I see the photos—spa days, girls' nights, wine clubs, vacations—and I feel that sting. That quiet ache of wanting to be included... but not quite knowing how to get there.
It’s complicated, being a single mom. Especially when you're not like the other moms you see day to day.
I’m introverted. The mall, crowds, loud birthday parties—they drain me. I often feel like I’m hovering on the edges of the mom world: present, polite, but somehow just on the outside, looking in.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not lonely because I’m lacking. I’ve built a life I’m proud of. I graduated magna cum laude in a challenging field. I have a six-figure job in data analytics. I own my own home. I drive a nice car. I make responsible-ish decisions. I manage everything solo—work, bills, school pickup, extracurriculars. I’m raising a deeply complex, hilarious, gifted little boy with ADHD and a personality that keeps me on my toes.
I’m successful alone because I had to be.
And still, I want to be seen.
I want to bond with other moms. I want someone to smile and say, “Hi Megan! How are you?” and mean it. I want to be invited into the circle—even if I might not always say yes. It’s not that I think they’re purposely excluding me. Most don’t know me well enough to think of me.
And that’s the hardest part.
I try. I push myself to say hi. To ask how they are. To chat at pickup. But I never know how much of myself to give. I’m a deep thinker, and I either overshare (whoops) or keep it way too surface-level and fizzle out. Small talk is not my strong suit. Sometimes I wonder if I come off aloof or standoffish. I’m often in my own head—thinking about work stuff, parenting stuff, life, add in the fact I can’t hear out of one ear, and I spiral. Did she say hi? Does she think I ignored her? Does she think I’m rude now? Maybe they look at me and see "other." And the kicker, I know I look younger than I am so I worry they think I’m the clueless young mom. But the reality is I’m approaching 40 and I’ve gone through a big-girl divorce — I had that life at one point.
But then… sometimes, it happens.
A mom will say, “Hey, do you want to walk with us this morning?” Or stop to chat with me about our kiddos. Or plan playdates (excuse me, “hangouts”). I can’t always go—work calls—but I can’t even tell you how seen that makes me feel. Like I’m not invisible. Like I belong, even just a little. Even more than that – sometimes it feels like a triumph. “See? You belong!” It’s those moments that remind me why I keep trying.
I have deep friendships—but they’re far away. We text. We FaceTime. But I miss the day-to-day “want to grab coffee?” type of closeness.
So when I see moms around me forming tight-knit groups, I feel a weird mix of emotions: longing, sadness, self-doubt. I want to be included—but I’m exhausted from carrying it all, and unsure where to even begin.
This is the quiet loneliness of single motherhood.
Not because we’re not strong—but because we’re human.
If this sounds like you, let’s stop hovering on the edges, let’s say hi. Let’s build the village you miss.