Currently….

In the journey of motherhood, there's a rarely discussed season: loneliness. It sounds dramatic, I know, but hear me out.

Throughout life, I've always had a built-in community of women to surround myself with. High school meant cheerleading, college was filled with sorority sisters, and post-college brought a crew who bonded over Bachelor Mondays, Galentine's Day, and bottomless brunches.

My pre-COVID, pre-kids life was all about spontaneity and connection. Saturday night plans, impromptu after-work happy hours, girls' days in wine country, hosting boozy Wednesday night dinners, and the ever-growing chain of group text messages – that was the norm.

But recently, during a chat with a long-distance friend, I felt envious. She and her friends still enjoyed frequent girls' nights – something that no longer filled my calendar. It hit me: I'm lonely.

These feelings had been brewing, I just couldn't quite pinpoint them. But how could I be lonely? I was busier than ever. I still had many friends, although fewer and fewer in the same city. I guess meeting up with old friends now required a 45-minute car ride at best or a daunting 4-hour plane journey at worst. It wasn't that I had fewer friends; it was the diminishing frequency of in-person meetings, those uninterrupted conversations over dinner, those lengthy text threads about pop culture and those spontaneous day adventures that stung the most. 

It wasn’t my fault these connections were reduced. It was that the introduction of motherhood had swept me and my friends away into a new schedule, an energy drain, a distraction from what life once was.

My friend revealed that even her group of friends faced the same struggle in balancing their motherhood journeys. One friend hesitated to leave her baby for dinner and rarely RSVP'd, another was often too exhausted and canceled last-minute, and yet another faced babysitter issues leading to more last-minute cancellations.

I realized loneliness is a season, not permanent – an evolution. To make room for one thing, you must adjust expectations elsewhere.

I hadn't felt this lonely since moving to San Francisco, knowing only my then-boyfriend (now husband). It's uncomfortable, but life's seasons are chapters, not the whole story. Strength comes from stepping outside your comfort zone.

So here I am again, pushing beyond comfort, this time with more responsibilities and complexity to work through. I’m scheduling dinners well in advance, coordinating childcare. I’m saying yes to last-minute playdates with Caden’s friends in an effort to form relationships with the parents.  And most importantly, I'm finding peace in the simplicity of just being us — me, my husband, and our kids — finding joy in the quiet spaces of motherhood. This is our season.