I’m on the lookout for mom friends. It seems like I’m not alone; many of us are combing through playgrounds and preschool drop-offs searching for fellow mothers who won’t judge our cluttered homes or our constant yoga pant attire. Ideally, our kids will be of similar ages—playdates that double as social outings!—and they should at least tolerate each other. I desire someone relaxed enough to chat about topics beyond the typical motherhood chatter—like diapers and baby food. Perhaps she’ll have a strong opinion on current events or share my nostalgic love for ’90s tunes.
But the thought terrifies me.
My struggles began in second grade when the cruelty of my peers was apparent. I was labeled ugly, and my name became a punchline. The other girls decided I was no longer welcome at their lunch table, forcing me to join the outcasts at Rainbow Elementary.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. I was tossed into the cornfield during recess, and they’d hide my jacket just for kicks. I remember crying to my mom, who bluntly told me, “You didn’t have friends last year, and you don’t have any now. It’s your fault.” I never cried to her about it again.
Middle school was a whole new level of torment. As the new kid at a Catholic school, the dynamics changed, but the harsh treatment continued. I was excluded from lunch tables and bullied for my shoes. I didn’t have a friend to tell me about shaving legs, so I was dubbed “Ape Girl.” My coat ended up on the floor, and threats of violence were common. I couldn’t wait to escape that environment.
In high school, the queen bees played a cruel trick, convincing me I was dating the most popular boy only to mock me for being unattractive and foolish. They set me up with a guy who was the school’s biggest loser and laughed when they pushed me into kissing him. Even raising my hand in class risked a sharp “Shut up, you’re ugly!” from some mean girl lurking nearby.
Unlike before, I did have friends—sort of. We had sleepovers and bonded over MTV, but those relationships were shaky at best. They were grounded more in shared interests than actual friendship. I never knew if I would have companions at lunch; those bonds were often short-lived, and I seldom keep in touch with them now.
Like many women, my history with female friendships is marred with bullying and meanness. If you’ve ever been the subject of a “slam book,” you think twice before reaching out to new girlfriends.
Yet, the need for mom friends is palpable. We yearn for someone to discuss baby gear and feeding strategies with, or we might just go stir-crazy without adult conversation. Human nature compels us to seek out other women.
But the past makes me wary. I constantly question: Does she dislike me? What did that look mean? I wonder about my established friendships too: Am I always the one initiating contact? Has it been too long since we last met? Am I being replaced by someone else?
The desire for mom friends often runs deeper than that. Many women have kids around the same age as mine and aren’t terrible people. However, many of these relationships mirror those from high school—friendships based solely on our children rather than genuine connections. I long for mom friends who can navigate conversations from diapers to politics to love lives. I want those who will watch my children when I’m unwell and might even lend a hand with household chores. I’ll gladly return the favor; it’s just a matter of finding and trusting them.
This quest is complicated by the presence of children. I want my kids to have friends too, and I worry that my social anxieties might make them the outcasts I once was. Moms who faced bullying themselves are especially sensitive about their children experiencing the same fate. We need to model strong friendships for our kids.
I’ve witnessed mom groups fall apart in a whirlwind of negativity. Online debates can turn ugly, and the fear of judgment looms large. I crave supportive mom friends. I’m ready to clean bathrooms in exchange for companionship. Despite my apprehension, I’m exploring playgrounds, moms’ groups, storytime events, and baby-wearing sessions. I’m working to leave my past behind and start anew with female friends.
I refuse to let the queen bees win this time.