They Say It Takes a Village. I Have a Group Text.

The mystery of the elusive village and the reality of modern motherhood.

It takes a village.

You’ve heard the phrase. I’ve heard the phrase. We all believe in it.

Raising kids is hard. Motherhood is lonely, messy, confusing, overwhelming.

Yes — it’s beautiful and life-affirming, full of belly laughs and bursts of gratitude.

But you knew that.

And we’re here to talk about the two, three, and four a.m. wakeups that leave you running on fumes because your baby is sick, colicky, or just having an “off” night.

The piles of laundry stacking up in every corner.

The sticky mystery spot near the highchair you keep scrubbing that somehow keeps reappearing.

The dishes in the sink.

The meal prep you haven’t planned for.

(Is adulting exclusively about thinking about, preparing, making, and cleaning up the next meal... forever?)

The ache for community. The mental gymnastics it takes to build one when you’re states, hours, or flights away from family.

Or maybe you live down the street from your parents or sister or in-laws...

But the relationship is complicated.

And they’re just not as involved as you hoped. Or wished. Or dreamed.

Growing up — and especially since becoming a mom — my grandmother has always told me stories of raising babies with a village: cousins, aunts, and neighbors always nearby, ready to help in a pinch.

And she wasn’t alone.

In early-to-mid 20th century America, particularly from the 1930s to 1950s, extended families often lived close together. Multigenerational households were common. In 1940, 25% of Americans lived in them, according to Pew Research. But that number dropped sharply post-WWII as suburbs boomed and the nuclear family became the new ideal. Add in the rise of dual-income households in the 1970s and beyond, and the result? A lot more isolation for modern parents.

Sound familiar?

Today, just 15% of U.S. adults live in multigenerational homes.

And a 2023 Motherly "State of Motherhood" survey found that 70% of moms feel unsupported, and 62% say they don’t live near family who can help with child-rearing.

It’s no wonder so many of us long for the village our grandmothers had — or some version of it that doesn’t involve Venmoing $150 to a teenage babysitter for a rare date night.

From where I sit, I’m incredibly grateful to have two sets of grandparents who love and support our kids — visiting often, helping when they can.

But the truth? They live almost three hours away.

So no regular date nights.

No dropping the kids at grandma’s for a quick afternoon breather.

No pop-in visits for coffee and a spare pair of helping hands.

I ache for that version of community my grandma describes.

And sure — maybe I’m romanticizing it.

Maybe I’m stitching together a highlight reel based on her rose-colored stories, pop culture, my imagination, and my own longing for that “yesteryear” village.

So for now, I build what I can.

Small pockets of community in my own corner of the world —

Chance playground encounters or mommy-and-me class friendships that, slowly, beautifully, evolve into true lifelines.

A group text with my closest friends — moms, now scattered across the country.

A plane ride away. A long drive. A listening ear.

A place where I can send a 2 a.m. text and know I’ll get empathy, not judgment.

A sounding board. A sisterhood.

We joke about pooling money to buy land, build homes side by side, live like characters in the sticky sweet Netflix show “Sweet Magnolias” based on a Sherryl Woods novel.

Barefoot and braless, babies on hips, cold coffee in hand, snack to share.

The kind of friend who says, “Go lie down, I’ve got the kids.”

The kind who brings over dinner just because your week was trash, and you don’t need one more thing to do.

The kind who keeps no score — just shows up.

Right now, I live in the in-between.

Of planned visits, of in-laws coming to stay for three days, of driving up or down to see family.

And let me be crystal clear: my extended family is deeply, beautifully helpful.

My parents and my in-laws are extremely loving, supportive, and present.

The kind of helpful where they wake up with the baby at 3:30 a.m. so I can sleep.

The kind who clean up the kitchen after dinner, so when I finally come downstairs post-bedtime, I can melt onto the couch in silence, wine in hand.

But they’re not around the corner.

And I know I’m not the only one living in that in-between.

Trying to piece together a version of that elusive village — one kind, helpful soul at a time.

We’re all out here.

Living, momming, building families, brick by brick.

Creating chosen family. Finding our tribe.

It’s lonely sometimes. But we can do hard things.

And if no one’s told you this lately: you’re not alone.