This is my third blog post on the Mom Archive. I have previously written about the beauty of adoption and the challenges we have faced. As we continue in our journey, there are a few topics I would like to share in the next few posts, diving deeper into my heart, vulnerable moments, and how community has helped me through them.

Motherhood has a way of making you realize just how much you need a community. There are seasons when support feels like a lifeline, and others when you become that support for someone else. Part of my community now includes a close friend who is an older mother and an artist who loves painting. Her home has become my safe space to paint and process grief. In those quiet moments with a paintbrush in hand, I have found healing, reflection, and the strength to move forward.

The Early Days: Finding My First Community

The need for community first hit me when I became a mom. That life-changing moment when I held my newborn in my arms also came with the overwhelming realization that my time was no longer my own. For the first time, a little person depended on me entirely for food, for sleep, for every need. My firstborn was particularly challenging, and I remember crying almost daily for the first six weeks. I also remember the guilt. Why am I crying? Shouldn’t I just be grateful?

Thankfully, in the midst of that exhaustion, a mother with a toddler reached out to me. She had walked this road before and invited me to a mom’s group on Tuesday mornings. That simple invitation changed everything. Stepping out of my home, away from isolation, and sitting in a room filled with other mothers who understood my struggles was the first step in finding my community as a mom. I remember feeling so much relief after those first few sessions, simply knowing I wasn’t alone. Even though I was sleep-deprived and emotional, just having other women to talk to helped ease the pressure. I wasn’t the only one finding motherhood challenging, and that brought me comfort.

The Changing Seasons of Motherhood

Community looks different in every season of motherhood. When my husband and I started the adoption process, the kind of support we needed changed. As I shared in a previous post, adoption has been one of the most beautiful parts of our journey. When we were matched with our son, John, our friends and family planned a baby shower within a week. I was also pregnant and battling morning sickness, but our community celebrated John’s homecoming with as much joy as they would any birth. Seven months later, when our third son, Joël, was born, we were again surrounded by love and support.

I vividly remember the days leading up to Joël’s birth. I was exhausted, parenting a toddler and a newborn at the same time, while also managing the whirlwind of emotions that comes with adoption. My community stepped in, bringing meals, offering to babysit, and just being present. These were acts of kindness I will never forget. It reminded me how essential it is to have people around who genuinely care and are willing to step in when things feel overwhelming. Our seasons change, and so do our needs for community.

Grieving in the Midst of Community

In September 2022, I experienced another shift in my motherhood journey when I miscarried our fourth baby. Having had two healthy pregnancies before, I shared our joyful news early, before the so-called safe 12-week mark. But at our first scan, there was no heartbeat. I held onto hope, believing it might be too soon. But at the next scan, my worst fears were confirmed.

Even in loss, our community held us. I don’t share this lightly because I know not every woman has the support she needs in grief. I’ve spoken to moms in different countries, in new cities, navigating fresh seasons alone. Some have admitted to feeling a pang of envy when they see pictures of friendships they don’t have. The truth is, community isn’t always guaranteed, and it can take time to build deep-rooted relationships.

I remember one particular evening after my miscarriage when a close friend showed up unannounced. She didn’t say much, she just sat with me. We cried together, and she held space for my grief. That moment taught me that sometimes, community is not about fixing the pain but simply being present. The love and care I received during that time reinforced how much we need each other, especially in the most painful moments of our lives.

A Home Where Community is Welcome

My husband and I have always desired a home where people feel welcome. But we have also seen how Western culture often isolates people behind picket fences, making hospitality feel like an afterthought. After visiting families in Zambia and other places during mission trips, we witnessed a different kind of hospitality, one where people give freely no matter how little they have. I will never forget the family in Zambia who gave us their main bedroom while they all slept on the floor. The best food was served, despite their minimal income. It challenged me to reconsider what true community could look like if we were willing to lower our comfort zones, break down our fences both literal and emotional, and open our doors.

I often wonder how many moms today are struggling under the weight of motherhood simply because our culture encourages isolation.

The Power of Vulnerability

One thing I have learned about mom circles is that while we crave connection, we often struggle with authenticity. I remember attending my first mom’s group, and everyone seemed so put together. It felt like an unspoken competition of who had it all figured out. But the moment I shared a raw, honest struggle, something changed. Other moms started sharing too. Vulnerability opened the door for connection.

If we want real community, we have to drop the facade, not just around our homes but around our hearts.

Choosing a Safe Community

While I firmly believe no mom is meant to do life alone, I have also learned that not every community is safe. My personality is naturally open. I don’t like pretending, and I struggle with spaces where people wear masks. But I have also had my fair share of hurt, whether feeling inadequate, rejected, or simply unable to be my full self. Many of us carry scars from past friendships, high school cliques, or rejection. That is why finding a safe community matters, a place where weaknesses are welcomed, where you don’t have to self-preserve, and where your insecurities are met with grace.

When we adopted our son, John, choosing a safe community became even more important. We needed people who saw all our children as equal. From the start, my husband and I set a firm boundary that none of our kids would be treated differently, not by friends, not by family. Surrounding ourselves with like-minded families, many of whom had adopted or fostered, became crucial for John’s well-being. If it takes a village to raise a child, then the village must be one that aligns with your values.

Conclusion

Building real community means having hard conversations, setting boundaries, and making intentional choices. It is not always easy, and there will be seasons of loneliness, but when you find the right people, it is one of the most valuable gifts in motherhood.

Motherhood is filled with highs and lows, and we were never meant to walk this road alone. Whether you are navigating sleepless nights, celebrating new life, or grieving loss, community has the power to carry you through. If you have found a group of women who support, uplift, and love you in your rawest moments, hold onto them. And if you have not yet found them, keep seeking. Community is worth it.