Where the Hell Is the Village?
I spend a lot of time with mothers.
And no matter how many kids they have, where they work, or what sort of resources they have, I hear the same thing.
They feel alone.
For a living, I run digital talk groups for mothers. We talk about everything from mom guilt and burnout to dreams and intimacy.
In addition to what I do for work, I facilitate an in-person community moms group through Meetup and am in a ridiculous number of Facebook groups (26!).
I say all of this to stress that I spend a lot of my time listening to mothers.
And, after hundreds of hours of listening, this is what’s painfully clear:
Moms are tired. Moms are overwhelmed. And more than anything, moms feel completely isolated. Disconnected in their homes, their marriages, and in motherhood.
Many of them are left wondering, “Where the hell is the village I was promised?”
And this loneliness in motherhood bears a huge weight on their mental health. A recent study published in “The Journal of the American Medical Association” found that, in a study of nearly 200,000 mothers, less than 26 percent reported excellent mental health in 2023.
PBS NewsHour: Overwhelmed and stressed mothers open up about declining mental health
Unfortunately, there isn’t an easy fix here. There is no single culprit we can point to and say, “Adjust this and we’re good.”
It’s layered. Cultural. Historical. Structural.
But if we’re going to ask where the hell the village went, we need to take a look at how we got here.
We Didn’t Lose the Village; It Was Replaced.
There’s this idea that once upon a time, women had villages, and now we don’t. That’s not entirely wrong, but it’s not the full story.
In the U.S., childcare moved from something you shared to something you paid for. Support that once came from extended family and community now often shows up as paid services. Michel, Sonya. Children’s Interests/Mothers’ Rights: The Shaping of America’s Child Care Policy. Yale University Press, 1999.
After World War II, the country embraced this idea of the nuclear family.
Housing policies, the rise of suburbia, and messaging to Americans all reinforced that ideal.
In addition, before WWII, only about 13% of Americans lived in suburbs. Now it’s the majority.
Oxford Academic chapter
That shift changed more than just where we live. It changed how we rely on each other.
More space. More privacy. Less built-in support.
Families also got smaller. Fewer children meant fewer older siblings who could step up and help. So with all of these factors, care had to evolve because the supports that were once guaranteed were now fragmented.
In some ways, what we have now is better. We have care for our children from licensed professionals, thoughtful programming, and more exposure to different cultures. For families with kids who have disabilities(like me) or are on the spectrum, there are forms of support that simply didn’t exist before.
But that care now lives in systems we need to both be able to navigate, often with waitlists that span years, and to afford steep tuitions that can be more than double a rent or mortgage. And if you can’t? Well, you’re on your own.
What WWII Changed
During World War II, women entered the workforce in large numbers, rising from 26% in 1940 to 36% by 1945.
National Archives: Women in World War II
They stepped into new roles, working in factories and running farms, all while maintaining their domestic tasks. In many ways, they held the country together. And with that came something monumental: autonomy, income, and independence.
For many, it was not something they wanted to let go of.
But when the war ended, the country did not reshape itself around what women had just proven they could do. It reorganized around containment.
National Archives: Women in World War II
This shift showed up everywhere, in advertisements, policy, and housing design. The message was clear: go back home.And many women did. But luckily for us, that model did not hold.
Over the following decades, women re-entered the workforce in large numbers, not as a temporary adjustment, but as a permanent one. By 1999, about 60% of women were participating in the labor force.
Bureau of Labor Statistics: Women in the Labor Force
And today, women make up nearly half of it. The problem is that the expectations placed on women were not redistributed; they were stacked on top of what already existed.
We are still living in that model today.
And it is crushing us.
So Now We Have This
Women are working. Managing the home. Carrying the schedules. Tending to the household’s emotional temperature.
Sociologist Arlie Hochschild calls this model of women holding both ecosystems up the “second shift.”
The Second Shift by Arlie Hochschild
This shows up in real data. Mothers spend roughly twice as much time as fathers do on caregiving and housework.
GEPI: The Free-Time Gender Gap
And I hear it from the moms I work with all the time:
“I feel like I carry everything.”
“I never get a minute to myself.”
Most mothers I know can’t even use the toilet alone.
Our entire system is built on the backs of burnt-out mothers.
We Expanded Women’s Roles. Not Men’s.
Another important layer here is feminism. And let me be clear: this progress matters. Women can vote, have bank accounts, build careers, and get divorced; these are massive shifts in autonomy and safety.
But there’s a gap.
Women were encouraged to expand into historically male spaces: work, independence, and financial power. But men were not equally encouraged to step into women’s spaces. And we’re socializing that imbalance today.
I saw it just the other month at a funeral. A little girl was playing with a stereotypical “boys” toy, and no one blinked. But when my son picked up a doll, she looked at him and said, “Those are for girls.”
Girls can expand. Boys are contained.
And if we don’t interrupt that now, the cycle will continue.
