“We must end the dangerous conversation of breastfeeding as a ‘choice’ without a deeper discussion as to how Black women’s choices are shaped by their circumstances,” Kimberly Seals Allers, co-founder of Black Breastfeeding Week, told the Huffington Post in 2018. Its purpose is to “highlight the unique challenges and triumphs of Black breastfeeding that are often overlooked in the general conversation surrounding breastfeeding.”

While there are many ways to feed our babies — and none of them are wrong — Black women have the lowest breastfeeding initiation and duration rates, which can result in health issues, including Necrotizing Enterocolitis (NEC), a serious gastrointestinal problem that mostly affects premature babies and disproportionately affects Black infants. The best way to help prevent NEC is with mother’s milk. 

Black Breastfeeding Week also puts the spotlight on the role that breastfeeding plays in saving the lives of Black infants, so while it’s not the cure-all for this issue, it helps start and continue the conversation when Black celebrity moms share their own very personal experiences with breastfeeding. There will be challenges, yes, but we can get through the experience with the support of all of our sisters.

Whether it’s the biggest celebrity mom we can think of (Hey, Beyoncé!) or the everyday woman like you and me, breastfeeding can be complicated. Celebs like Keke Palmer, Michelle Obama, Serena Williams, Halle Berry, Regina King, and Alicia Keys have been vocal about their breastfeeding experiences, and we’re thankful for their honesty because it allows us all to see that no breastfeeding experience is perfect.

We’re thankful to every breastfeeding parent out there who shares their journey, as normalizing breastfeeding not only helps create bonds with our children but also with other parents sharing the journey. Here are some of our favorite quotes from famous Black moms who’ve shared their highs and lows while breastfeeding.

For more information about Black Breastfeeding Week, visit BlackBreastfeedingWeek.org.

We’ve been taught that growing up means putting your head down, working harder, staying later, and handling it all yourself. We’ve been taught that as parents, one of our primary responsibilities is to ensure that children grow up to be completely self-sufficient. We’ve heard it (and likely said it!) countless times: “Welcome to adulting! You’re on your own now.”

Not true.

I know because I’ve lived it. Before I was a CEO, growing my business and my family, I was a fresh graduate, just like your kids. In an uncertain world — where AI threatens jobs and the economy feels unstable — I’d like to share one truth that I hope will allow us to make our kids happier, more successful humans: The secret key to real independence is the ability to seek and accept help.

It’s hard for us as parents, and it’s definitely hard for kids on the precipice of adulthood. But “adulting” is not about getting good at doing everything alone. It’s not about suffering in silence or proving they need less than others to get by. Cheering them on as they walked across that graduation stage doesn’t have to be the last time they feel supported.

When I graduated, I thought I had it all figured out on my own. Until I didn’t. I was convinced I could handle everything myself, that asking for help was a weakness. Sound familiar?

Turns out, we aren’t alone. In a study conducted by the Harris Poll and my company, Duckbill, we’ve found that two-thirds of adults aged 18-54 admit they’re just trying to get through each day. Your coworkers, your kids’ teachers, their bus driver — most of them are barely keeping their heads above water.

Among young people, 67 percent say time has become a luxury they can’t afford. When they do find free time, 80 percent of them feel guilty, like there’s “always something they should be doing.”

The worst part? One in four young people believes their needs simply don’t matter as much as everyone else’s.

What’s happening here? Somewhere along the way, we confused independence with isolation. We mistook struggling alone for strength.

Real adulting means knowing yourself, recognizing what you need, and asking for help to get it. 

The best thing we can teach our kids is to learn to ask for help. Not because they’re weak, but because they’re smart. And when we teach kids how to ask for help, we give them tools that can help them look for help in the right places (meaning they won’t always turn back to you)! 

How to help your kid get started? Don’t overthink it. Start with one simple rule: Offload what they hate doing.

Really. That’s the rule.

That thing they always procrastinate? The task that gives them a pit in their stomach? That’s the starting point.

Is it finding a roommate? Figuring out orientation? Choosing classes? Booking a doctor’s appointment? Start there.

Encourage them to ask a friend to help meal prep. Show them how tech can surface job opportunities. Let AI help with scheduling appointments or organizing their calendar. (Though they may not feel like it, the jobs and studies are the fun part. It’s the soul-sucking, energy-draining life admin that you want to help them learn how to deal with… and ultimately outsource to someone other than you.)

