From my experience, Mom Friends are terrible

By Ashley Alt

I’m going to admit something that may make the super mommies gasp in disbelief. I don’t like mom friends. More pointedly, I despise them. There is a stark difference between Actual Friends and Mom Friends, and it’s taken me five years to solve the bewilderment of a woman’s social life after she becomes Mom.

I have tried to connect with other women based on the (terribly vague) common factor that we are both moms, and it doesn’t work out. I’ve signed up for Mommy & Me classes where moms treated their babies like human shields, protecting themselves from having to interact with the other (equally terrified) mothers. I’ve joined mom fitness and church groups in the hopes of attaching to like-minded souls who appreciate leisurely brunches and brisk weekend walks.

I’ve even started book clubs with local moms, naively assuming we would spend our monthly wine and cheese meetups actually talking about the book. Instead, it turned out to be little more than four consecutive hours of one mom venting to the others about her son’s negligent teacher and another mom asking if she should model her nursery after the latest Pottery Barn ad or adopt more of a DIY boho style.

The truth is, I don’t care for these types of conversations. Other than sheer annoyance, I get nothing out of them. I don’t care how someone sleep-trained their toddler, and I have no interest in dissecting the pros and cons of Montessori schools. What I do care about is connecting with a real, true friend, woman to woman, on anything but mothering.

A few years back, Jennifer Garner touted two friendship rules to the relationship experts of Well + Good that makes sense as to why Mom Friends might not be for some people. Rule number one, have a sense of humor. Rule number two, lose the guilt.

“There is nothing more important, other than your kids — no man, no relationship, no anything — than your girlfriends,” Garner said. “You find your tribe; you take care of them, you treat them with the love and respect they deserve, insist on the same back for yourself.”

Well said, Jen.

As mothers, we parent all day, every day. No matter if we’re hunched over a desk for eight hours or robotically fulfilling domestic duties from dawn to dusk, we are always in mom mode. I’m simply looking for a reprieve from the onslaught of momming. Not because I dislike being a mom, but because mental vacations from parenting are not and should not be viewed as a luxury. In my experience, those sublime getaways are most productively spent with girlfriends, if even over a 30-minute conversation on an uncomfortable park bench in frigid temps.

My Aha! Moment

So what gives? Am I looking in all the wrong places? Is my standard of friendship too high? Do other women feel like this? Am I too cynical? Is it me?

I’ve concluded that it is me because Mom Friends aren’t at all what I’m looking for. I’m just looking for friends. The Monica to my Rachel, the Miranda to my Carrie, the Blair to my Serena.

In her book, “Women Are Scary: The Totally Awkward Adventure of Finding Mom Friends,” author Melanie Dale says, “Young mothers are shriveling up into crusty dried raisins of despair. Most of us are frazzled and lonely, isolated in our minivans, schlepping bags, strollers, and munchkins to and fro across town. Whether you became a mom accidentally or on purpose, you’re here now, and sooner or later, we’re going to meet at a park or soccer game or ballet class. And it might get awkward.”

Maybe the quest for Mom Friends stems from insecurity. Women are protective (and dare I say, jealous) by nature, so when we smack the mommy label on our foreheads, it only makes sense that mothering is yet another category for women to cast judgement upon.

Another suggestion: Maybe I’ve hit my good friend quota in life. After all, the friends I do have, while scattered across California, Chicago, Ohio, and New York, are the absolute best friends anyone could ask for. Maybe I should be focusing on nurturing those relationships instead of forcing new ones to fit a mold I’m not even sure suits me in the first place.

But I live in Connecticut. I can’t call my Chicago girlfriends to meet me for a drink tomorrow night. I can’t make Saturday dinner plans with my Cleveland confidant. It’s the harsh reality of growing up. We are forced to make nice with the school moms we have nothing in common with while pursuing new, local, Actual Friends.

Maybe my admittance to my failed attempts at mom friend-making will give someone the courage to, once and for all, cancel their weekly Mommy Walk group that they secretly can’t stand hoisting their Lululemon leggings up for.

Oh, and Miranda, if you’re reading this, please give me a call.

Ashley Alt is a freelance writer based in Connecticut. Her interest area lies in mental health, as she continues to advocate for those struggling with mental illness. She believes our weirdness is what makes us great.

You can sign up for her happiness newsletter here.