What I see consistently is mothers holding everything, at once.
Climb the corporate ladder while maintaining the home. Keep schedules organized while managing emotions. Orchestrate playdates and birthday parties. Lose the baby weight and don’t forget to smile.
All while battling PPD and carrying the quiet fear that they’re getting it all wrong.
Mothers are constantly adjusting and re-adjusting what they are juggling. And if something drops, it doesn’t fall quietly. It shatters.
And when it does, we don’t question the system. We blame the mother.
We Moved Away From Each Other
We don’t live where we were born anymore. We move for jobs, for opportunity, for relationships, for a better life.
And now we can. The invention and expansion of air travel changed what was possible, and what used to be a life built within a few miles of where you were born became something fluid.
National Air and Space Museum: The Jet Age
Opportunities exploded, but the distance from our built-in supports did too. We left behind the people who knew us before we were “mom”.
And the way we live now makes connections less automatic.
More space. More separation. You don’t just run into people anymore or leave the doors unlocked.
And even when we do live near people, we don’t share the same built-in trust, core memories, or even values because we weren’t raised together.
Community stopped being something you’re born into and became something you have to build. From scratch.
While you’re already exhausted and haven’t folded your laundry in weeks.
When Self-Sufficiency Costs Us Connection
We live in a culture that favors independence.
“Pick yourself up by your bootstraps.” “Take care of your own.” These aren’t just sayings. They’re our cultural bones.
Researchers have a term for societies like ours: WEIRD. Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic. In these societies, we value individualism over collective responsibility.
WEIRD People PDF
We are taught, from the get-go, to solve our own problems. We’ve even built language to shame people when they do. “She’s looking for a handout.” “He’s a leech.” “She’s needy.”
Dependence has gotten a bad rap, and self-sufficiency is framed as the gold standard, even when it costs us everything. I’ve met people who chose homelessness over asking for help and people who went into debt instead of calling a parent.
We push people away, even when interdependency is what we need.
Boundaries are the new buzzword. And please, don’t get me wrong, they matter. They protect us and give us safety and self-respect.
But most people who ask for help aren’t trying to take from us. They’re pointing us back to something essential.
The ability to seek support is as vital as food or water. One study found that people with stronger social relationships have a 50% higher likelihood of survival than those with weaker connections.
National Library of Medicine article
And yet, we’re not always taught how to stay connected while having boundaries. How to lean on people without losing ourselves. How to need people without feeling like a burden.
Part of our hyperindependence comes from fear of each other. And some of that comes from real harm and broken trust from institutions and people meant to protect us. But some of it is fear that’s been exacerbated. Even though crime has declined since the 1990s, many Americans still believe it has increased.
Pew Research Center: Most Americans say crime is a problem in the U.S.
Some of this caution protects us, but it also pulls us away from people who want to support us.
And when you combine that with everything we’ve covered, mobility, privatized care, and stacked responsibilities, you get a culture where needing people starts to feel unnatural, even though community is our birthright.
The Truth That Might Sting A Little
It’s important to acknowledge that this nostalgia for the “village” can obscure the restrictions and discrimination of those earlier structures. Those communities often came with controlled autonomy and rigid gender roles, and they excluded people based on race and class.
We also have to acknowledge that some aspects of our current circumstances are better.
Autonomy, safety, boundaries, and the ability to raise our children differently from how our parents did are hard-earned wins.
So we don’t want to go backward, because those earlier systems were deeply flawed.
But we also can’t pretend this current model is working, because the status quo is leaving us broke, overly tired, and doing way more than we can handle.
Alone.
So What Do We Do With This?
There isn’t one clear answer. If there were, we would have fixed this already.
But I do know this:
Community doesn’t just appear. It’s built.
And in a system that has made connections less automatic, building it takes more intention than it used to.
More risk. More vulnerability. More effort.
Which is not an easy ask when you’re already depleted.
Let People In (Even When It’s Uncomfortable)
We’ve been taught that needing help means we’ve failed. That if we were doing it right, we’d be able to handle it all. But that’s not strength, that’s isolation.
And more than that, we’ve missed something important:
Letting people help you doesn’t just help you; it helps them, too.
It gives others a chance to feel connected and needed. Studies have shown that providing support to others can improve mental health and even increase longevity.
PubMed article
We are hard-wired to care for each other.
The challenge is to receive it.
Make Time (Even When You Don’t Have It)
The truth is, relationships don’t survive on good intentions. Developing a friendship requires time, repeated interaction, and mutual experience. When we don’t make time, connections wither.
So yes, even when you’re tired. Even when it’s inconvenient, that’s actually when it matters the most.
Put Yourself Out There (Even If It’s Awkward)
Community isn’t found, it’s built.
And building it requires something we don’t talk about enough:
Rejection tolerance.
You might show up and have no one to talk to. You might text and be left on read without ever hearing back. You might try again and again before something sticks.
