I have long held the belief that raising a child requires a community. Growing up in London, my life was enriched by my extended family and the traditional Indian culture that emphasized strong familial support for new parents. However, when I became a mother while living in New Zealand with my husband, I found myself distanced from that supportive network. It was during this time that I discovered a new type of village.
The soon-to-be mothers I met in prenatal classes—unaware of the profound changes ahead—quickly became my new family. Along with new mothers from playgroups and local coffee mornings, we shared our experiences, cried over sleepless nights, and walked for hours trying to soothe our fussy babies. Those women, who were once strangers, became my confidantes and friends—my village. We celebrated milestones and navigated the ups and downs of motherhood together, and as our children grew, so did our friendships.
After my second child was born, I returned to London with my husband and our son. This time, the traditional village of my upbringing provided a safety net. My mother held my newborn when my husband and I were exhausted, while my father engaged my toddler. My aunt prepared nourishing meals tailored for breastfeeding mothers, and my cousins shared invaluable tips on swaddling and sleep routines.
Now, my eldest child is 4, and although I haven’t actively sought the village’s wisdom lately, I find myself relying on it daily. My parents care for my children several days a week, and my best friend, who has children the same age, always knows when to share a glass of wine during challenging afternoons.
This week, I found myself reaching out again, albeit unconsciously. My worries have lessened over time; I’ve come to accept the imperfections of parenting. I no longer fret about my daughter sharing our bed nightly or my son’s lack of interest in writing. I trust my instincts and focus on their well-being without being weighed down by judgment.
However, I recently felt a heavy concern regarding my son’s eating habits. He has always been a picky eater, and my anxiety about his diet had intensified. In a moment of vulnerability, I shared my worries on my blog and social media, detailing my fears and perceived failures. I found the courage to label his behavior as “food avoidance disorder,” and to my surprise, the village was there for me.
Even when I didn’t explicitly seek it, I realized that the community of mothers, both familiar and those I’ve yet to meet, plays a vital role in this journey of motherhood. I received messages from old friends, family members, and even strangers who offered support, shared their own struggles, and reassured me that things would eventually improve. Their collective wisdom comforted me more than I anticipated.
While my son’s eating habits remain unchanged, I am reminded of my instinctual trust in my parenting choices. The village may not be able to make my son eat, but its support has alleviated my anxiety. I have found strength in their encouragement and recalled the confidence I’ve built over the years—confidence that is rooted in my refusal to justify my choices based on external judgment.
Ultimately, the village encompasses not just my family and friends but also every individual who has reached out or lent an ear. This collective support does not only contribute to raising a child; it also nurtures the mothers who need it. Yes, it truly takes a village to raise a child, but it also takes a village to support a mother.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the importance of community support in motherhood, highlighting how both traditional and new forms of village networks can provide comfort and wisdom. The journey of parenting is enriched by shared experiences and guidance from others, creating a nurturing environment for both children and parents.