Changing Seasons

There was a time early in motherhood when simply leaving the house felt like an achievement. I was new to parenting, and learning how to move through the world with my firstborn was disorienting and overwhelming. The planning, the timing, the quiet fear of getting it wrong all made even small outings feel heavy. It was also a season when I didn’t know anyone yet.

I remember one late afternoon, that stretch before dinner and bedtime, attempting to walk by a nearby harbor. As I placed my daughter in the stroller, I worked up the courage to ask a complete stranger, another mother with a stroller, if I could walk with her. It was a new place. Beautiful, but quiet. And I was scared. I remember thinking she would probably think I was strange for asking. But she didn’t.

That walk became a friendship. Not long after, other mothers joined us, and what began as a single brave moment slowly grew into a small circle. Some of us stayed home and some worked. Our days looked different, but our need for connection was the same.

For a few years, we spent a lot of time together, learning motherhood side by side.

We met at the local My Gym. We took Mommy and Me classes together. We met at nearby parks. It didn’t matter what season it was. Some days meant running through water sprinklers. Other days meant bundling up for playdates in the snow or rain and laughing as our kids jumped into muddy puddles, soaked and unapologetic. We played in each other’s backyards, celebrated birthdays, and filled long stretches of early motherhood with shared routines and familiar faces. In a season that could have felt isolating, those friendships made life feel safer and more possible.

They did not judge the days my house was a mess or the moments when I didn’t have the energy to host in any polished way. Some days they came simply to sit with me while I folded a mountain of laundry or washed dishes that never seemed to end. We talked. We shared our struggles and our wins. Sometimes the company mattered more than the conversation. A few friends who were in different life stages did the same, stopping by without expectation and offering their presence when that was all I had to give. They stood by me in the ordinary, unremarkable work of those years, and somehow that made it feel lighter.

What I remember most is how we encouraged one another to keep dreaming, even when it felt impractical or far away. We admired the strength it took to show up to work every day and the stamina it took to be on around the clock with young children. Over time, we learned that neither path was easier. Just different. Hard in different ways. Worth honoring all the same.

Life moved us in different directions eventually. Different schools. Different districts. Different seasons of parenting. The rhythms that once aligned slowly drifted apart. We no longer talk the way we once did, though we still check in from time to time. I miss some of them dearly.

It took me a while to understand that distance does not erase meaning. Some friendships are meant to carry you through a season, not a lifetime. They show up when you are learning how to stand, how to ask, how to trust. They teach you what companionship can look like, even if they are not the ones who remain beside you forever.

Some of the people who carried me through those early years are no longer beside me now, but they taught me how to recognize good company when I found it again.

I hold deep gratitude for that chapter of my life. For the courage it took to ask a stranger to walk with me. For the women I met in childbirth classes and early parenting groups. For the way those small, brave choices slowly became a village.

We do not always get to choose how long people stay. But we can honor the role they played while they were there. And sometimes, that is enough.