseball games and swim lessons.

Yet wherever she turns, her support system is nowhere to be found.

To the mama who never even had a chance to make mom friends because the pandemic hit right as she became a mother.

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To the mama who’s standing in her kitchen, stirring a pot and rocking a baby on her hip while another child tugs at her pant leg. Toys are scattered across the floor, her phone is ringing, and she’s just trying to get through the day.

To the mama who wishes she lived in a time when women had villages to help raise their kids. Because she doesn’t have one.

I see you, and you’re not alone—because I’m right there with you.

It’s so hard. I know it feels like you’re the only one who doesn’t have her people. The highlight reels on social media don’t help. We see mamas whose parents are over to babysit almost every day. Mamas getting together for brunch on the weekends. We see the double dates and the dinners with family friends. We watch the hugs, the arms around shoulders, the laughter, and the celebrations, and we ache for it in our own lives.

We crave mutually supportive, authentic relationships that are so difficult to find, especially right now.

I don’t have all the answers for you, but as a Christian, I keep this verse at the forefront of my mind: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

It’s not easy, but let’s look for the bright spots in this season of loneliness. 

On quiet afternoons, make yourself a cup of tea and watch your kids play. Join in a game or two. These peaceful moments with just you and them are fleeting, though the days may feel long right now.

In the evenings, pull out your sketchpad, camera, or notebook. Dive back into the creative hobbies you used to love or start something new.

Whenever you feel the urge to start scrolling social media and playing the comparison game, pick up a book. Start reading again.

When my husband has a free evening, we’ve been sitting up talking late into the night, dreaming about the future. It’s a fun throwback to our college days.

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This season might seem too quiet and small to appreciate, but let’s find joy in the little things.

And let’s redefine our idea of support. Let’s make the most of what we have.

No, phone calls aren’t the same as having an extra set of hands around the house, but they’re better than nothing. I might not be grabbing coffee with the moms in our baby-and-me class, but we can chat about our weekends and swap ideas of local places to visit with our kids. Write letters to your college friends. Send that Facebook message. Start a blog and share about your life. Reconnect with people from your past. Put yourself out there . . . if only to feel a little less alone.

This season is tough, but so are you.

I promise you’ll find your people in the most unlikely place. Someday, you’ll be sitting around the dinner table with friends, sipping a glass of wine, and watching your kids play together in the backyard. There will be more than enough love, laughter, and support to go around. And you’ll be all the more grateful for having lived the before that you’re in right now.