That doesn’t mean it won’t, but it will take time.
Environment Matters
Where and how we live shape our access to connection more than we like to admit.
U.S. Surgeon General Advisory on Social Connection
Do you walk past neighbors or drive past them? Do your kids play outside together or stay inside? Is your space open or fenced in? All of that matters.
Connection isn’t just about intention. It’s about opportunity.
I see this in small, everyday ways. Recently, I was juggling both kids, my baby and my three-year-old, as I was trying to haul a Little Tikes slide up my driveway. Instead of pushing through it alone, I called my neighbor over. She came over and helped; it took her maybe a few moments of her day, but for me, it actually meant avoiding an injury or feeling helpless. And that is not something I could have done if I lived far out in a rural area, not because people there aren’t generous, but because distance changes what’s possible.
After Hurricane Helene, I saw this on a much bigger scale.
In some areas of the Appalachians, people were so difficult to reach that supplies had to be brought in by mules carrying water and other essentials. Distance and terrain made access incredibly hard.
Asheville Citizen Times: Helene, Appalachia, and mules
At the same time, in my more densely clustered neighborhood, people stepped up for each other. When the power went out, neighbors who had barely spoken were suddenly sharing resources and checking on each other's well-being.
So much of what we think is a people problem is actually an environment problem.
When we are close, we show up more easily. When we are spread out, busy, and disconnected, even the best intentions struggle to turn into action.
I want to be clear, I am not affluent. We chose to live where we do because it’s affordable, so I recognize that not everyone is privileged enough to choose where they live. But if you do have some control over how close you are to other people, it’s worth paying attention to.
Because community doesn’t just come from who you are.
It comes from where you are.
Pick Up the Phone
This one is simple. And hard.
We are waiting for connection to happen to us while holding the tools to create it.
Stop doom scrolling and invite someone for a walk, coffee, or just to scream into the void.
Sometimes the village starts with one person, picking up the phone.
Maybe the Village Isn’t Gone
Maybe it’s just not automatic anymore. And maybe it doesn’t look like it used to, with a memaw and a papaw, but instead shows up in an honorary Auntie.
Maybe now it takes more effort. More rejection. More vetting. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible, and it doesn’t mean we are worse off for it.
It just means we are being asked to build it differently.
And maybe that gives us a really beautiful opportunity to do something that’s never been done before.
What Building a Village Looks Like Now
Sometimes it’s brick by brick, in micro-actions.
Smile or wave at a neighbor.
Hold the door open for someone at drop-off.
Say yes when someone offers help, even if it feels a little awkward.
Small actions do matter, and they create openings for something bigger over time.
Here are some of the ways I’ve built community in my own life:
Totem
I’ve gotten to bear witness to people who have shared in digital spaces, bringing meaningful relationships off-platform. Strangers who become people invested in each other's lives.
Digital isn’t going anywhere, at least not anytime soon. The goal isn’t to reject it, but like Totem, to use it well. We can use technology to build the world we want; we just need to harness that power for good.
Totem Spaces
RSVP yes, and actually go
Meetups, community events, random things you find online. Some will be awkward. Some won’t stick. But sometimes you will strike gold. You don’t know unless you go.
Host something
Don’t wait until your house is cleaned before people come over. It doesn’t have to be fancy. In fact, it’s better if it’s not.
Toddlers running around. Goldfish smashed on the floor. Welcome the chaos. The sort of people you want in your corner aren’t looking for perfect, they’re looking for real.
Say yes to the playdates (when you can)
I’ve found that parenting alongside other moms is easier than doing it alone 100 percent of the time.
But also (and here comes a contradiction, I know), be gentle with yourself. Some days you just won’t have it in you to bear the sight of another human being. That’s okay. You get to decide what is right for you, always.
Give back
This isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about reciprocity. A meal train signup. A few dishes after someone has cooked for you. Listening with full attention.
Don’t do anything beyond your capacity. That will actually harm everyone in the long run.
But small, consistent gestures over time will build something that will be there for you when you need it most.
This Isn’t the Whole Story
There are so many more layers to why we feel isolated than what’s been covered. Economics. COVID. Systems stacked against us.
And the truth is, some mothers are carrying more than exhaustion. Some are navigating barriers tied to race, disability, immigration status, sexuality, and poverty. Things that can make building community feel impossible.
This is not a one-size-fits-all problem, and neither will the solution.
But here’s what is also true:
We have access to things our ancestors didn’t. We’re more mobile and have more ways to find people who actually get us.
Perhaps, if we learn to use the resources that we have well, we will build something even better than what came before.
A community that is more intentional, safer, inclusive, and supportive. Something that holds both connection and autonomy.
Something that works for all of us.
So Maybe the Village Isn’t Gone After All
Maybe it just looks different now.
And maybe the work isn’t finding it.
Maybe the work is building it.
Together.