The lie of toxic independence doesn’t have to be their reality, like it was ours. They can become more independent adults by embracing interdependence.

Model it. Encourage it. Show them it’s OK to need community, togetherness, and help!

This generation is entering a world that desperately needs their creativity, emotional intelligence, and compassion. But they can’t give those gifts if they’re drowning in the myth that they have to do everything alone.

So help them ask for help. Their needs matter. Their happiness matters. And the world needs them and YOU, at your best — not exhausted, not isolated, but supported, thriving, and independent.

Congratulations on sending off your Class of 2025. Now let them go forth — with help!

I took his brand-new shoes out of their box and located a clean pair of socks. I put clean undies and a folded towel on his bathroom counter, intending to remind him that, since puberty is knocking on the door, a daily shower is now a must.

I went to the kitchen, packed his lunchbox, double-checked that all his school supplies were in his backpack, and turned off the lights.

Then I went to my room and quietly shed just a few tears. You see, this morning I sent my oldest child to his last first day of elementary school, and I was just not ready.

It feels like I literally just took a photo of his toothless grin and captioned it, “First day of kindergarten!” Somehow, in the blink of an eye, that smiling baby has grown into a barely smirking, full-sized fifth grader with a head full of knowledge and feet bigger than mine.

How did that happen?

When we got in the car this morning, I asked him if he wanted me to walk him into school. I desperately wanted him to say yes, but he gently reminded me, “Mom, I’m big now. I don’t need you to help me find my classroom. I can do it by myself. And I can walk my brother in, too. I know where second graders go.”

And just like that, he hopped out of the car, gave me a grin and a wave, grabbed his brother’s hand, and headed into his elementary school for the last first day in this building we have come to know and love.

As I sat in the car line waiting for my turn to leave, I couldn’t help but feel very proud … and a tiny bit sad. Something about watching the littleness melt away brings about a sense of longing for the days when I could cradle his entire body in one of my arms instead of standing almost eye-to-eye for a hug.

He’s already been so many boys.

A tiny newborn whose very existence renewed my faith in whatever is out there and convinced me that there must be something bigger than us because there is no way I could create something so perfect without divine help.

A wobbly toddler with a handful of teeth and not one ounce of fear, running through the world with reckless abandon, giggling as he took it all in.

A little boy with missing teeth, a smattering of freckles, and the entirety of human knowledge regarding dinosaurs stored between his adorable little ears.

And now, he’s this. He is mostly little, but with a few glimpses of the teenager he will very soon become. His body is growing tall and strong, but I know when he offers to let his siblings sleep in his room during a big storm, it’s just as much for his sake as theirs.

The transformation makes me proud and melancholy all at once.

I only blinked.

This year is going to be so much fun for him. He’s the top banana in his current school. The fifth graders get to do things the “little kids” don’t, like read morning announcements over the intercom, raise the flag, and help younger kids find their way to new places. I can’t wait to hear about all of his experiences and adventures as a fifth grader. I know he has so much goodness ahead.

The next time I drop him off for the first day of school, he will be walking into a building as the littlest guy on campus. Sayonara, top banana. I sure hope he doesn’t get too attached to being the big man on campus.

I was prepared when I became a mom to celebrate all the firsts. I dreamed about the milestones. First birthday. First steps. First day of school. First time at Disney World. First school dance. First kiss. First, first, first.

Somehow, I forgot to prepare myself for the lasts. Last time nursing. Last diaper change. Last Christmas believing in Santa. Last first day as an elementary student.

Time just moves so quickly when you’re watching your child grow from a nervous kindergarten baby to a confident, strong kid preparing to move into middle school.

I realize these feelings might be seen as a touch dramatic. All the parents of high school seniors are rolling their eyes so hard at me right now, and I get it. I know I still have seven first days of school left before he graduates high school. In so many ways he is still just little, and I am grateful to have so much more time before he is grown.

But for some reason today the number seven feels so small. Seven. Only seven. And we’ve done six already.

This mix of excited anticipation for his bright future and wistful longing for the sweet days gone by is hard. When you love someone so much that you don’t want to miss a single moment, the passage of time can feel like an immense privilege … but also, a bit of a thief.

When you see Camilla Luddington on screen playing Jo Wilson on Grey’s Anatomy, you see a character that’s fierce, full of love and resilience, and brimming with compassion. But those characteristics don’t just live on screen; you can definitely describe Luddington as the same. While speaking with her, you know she’s all about the love, and all about making sure the children that she shares with husband Matthew Alan — daughter Hayden, born in April 2017, and son Lucas, born in Aug 2020 — are feeling it every day.

