Working moms have it tough. Our social life is often at the bottom of our priorities. How can one minimize the loneliness of motherhood?
Responding late to texts is merely the tip of the iceberg
Does a good conversation lead to friendship?
When I was 7, I went to Zellers* with my mom to pick up some new sandals. Muzak was playing as we sauntered into the store. As a kid, I always loved going on short trips with my mom, away from my sisters, getting the undivided attention that I craved as the youngest.
*Sigh…I have so many childhood memories at that classic Canadian retailer
We get to the shoe section. My mom gives me a choice between two pairs on sale: one had pink elastic straps with plastic daisies and the other were medium brown Mexican huaraches. I decided to go with the ‘kiddish’ looking pair.
As we head towards the cashier, my mom tells me she wants to see if bedding sets were on sale. I don’t complain as this would extend our mother-daughter trip. We get to the aisle and there is another Asian lady around my mom’s age who had a similar idea. We wait until she’s finished and my mom starts to look at the same set. The lady asks my mom in Cantonese,
“抵唔抵呀?” (Cantonese)
“Is this a good deal?”
They start to converse about the bedding, the material, the price, other stores they’ve been to, who they’re buying it for, how many kids they have, the schools they went to, which neighbourhood they lived in etc. There were several nods, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ and a few chuckles.
This was the early 90’s and the area we lived in at the time was predominately Caucasian. My mom’s English skills are limited so it was rare to see her strike up a conversation with a stranger.
They exchange a couple of more pleasantries and I see the lady write something on a piece of paper and gives it my mom. My mom smiles and graciously takes the paper and puts it into her jean pocket. They wave to each other and we walk to the cashier to pay for my shoes. (I guess the bedding wasn’t a good deal.)
When we get home, I ask my mom what the lady wrote on the piece of paper. She tells me it’s the name of the store that sells better quality and cheaper bedding sets.
I thought it was her phone number considering how well they were getting along. I ask my mom why she didn’t exchange numbers instead so they could be friends because that’s what I would have done. And my mom responds,
“I’m not interested in making friends. I wanted to know what store she was talking about.”
I question,
“But don’t you want friends, mom? Like grown-up ones?”
She gives me a weak smile and shakes her head,
“I’m too busy with work and you three little monkeys.”
At that moment, I remember feeling sorry for my mom, that she didn’t have people her age to talk to except my dad and a couple of her coworkers. I told myself that I wouldn’t be like that when I had kids, that I would have friends and want friends, that I would have asked for that lady’s number and developed that budding connection into a friendship.
Then, I shrug and wander off to show my older sisters my new sandals. And the next thing I remember is regretting my decision of not choosing the more stylish pair that they would have chosen.
I didn’t think about this memory until I became a mom
When I had my daughter over 4 years ago, many memories like this one started to resurface. I didn’t know what kind of mom I wanted to be and the most relevant references were those of my childhood and my own mother.
As a new mom, I vowed to be different than her, to take the thoughts I had as a 7-year-old and to put them into action. The tables have turned and I will not be friendless, uninterested in making social connections, solely focused on my kids.
I’m the first of my friends to have kids
Through my adulthood, my core group of girlfriends were the ones I confided in during break-ups, moments of vulnerability, work drama, family stress etc. We have a no gossip policy, only compassion and empathy, trusting each other with our secrets, that judgment is left at the door along with our egos.
Then the day came and I become a mom; our support for one another continued; however, I was at home, on maternity leave while they were busy at their day jobs. My husband would leave in the morning and I was left at home, not alone but feeling lonely while staring at my daughter’s cherub-like face.
The community nurse came to do my postpartum check-up and she handed me an entire folder filled with resources including pamphlets, factsheets, upcoming events, parent groups, all the potential information needed to cure the loneliness of motherhood.
Mom groups are great but…
So the minute I was healed enough to drive, I went to a local mom group. I was pumped, excited, eager to meet other new moms. We sat in a circle on a fluffy, comfortable rug laid out for us. Some women breastfed; some had bottles. Babies were crawling, toddling, drooling, tucked in strollers or wrapped up in tiny cocoons, strapped to their mothers like an appendage. It was a safe space.
The topic was about postpartum recovery including pelvic floor and deep abdominal exercises. The speaker was a physiotherapist and after she finished, most mothers started packing up to leave. This was my chance to make some friends.
I see another Asian mom with a son slightly older than my daughter and I approach her. I don’t remember what we talked about but the next thing she mentioned was that the cinemas do a “moms and babies” program on Tuesday afternoons. She asks for my number and sends me a text of the link to the program. I’m hyped. I text back, asking if she’d seen the movies they’re showing, hoping she might want to go with me.
