"it takes a village to raise a child"

interdependence, community, and loneliness in early motherhood

I had hoped to write a piece exploring my ambivalence and thoughts around returning to a paid job, but it’s spiralled into something longer and bigger than I can finish this week, so I’ve polished up this draft from my notes instead. I hope you enjoy!

A common refrain amongst modern mothers is that "it takes a village to raise a child but I don't have a village". They are lamenting the lack of support for new parents, specifically new mothers, that can make the early days and years of motherhood a hard and lonely road. I don't disagree with the sentiment of this refrain, but I do think it's not the whole truth. 

It's true that mothers, especially first time mothers, need support and community, and that both of these are sorely lacking in our modern, individualistic culture. So many of us live fractured, atomised lives, with few of the support networks of extended family, church, and wider community that our forbears could call on for assistance. Mothers who choose to stay home with their children often face an especially lonely existence, as most of their peers return to work, there are less and less fellow mothers available to befriend and organize play dates with, and you are left feeling like you’ve been left behind whilst the whole world carries on around you. Being at home, alone, with small children is a unique kind of challenging, and can feel incredibly isolating. I’ve written about my experience of early motherhood, and how transformative I found process of becoming a mother, here. 

So, I’ve thought quite a lot about the idea of ‘the village’, and it’s lack in modern Western culture. For me, having a village is about so much more than having someone to do things for you. So much of what I long for in a village is to be held in community, to not be alone. When I first became a mother, we didn’t have any family close by. I couldn’t just pop over and see either my mother or my mother in law without preplanning a visit. I didn’t fully realise it at the time, but I was desperately lonely during the early months as a first time mother. I was struggling with undiagnosed PPA, which I suspect was at least partially caused by a birth that I found traumatic and somewhat violating (it was in the hospitals eyes entirely routine and in fact "successful", which made me feel even more confused). I used to call my mum and beg her to come and visit. Which to her eternal credit she frequently did, driving across the UK with her dog in tow. It wasn’t primarily help with the housework that I craved, although she did help cook and it was nice to have someone else to rock the baby sometimes. I mostly just didn't want to be alone. Having someone there helped lift the burdens and anxieties I felt as a new and inexperienced mother. 

I remember those early postpartum days as a desperately lonely time. I was so afraid of everything, plagued by intrusive thoughts that made me question my sanity. Afraid I would drop my baby, afraid I would suffocate her by falling asleep whilst breastfeeding, afraid I would put her down for a nap and that she wouldn’t wake up. But most of all, I was afraid of being alone with my fears. So I called my mum. When I felt like I was drowning in my own head, she was the lifeline I clung to. She would walk through my door and I would instantly feel more relaxed and capable. Then the days would pass, oh so quickly, and it would be time for her to leave again. I distinctly remember watching her walk out my front door and immediately chocking back tears, as my loneliness and fear came rushing back. Her presence could hold it at bay but the shadows still lurked, waiting to overwhelm me. 

The nights were a source of terror to me. I would feel physical dread as the evening approached, knowing that I faced another night of broken sleep and angry screams from my tiny infant, who I felt powerless to help. 

So, when women talk about their loneliness and desire for support, I get it, I truly do. 

However, for a village to be sustainable long term, you have to be prepared to give as well as receive. We all want to be on the receiving end of community support, and I completely recognise that families, especially mothers, desperately need more support and community, but how many of us are prepared to actually put ourselves out to support others? How many of those mothers who lament the lack of a village spared even a passing thought for the struggles of mothers until they were themselves mothers? I know I didn’t. I spent my twenties in complete denial of the fact that humans are interdependent creatures. I was young, and free, and having fun. I didn’t think I needed anyone, so I spared scarcely a thought for the fact that others might need me. I embraced Libertarian and Feminist viewpoints because the idea of radical independence is appealing when you’re an attractive single white woman with decent resources and a British passport. When I became a mother, those same ideas simply crumbled, as the reality of my interdependence with my infant daughter was brought home to me with brutal clarity. 

You also have to be willing to accept help, and be prepared to ask for it. Again, I am rubbish at this. I am temperamentally inclined to choose to suffer in silence until I reach breaking point, rather than to admit I need help. I know this is a personal failing, but I suspect it is also a cultural one. We all want to appear like we have it together, that we are competent, that we are at least managing. So we smile fake smiles, and tell lies and half truths when people ask how we are doing. Even worse, we turn our pain into a funny story, and tell jokes about how our baby won’t sleep. I know this, because I’ve done it. Eventually though, you have to swallow your pride and admit that you aren’t managing, and you need help. Sadly, for many women, there is no one they feel they can ask, and this is truly tragic. For some of us, maybe actually there is help available, but maybe it isn’t quite exactly the help we would like, or it comes in the form of a person we find a bit irritating at a personal level. This is where I think there is a bit of collective delusion going on. ‘The Village’ whose loss is so often lamented was undoubtedly full of annoying, inconvenient people. It was a community, and real communities involve sacrificing some of your personal autonomy and independence and convenience for the benefit of the whole.

Louise Perry

has a great episode on

Maiden Mother Matriarch

with

Sarah Haider

where they talk about this at length. You were less lonely and people helped watch your kids, but there were other trade offs, like less privacy and autonomy.

A few final thoughts: 

• A village isn't just practical help, it is also just walking alongside and being there for fellow mamas.

• If you want a village then try and be a village for those around you. Set up a meal train for a new mama, offer to walk the dog for a family who are struggling, organise playdates at local parks etc…

• Sometimes people don't need help so much as someone there. When overwhelmed I go to my mum’s house just for the company and it makes me feel better. Seeing my daughter interact with my mum helps me to see her with fresh eyes and to love her not be frustrated with her.

• Mothers and young families are not the only people who are lonely and in desperate need of “a village”. The ill, the elderly, the unhappily single…there are many other people that are overlooked in our society. Don’t underestimate what you have to offer others. When I was in my late teens, an American post graduate student started attending our tiny church whilst studying for an MA in the UK. My large, chaotic family welcomed her with open arms. She even shared my room for a few months when she lost her accommodation. She was a blessing to us, especially to me, but we were also a blessing to her. She blessed me with friendship, and we blessed her with family, in all it’s messy glory. We have remained good friends ever since, and she recently told me how rare it was to find families that welcomed single women like her into their lives the way mine did.

So, by all means bring back the village! I am all for it, truly. I would love to see a less atomised and individualistic world, where people look out for each other and help bear each other’s burdens. May we all seek to be part of the village for others, and not just wish for one for ourselves.

As always, dear readers, I would love to hear your thoughts, stories, and opinions. Please do share in the comments section. If you enjoyed this piece then please share and subscribe. You can also support my work by donating on Buy Me A Coffee :)

Blessings,

Becca