Along with being a proud mom of two, beloved actress, and podcast host, she’s also recently partnered with Get’Ems! to prep fellow parents for the back-to-school season. Back-to-school season is a beast, but certain snacks and certain hacks can make the chaotic time feel a little less wild.

“Get’Ems! are what I actually throw in my kids’ lunch boxes,” Luddington tells SheKnows, confessing that planning ahead isn’t her strong suit. “I think I’m one of those moms who dreads every single morning staring at a lunch box, not knowing what to put in it. I don’t do any of that, food prepping the night before.”

She added, “It’s chaos in my household in the morning. I am picky about what goes into a lunchbox, but my kids are even pickier about what they take out of the lunchbox. What I really love about this snack is I know that if I put Get’Ems! into their lunch, it’s gonna be eaten. They love it. For me, it feels like one less thing to overthink in the mornings.”

In fact, she also relies on this go-to snack for when she picks them up from school, saying, “They act like they’ve never seen food before. So I’ve been keeping them in my glove compartment. When they get in and I know they’re in a bad mood, I just toss one of those back there, and it’s a peaceful car ride home.”

Another routine she has for those chaotic mornings? Waking up even earlier than planned. “I wake my kids up way earlier than they probably should because I know there’s gonna be a lot of negotiating in the mornings. Like, ‘Do I really have to brush my teeth? Do I?’ It’s like, yes. You really do,” she laughed, saying, “Every single morning is the same.”

But one parenting tip she does all year round — not just with back-to-school season — is so quintessentially British.

“One of the things that I do that I don’t see any of my American mama friends doing: in England, it’s a huge cultural thing of making a cup of tea when you’re not feeling great. So when my daughter’s not feeling good, even though she’s 8, I go, ‘Okay, you know what? Let’s make a cup of tea. Do you need a cup of tea? Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea and talk about it,'” she said.

It’s a sweet tradition she’s passing down from her own childhood. “Even I have baby pictures of me bottle feeding with tea in my bottle. Like, that’s how crazy it is back home,” she laughs. “It was probably caffeinated, too, if I’m being honest.”

While tea and open communication can do the trick, the family of four has another trick up their sleeves to keep calm: a “really sweet” book entitled The Invisible String. “I actually have a tattoo; it’s these little hearts connected, and it talks about how even if you’re not with your loved one, there’s this invisible string connecting you,” she says. “This sounds really cheesy, but I pretend to pull on their string, and they’re like, ‘Oh!’ I’m like, ‘See, we’re still connected when you’re at school.’ So I highly recommend that book to anybody who has nervous kiddos returning to school or even starting school.”

Her daughter Hayden, who is entering third grade, “still gets really nervous every year,” Luddington reveals – and she can relate: “I get it, because even when I return to set every season on Grey’s, I get nervous too.”

Speaking of Grey’s Anatomy, Luddington may be nervous about going back, but she’s also just as excited when asked about how she brings her own personal health journey to the screen. Luddington has been refreshingly open about her mental and physical struggles, and how she channels that into Jo.

“I channel that through whatever I’m going through. I feel like I can channel that to whatever [Jo] is going through, if that makes sense. So, even though our struggles are not the same, although they have been the same,” she says. “There was a season when she had a one-year-old and she wasn’t sleeping at night, and I really had a one-year-old and I also wasn’t sleeping. And I’m like, ‘We don’t need makeup to make me look tired. Just as-is is fine.'”

Luddington handles life’s ups and downs with grace and a touch of humor, and her job on such an intense show like Grey’s is no different. She’s been a part of the show since 2012, and she has nothing but good things to say about the hit show she’s been a part of for so long.

“I think that our writers do a really good job of writing characters that are struggling with certain things, always in their lives, and it changes every single season. I think that complexity is why people tune in and can relate every week,” she reflects. “You can just blend both what you’re going through and what they’re going through and make for these really authentic storylines and performances. That’s what I love about the show because I’m reading it too, and I’m feeling it the same way. I’m connected to what different characters are going through, and I love that.”

But that’s not the only project she’s focused on — because who could forget her iconic podcast Call It What It Is? “We had this really crazy situation where Jessica Capshaw, who does the podcast with me, she’s a lead female on Nashville 9-1-1. It airs right before us. So I feel like we have the exclusive spoilers for both shows that we could discuss as we go through this season,” she teases. “So if you are a fan of either of those shows, we will be discussing it.” And we’ll be tuning in!