I get ghosted. I’m a bit hurt and disappointed but I don’t give up hope. I try again the following week. This time, I meet a different mom and we exchange numbers.
We start texting, venting, expressing our frustrations about breastfeeding, how we’re taking it out on our husbands, the lack of sleep we were getting, late-night chats about how our babies were doing. We occasionally meet up at the library for storytime. We chat about our lives, where we grew up, how motherhood was treating us. At the same time, my daughter became more animated, developing physically, learning to sit, crawl, stand then walk. She was getting to the fun age but my leave was coming to an end.
Working moms have no time to stop
I go back to work and the playdates dwindle down, texting tapers and the chats become infrequent. I’m in the full-blown working mom mode where the guilt rips me apart, trying to make time for myself, my job, my husband and my barely a year-old daughter. Trying to prioritize is a lose-lose battle because one of those things will always suffer; I didn’t want to let anything slide.
My days were beyond full; in addition to the 9–5, there were the drop-offs and pick-ups, crawling in traffic stress, preparing dinners the night before, scrambling to get to early morning meetings, ducking out early during afternoon meetings. Working moms are overwhelmed, especially those with young children.
I was lonely. There was a deep void that couldn’t be filled because I didn’t have the capacity to fill it. My stress levels were overflowing but I felt empty, longing for social connection. The days kept going, switching from work to home, home to work, replacing hats the mere second I stepped into the office or the house.
Being an introvert has its advantages (and disadvantages)
I’m an introvert so being a mom who has limited (or shall I say minimal to none?) time to socialize has its benefits. Not being able to spend much time with friends was probably a smoother adjustment for me than for an extroverted mom. I don’t require frequent contact with other adults to recharge. I’m perfectly content with being alone for an extended period of time (like after the kids go to bed), escaping reality through reading a good article, watching a Netflix series or writing a few blurbs in this blog.
However, being an introvert doesn’t mean I don’t desire human connections. I thrive on deep and authentic conversations, sharing our thoughts and feelings, emotionally validating our struggles and small victories with one another.
And as much as my husband tries to understand the complexities of a woman’s struggle through motherhood, it’s impossible for him to fully empathize with me. I needed a sense of belonging, a fellow mom to share with me,
“You got this. You’ll get through it.”
“I totally get what you’re talking about. We went through the same thing last week with our little one.”
“You’re doing an amazing job, mama.”
“Yeah, it is hard. Holy shit, it’s really hard.”
I put effort into the things I care about
If I’m trying to meet-up with a mom friend without the kids, it’s a headache for both of us to figure out a time where our partners, a babysitter or family member can watch the kids while we go out. With a husband who sometimes works evenings and weekends, it takes effort to find a time that works perfectly.
Plus, to be brutally honest, as an introvert, I’d often prefer to spend that time alone by recharging with a “me day”, destressing with a massage, getting pampered with a facial or finally get around to the hair salon to cover up those greys. And those things don’t require me to coordinate with someone else’s busy schedule. I can quickly do this on my phone while I’m waiting for my leftovers to head up in the microwave, instead of having to hear back whether she landed a babysitter. Then it’s a quick text to the hubby, telling him he’s with the kids on this day at this time.
Lastly, there is the guilt of wanting to be with my kids during my precious time at home since I’ve been working most of the week.
Sometimes, the effort doesn’t seem worth it.
I felt like a zombie at playdates and meet-ups
To have a physical conversation with another mom, it requires planning, thinking ahead, navigating two very busy schedules, assuming the kids don’t get sick or throw a tantrum right before, packing and managing logistics, and of course, the anxiety of making it on time.
There were a few times when I managed to schedule in a playdate on the weekend with one of my mom friends.
Half my brain would be focused on ensuring my daughter didn’t punch her kid, wander off somewhere, knock over something or put a random thing in her mouth.
I couldn’t be fully present with the other mom, desperately trying (but failing) to give her my undivided attention. And although it’s nice to catch up, I would feel disappointed in myself for not engaging enough, that I wasn’t able to have that real and raw conversation, going deep after the surface-level social pleasantries. I’d almost feel more depleted after the playdate than before.
And the sad irony of it is that the other mom would often feel the same way. She was doing the same thing, trying to make sure her son didn’t punch my kid, wander off somewhere, knock over something or put a random thing in his mouth. We were both physically present with one another during this scheduled moment but we were mentally and emotionally distracted, each in our bubbles of social isolation. But fortunately, we’d carry on our friendship, virtually.
