As a native New Yorker, I thought my move to Tennessee was temporary. But I’m a country girl at heart.
Starting over a thousand miles from loved ones is challenging, especially as a new mom aged out of childbearing years. My daughter Violet longed for friends, and I did too. But we couldn’t find any.
I tried going to things even miles away
I joined every mom Facebook group within a hundred miles, driving 50 minutes for mom coffees, hikes, tinker-tots, gymnastics, and play centers.
Coffees and hikes were one-offs; I got lost in the city park looking for tinker-tots, melting down while my daughter happily swung. The play center was great, but families came pre-paired. Gymnastics was amazing but anti-social.
My heart cracked every timeViolet shouted, “Look! Kids!” at our playground, right before they’d leave. Like storytime, everywhere were closed, tight-knit families. One invited us to a creek, but canceled. Like an awkward 4th grader scanning the cafeteria, I kept returning. Every trip North visiting cousins was bittersweet; she loved them so much that I questioned starting a life across the country.
I slowly found community
A flyer on the library’s bulletin board introduced a Friday playgroup, 40 minutes away. Twelve moms awkwardly made small talk while 30 kids ran wild. Violet clung to me. When the playgroup ended two months later, we were just starting to warm up.
Another mom also wanted community, so she reached out. Our smaller group was less overwhelming, and very slowly, organically grew. The kids loved each other. We moms do, too, bonding over stories of new mom fears and the difficulty of finding friends.
Now six families with 12 kids meet four hours multiple times a week — more time than I’ve spent with anyone besides my husband since high-school.
Meeting other moms helped my mental health
Right before Violet’s birth, my husband became disabled, and my mom died. Suddenly transitioning careers, I also navigated the new terrain of motherhood and loss. Denial and newborn demands cushioned me from realizing how alone and frightened I felt. I reached for the phone to call my mother when Violet didn’t latch immediately, or to ask for suggestions for safe bug spray.
After I jumped out of bed at midnight to trim 1-year-old Violet’s tiny nails, convinced she’d scratch her eyes, then an hour later woke her again to change her bedding, sure she’d choke on a nail clipping, my husband gently suggested postpartum depression. I insisted he was wrong.
Finding a community of other moms brought joy and confidence back into my life, and I hadn’t known I’d missed. They gave me a perspective no one else could, helping me relax and enjoy motherhood. Violet sang the names of her friends throughout the day. Another mom said her kids recite their friends’ names in the car, and a third shared her girls say them alongside their bedtime prayers.
Then, the ice storm came. Our Middle Tennessee area was the hardest hit, stuck without power for six days. When my phone reconnected on the third day, I discovered a chain of concerned texts from “The Moms” (as my husband dubbed us). The family closest to us took us in, turning our disaster into a fun sleepover party.
Our relationships deepened as we shared how deeply we appreciated each other — and not just for our kids — and how, from a small library flyer, this mom group had now bettered all our lives.
We support each other
Our ages range from 26 to 43 — but I don’t feel older. We’re from all parts of the country, and include a former engineer and a pandemic nurse. They all plan to homeschool their multiple children. I’m the only mom still working, and with just one child.
The unspoken motto in our group is that different families have different rules, and we support each other. Whenever new moms come to the library, we welcome them.
As birthdays rolled around, Violet eagerly anticipated hers. When we asked what she wanted, she shouted: “Allllll my friends!”
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