I’ve long held the belief that it takes a community to raise a child. Growing up in a bustling household in London, I was always surrounded by my extended family and deeply rooted in our traditional Indian customs that emphasize the importance of support for new parents.
When I welcomed my first child, my husband and I had relocated to New Zealand, far from the comforting embrace of my family. In this unfamiliar environment, I discovered that a different kind of community existed.
During prenatal classes, I found a group of expectant mothers who, unbeknownst to us at the time, would become my new support system. We bonded over sleepless nights, exchanged parenting tales, and took long walks to soothe our restless babies. These women, whom I had just met, became my confidantes and friends—my new village. We celebrated our babies’ milestones together, sharing both the highs and lows of motherhood.
When I became a mother again, we had returned to London, where my traditional support network was once again at my fingertips. My mother took care of my newborn while my father engaged my toddler. My aunt prepared nourishing meals tailored for breastfeeding mothers, and my cousins shared their own parenting experiences.
Now, as my eldest child turns 4, I still rely on this village for the everyday aspects of life. My parents care for my children multiple days a week, while my best friend, whose kids are the same age, knows just when to offer a glass of wine on tough days.
This week, however, I found myself reaching out, almost instinctively. I’ve grown more relaxed in my parenting, accepting my shortcomings without concern for judgment. My daughter still joins us in bed most nights, and my son is indifferent to writing. But recently, I felt a pressing concern about my son’s eating habits, which led me to open up on my blog and social media.
I shared my worries about his poor appetite, detailing my fears and vulnerabilities. After I bravely typed the term “food avoidance disorder,” I found the village I didn’t realize I needed. The encouragement and wisdom from both old friends and newer connections flooded in. Some shared their own experiences, while others reassured me that things would improve in time.
While my son’s eating habits haven’t transformed overnight, I was reminded to trust my instincts. The village may not solve every issue, but it provided comfort and support that eased my anxieties. I rediscovered my strength, bolstered by the collective wisdom of those around me, both in-person and online.
The community that surrounds us is broader than just family and friends; it extends to every reader and parent who has lent an ear or offered advice. The role of this community is not only to help raise a child but also to nurture and support a mother, reminding us that we are not alone on this journey.
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In summary, it takes a village not only to raise a child but also to support a mother. The journey of motherhood is filled with shared experiences, lessons, and the strength we find in one another.