An online sense of community
Some may say since the advent of the Internet, it has made us feel more lonely, more depressed, and have more anxiety than the generation that grew up without it. Specifically, it’s that constant scrolling through social media and getting access to people’s lives who seem to “have it together” that make our lives feel inadequate. And this has been especially true with teenage girls.
However, an 8-year longitudinal study showed that there was no relationship between an increased use of social media with an increased mental health issues such as depression or anxiety.
From my experience, I only started to up my social media game when I became a mom. It could have been a combination of becoming a blogger and seeking a sense of belonging but it allowed me to feel normal about things that didn’t seem normal, from saggy belly skin, breastfeeding struggles to real and raw articles about the resentment we hold against our husbands.
As a Millennial, I grew up in the meme culture, finding things I thought were weird, funny or oddly gratifying and realizing I wasn’t the only one. I’d like to think it drives our generation’s sense of humour. To me, connecting with moms from all parts of the world, either directly or indirectly has made the inevitable loneliness of motherhood more tolerable.
We’ve all seen those social media posts where a mom shares a screenshot of her text conversation with another mom. It goes something like,
“Hey, we need to meet up soon.”
“Yeah, totally! We should figure out a time.”
A year later…
“Omg, let’s get the kids together.”
“Yes! We haven’t seen each other in so long.”
Another year later…
“Saw your pictures. Can’t believe your son’s 2 already”
“I know! And you’re expecting your 2nd? Crazy!”
And they didn’t meet up until…
It’s only temporary until the kids get older
With both my kids under 5, I’ve come to an acceptance that I won’t be able to live up to the expectations of my 7-year-old self. That is until my kids are older and don’t need me as much.
When I can just pick up and go will be the day when I can do more hanging out, enjoying happy hour with the girls, going on a hike with the kids and my friends’ kids, trying out the new bubble tea place that opened up, getting brunch and taking my time to enjoy the coffee refills, going on a day trip to the island etc.
Accepting this reality allows me to go all-in with my kids, enjoying my time with them, living in the moment, being present while they are still young. There are days when I get a mild case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), watching a group of 20 something-year-old women, dressed to the nines, walk into a restaurant together; however, I remind myself of the joys I do experience like having my daughter hug me at the end of the day, repetitively saying,
“I like you, mom. I really like you. I only like you. I love you so much, mom.”
The time will come when they’ll be hooked on their phones or sleeping over at their best friend’s house and I will get to go out again. I am certain this will happen because my mom’s an example of this.
Seeing my mom reconnect with her friends is very reassuring and uplifting
The other day, my mom tells me she went for lunch with an old friend, catching up on good times, updating one another about what’s been going on with their kids, how much they love being grandmas and how retirement life was treating them. I wanted to know how they reconnected and she said,
“She called the home phone and asked to go for lunch. We added each other on WhatsApp now.”
And then I started asking her who she has on WhatsApp and she shows me. I thought I would only see the Chan Family Group Chat which consists of me, my sisters and my dad; however, my mom is part of multiple chat groups.
There was one with the girlfriends she made when she first immigrated to Winnipeg in the 1970s and another that had all the folks from her Hong Kong cadet days. And there were some in Chinese that I couldn’t read.
There were mornings when I’d drop my daughter off and she’d be sitting on the piano bench in the living room, scrolling through her chats, giggling at funny videos that her groups shared; then she’d look up and show me her phone and I’d watch a monkey playing tricks on other monkeys. She’d say,
“Isn’t this silly? I can’t believe how sneaky monkeys are.”
Reconnecting with ‘old friends’ will be easier
Contrary to my mom’s generation, I have a little device that allows me to stay connected:
I have an ability to text at any time like during a bout of frustration after having yelled at my kids or in the wee hours when I barely had 2 hours of sleep (instead of talking on the phone that could potentially wake up the baby napping on your shoulder).
And I know if I don’t get a text back immediately, I don’t take offence. There’s a mutual understanding that a read receipt means they hear me, feel me and get me even if she doesn’t respond to me. She’s not ignoring me or forgetting me. She’s juggling 100 other things just like I am.
I can send pictures and videos of my kids so my friends can see how they are growing. And on the flip side, I can receive pictures and videos of my friends’ kids so I can see how they’re growing.
And I’m confident that although I may not physically see my friends as often as I did before kids, the connection is there, continuously growing and maintaining in the digital world; we’re all just patiently waiting to have a little more time and space to reconnect in the physical world.
When/if the time comes and I meet a mom in the bedding aisle and we seem to hit it off…
Will I ask for her number?
Sure, if I remember to.
But if not, I’ll find and add her on social media.
So Readers, how do you deal with the loneliness of motherhood? Has social media been a useful or toxic tool for you?