These celebrity parents are raising strong, resilient daughters.

From Brooke Shields and Alanis Morissette to Adele and Reese Witherspoon, there are plenty of brave and openhearted celebrity moms out there who prove that you can indeed have PPD or postpartum anxiety (PPA) and a) overcome it and b) still be a badass mom. These A-listers have revealed the harrowing experiences they had after giving birth in an effort to let other women know they’re not alone. Read on for their stories.

If you or a loved one are dealing with any form of postpartum emotional distress, please know that help is available. An excellent resource for information and support is Postpartum Support International. Call 1-800-944-4773 or visit postpartum.net for resources. 

A version of this story was originally published in January 2017.

Walking kids through the transition to a new classroom, teacher, grade level, ground of peers, and set of educational expectations is a lot. Emotionally and mentally, much of it falls on me. 

I’m texting fellow parents to see which kids will be in class with my own. I’m buying the school supplies and the new clothes and snacks. I’m reading communications from the school and teacher. I’m handling the paperwork and the forms and the apps. I’m making plans for packable lunches and snacks and washing the extra clothes I’ll stash in their backpacks. I’m handling the particulars of magic making, the special first day of school breakfast and outfits and photo opps. 

This load is mine and largely mine alone … but I’m going to say the thing we’re not supposed to say: I don’t mind carrying the majority of this load. In fact, I quite enjoy it. 

I love being a magic-maker for my family. Not just because my kids deserve to have their milestones celebrated in a big way, but because it feels good to be the one taking their exciting days and making them feel extra special. Yes, it’s work. But like so many parts of parenthood, it’s a labor of love, and one I love managing. 

It’s important to note the reason I don’t feel exhausted and overwhelmed and resentful about the fact that I carry this load almost single-handedly. It’s because I have a partner who recognizes the labor behind it, and who takes on other pieces of the mental and emotional load of parenting so it doesn’t all fall on me.

When we run out of paper towels or toilet paper or toothpaste or laundry detergent or dishwasher pods? That’s not my job. My husband handles that — it’s something I simply don’t have to think about, which frees up space in my brain for making every special day extra special. And let’s be real, “special days” occur every 20-ish business days when you’re raising young kids. By the time you’ve executed one, it’s practically time to start thinking about how you’ll pull off the next. 

Like so many moms, I find myself stuck somewhere in between noticing how damn heavy the expectations are on women … and also buying into the ridiculousness of it all. It’s important to me to challenge the societal norms that keep mothers overworked and exhausted, but it’s also important to me to do this work. And it all begs to the question: Where do we draw the line between playing into the pressure put on mothers … and finding the joy of sprinkling a little magic all over our children’s lives? 

When it comes to the mental and emotional load of parenting, we’ve swung from one extreme to another, it seems. For far too long, women were simply expected to be the default, the safety net, the invisible force behind the scenes. We needed to reconcile this — and in a major, public way. We needed to make the contributions taken on disproportionately by mothers visible. The status quo was so deeply rooted, no one ever stopped to think about what really goes into creating the moments and the magic and management of all the pieces. 

But in our attempt to do this, have we become too obsessed with dissecting and dividing every piece of the puzzle that is parenting? The truth is, it won’t ever be completely, 100 percent visible or equal. We can get caught up in splitting up every task, every detail, every system to make sure it all falls into two equal pieces to be taken on by each parent. For some parents, that’s what works best. 

But for me, I’ve learned, a different approach feels right. And this year, while piecing together all the details of back to school season, it occurred to me: I don’t need to make sure every responsibility of parenthood is split evenly in my home. It simply works better for us to approach it this way: Where I’ll take on certain duties single-handedly and my partner will own others. 

I believe in having and amplifying conversations about the labor of managing our kids’ education lives — it’s a lot of work. But it’s work I feel grateful to be doing, and it’s work I take pride in doing well. 

One of the hardest parts of parenting in the social media age is reconciling the public conversations and the expert advice and the narratives about how we “should” be doing it with what works best for our own families. And for my family, this is simply what works best. We play to our individual strengths as parents and we don’t get too caught up in making sure it’s perfectly equal, as long as the larger picture feels generally equitable.

