Why I Walked Away From a Mom Group

I should have sensed the judgment the minute I arrived at the first playdate with four kids in tow and another on the way. Instead, I was thrilled to finally find my “village” that I’d heard so much about — a group of moms who met a few times a month at nearby play spaces and coffee shops to commiserate and encourage each other.

I even brushed off the first comment I was met with, which, in hindsight, should have been a warning sign. “Wow, are they all yours?” It wasn’t the first or last time someone had a “witty” one-liner about my family size, which was completely on purpose and by choice, if they must know. My kids jumped into the playground with the others, and I settled in to find my new besties.

The thing about mom groups, though, is that they often aren’t obviously terrible. In fact, they check all the boxes — moms at similar ages, stages, and struggles, getting together for camaraderie and community. We all had similar jogger set mom uniforms and extra-strong lattes on hand, hidden in the pockets of diaper bags to make it past “no food or drink” signs at indoor parks (no? Just me?).

But they aren’t always necessarily a good fit. All the feelings from this almost-perfect mom group I was once a part of resurfaced when Ashley Tisdale wrote an essay in The Cut, talking openly about how her mom group turned toxic.

I’m a free-range parent

My first feelings that I was “different” came when two of the younger kids had a small collision at the bottom of a slide. They tripped, fussed a bit, and in my parenting world, were ready to get back up and carry on. I’m used to being around people with widely differing parenting styles, but not used to being judged for mine.

I felt like my free-range parenting was judged by other moms who were more helicopter parents. The mom of the other kid who collided picked the child up, brushed them up, and performed a full check-up. Meanwhile, my own child popped up, whined a little, and ran off.

Band-Aids and tissues were coming out to counteract tears, and a full-scale breakdown of the situation, complete with apologies and moment-by-moment recaps, had commenced. I enjoyed my coffee and didn’t give it much thought. I hadn’t noticed yet that my parenting style was a mismatch. To be clear, this is just my perception.

I needed a place to vent and feel safe

Slowly but surely, questions about my family size began to infiltrate conversations. I was used to one-liners from grannies at the grocery about having my hands full, but it felt like an onslaught.

It was the same thing with my career. After the group learned I was a working mom, running my own business full-time, I started to feel like an outsider. People spoke a lot about the negative sides of daycare, and the perks of being able to be a full-time mom, Their comments made it seem they weren’t interested in a different perspective, nor was there a question about why I work (because I want to) or about the immense benefits my kids have gotten through day care. I felt like there was an assumption that I was stuck in this terrible world of working motherhood against my will, with no way out.

Over time, I felt like the circus spectacle, and felt I had to have all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed on parenting topics, to show the naysayers that I was doing just fine with many kids, rather than finding a soft landing place to vent and share.

Parenting can be so isolating

I was lonely and desperate, so I clung to my mom group. The alternative was too scary. Nobody to hang out with on a boring Saturday or text when things get tough. It’s not just me — two-thirds of parents find the role isolating and lonely. But one day, I realized the abyss was better than the alternative.

This was the day they moved all the get-togethers to 10 a.m. on weekdays. They knew exactly where I’d be at 10 a.m. every weekday — working.

Although I haven’t found a similar style group, I realized that instead of looking for a whole village of besties, my village was already around me. It just didn’t look like 10 moms with lattes at play group. Instead, it involves the trainer who asks if my kid is over his third bout of strep, or my mom’s friend who texts me with some press-on nails she likes that would look good on me.

My real friends don’t demand we have precisely only 1.5 children, helicopter around our babies, or only wear pink on Wednesdays.