The Individualist’s Dilemma: Reclaiming the Village
I remember the mantras we were raised on. "Follow your dreams." "You can be anything." "Never settle." These words shaped my life, and honestly, there’s so much good in that. I’ve pursued a career, sought out adventures, and explored my own identity in ways my mother and grandmothers often couldn't. I value that freedom deeply.
But then... motherhood hit. And suddenly, it wasn’t just about me anymore.
The Generational Shift
When I look back at my grandmother’s generation, I see a completely different framework. For them, "it takes a village" wasn't a Pinterest quote; it was a literal description of their Tuesday afternoons. Extended families lived on the same street, and child-rearing was a shared, communal rhythm between aunts, neighbors, and grandmothers.
By the time my mother’s generation arrived in the 70s and 80s, the shift toward the workplace began to pull at those geographic ties, but the community connections remained relatively intact.
Then came our generation. I was raised on a steady diet of empowerment messaging and unprecedented mobility. I was taught that fulfillment comes primarily through personal achievement. My focus—and the focus of my peers—shifted dramatically from community values to individual aspirations.
A Disconnect of Biology and Society
I want to be clear: the gains we’ve made in autonomy and career opportunities are tremendous progress. I would never suggest we go back to limited options or prescribed roles. The ability to define my own path has been liberating.
However, from an evolutionary perspective, I’ve realized we’ve hit a snag. For hundreds of thousands of years, child-rearing was never meant to be a solo endeavor. Humans evolved as communal creatures; we are biologically wired for "alloparenting"—sharing the load of raising the next generation.
My biology hasn’t caught up with my social reality. I am still wired for community support during these intense years, yet I live in a society that isolates mothers in individual homes, expecting us to handle the weight of the world with minimal assistance. I’ve found that so much of the "overwhelm" of motherhood isn't a personal failure—it’s the result of doing something humans were never meant to do alone.
The Identity Earthquake
Nothing prepared me for how motherhood would reshape my identity. After decades of "me time" and personal goals, I suddenly had this tiny human whose needs trumped everything.
The shift from "my life is mine" to "my life revolves around someone else" is jarring. I don’t think previous generations were immune to this feeling, but they weren’t raised with the same intense expectations of individual fulfillment that I was. My grandmothers expected sacrifice as a natural part of the season.
While I don't want to return to a life of limited choices, I think there is deep wisdom in recognizing that certain seasons of life naturally require putting others first—a concept our individualistic culture rarely celebrates, but one I’ve come to see as a form of quiet royalty.
Sitting in the Tension
The truth is, I don’t have the perfect answer for how to bridge this gap. I haven't quite figured out how to rebuild the village while maintaining the independence I spent my whole life cultivating. Most days, the pendulum still swings too far—leaving me feeling isolated in my carefully curated, independent life.
I am still in the middle of the "Great Disconnect," trying to figure out how to be a "self" while being a "mother" in a world that makes it feel like an either/or choice.
If motherhood feels harder than you expected, please know you aren't failing. You are navigating terrain that looks vastly different from what came before. We are the generation tasked with figuring out how to hold onto the hard-won freedom of our mothers while reclaiming the community support of our grandmothers. It is a heavy, awkward, and often lonely transition.