While packing backpacks full of the supplies I’d spent weeks buying, I found myself reflecting on how it feels almost taboo or retrograde to just say it: I am happily handling this piece of the parenting puzzle, one of the many pieces that has historically fallen solely on mothers. And yes, it’s work, and it must be viewed as such. And yes, it’s a lot to manage. And yes, I hold myself to higher standards than is necessary. 

But multiple things can be true: I can acknowledge that the expectation that mothers do and manage and handle all the things is far too heavy … and also find the joy, fulfillment, and purpose in owning these expectations and holding the full emotional and mental weight of this particular load.

Our family will miss him. I will miss him. Even when he’s in his most sloppy, forgetful, self-centered teenager moments, George is a person I love to be with and makes our foursome complete. (Yes, I got a little teary putting that into words.)

But when my husband and I drive him a couple of hours away to his new campus home, a dorm-room double in an all-freshman hall, I won’t make his bed.

I recently made this statement to two other moms I know well, both who are delivering their own sons to college this fall. One replied wistfully, “I really want to make his bed for him.” The bed, it seemed, was central to showing him a last bit of mommy love.

“I feel like I should. At least I’ll know that it started out made,” the other said. Making a bed is not rocket science, I thought. Perhaps it’s time he learned.

Somehow this last “bedtime” tuck-in carried meaning for these moms in a way that baffled me. I silently scoffed at their neediness. The bed-making wasn’t going to help out their son. It was going to reinforce the hovering mother (or the privilege of a housekeeper) that had been in their lives for years.

And the bed-making would double down on the stereotype of what a mom needs to do for a son. Smooth the blanket, and tuck the corners in tight. See? Mom is essential. At least this one last time.

I easily get choked up at the thought that George will no longer live closely with us, be home to eat innumerable tacos on Tuesdays, or streak from his room to the laundry in search of clean shorts. But I’ve been trying to make myself dispensable for years. My boys both know how to make a bed and clean a bathroom. They go to the dentist and the doctor on their own. Danny, my 16-year-old, went backpacking solo in June (including driving himself 200 miles each way to the trailhead.)

I will also admit to my own moments of holding on too tightly. I’ve dutifully organized too many duffle bags for summer camp and filled too many lunch boxes. I’ve reminded about deadlines and been a backup alarm clock. I drove George to the SAT so he could save his brain power during the hour drive to the test center. And yes, I made Danny take a GPS emergency device on the solo backpacking trip. (He did forget bug spray, though.)

George couldn’t care less about his bed and the furnishings of his dorm. The dorm beds require twin XL size sheets, something we needed to pick up rather than swipe from the supply from our bunk bed days. I asked George to pick some out. Not white, George said. Navy or gray? Shrug.

I’m not sure he will even pack anything very personal, though he’s been a collector of many things over the years. (I’m told his bottle cap collection, arranged carefully with magnets on metal boards on his bedroom wall, will remain here for my enjoyment.) Another mom described to me the carefully curated collage of posters her daughter is bringing from Massachusetts to Michigan. The posters have just the right color combinations and say exactly what she wants to say about who she is and what she cares about without her having to say it.

George might not come up with the artistic idea to use wall art to introduce himself, but he’s far from shy. He’s a big talker. He loves improv theater, and meeting new people is a fun game for him. He’s ready to jump in and start doing what he wants to do: join the rock climbing team, try out for a singing group, and take a class called “How to Survive in Space”.

So how will I be helping George if I complete this expected ritual of bed-making? I won’t. He doesn’t want us to linger. He doesn’t want help in putting away his stuff. My guess is he will live like college is temporary, like summer camp, running from activity to class to gathering to meals, and barely organizing anything. At least through Halloween. He doesn’t plan to come home before winter break.

Meanwhile the message I want to send when I hug him goodbye can’t be said by carefully folding his top sheet.

Be open.

Care for others.

Find others that might keep an eye out for you, too.

Eat a salad. Better yet, eat a cooked vegetable here and there.

Put your phone away as often as possible.

Find other people who put their phones away as often as possible.

Ask questions.

Laugh your ass off.

At no other time will George have a more fertile place to be unsure, unfettered and with only the expectation that he engage.

Sing. Run. (George loves to do both.) Find people to sing and to run with.

Shoot your mom a text every few days.

In fact, send me a text after you make your bed that first night.

… Or a selfie. A selfie of you, tucking in your very own self.

SheKnows embarked on a search for the best breastfeeding photography, and the results did not disappoint. Some of the photographers we encountered specialize in birth photography or newborn portraits, and breastfeeding just comes with the territory. Others are wedding photographers who occasionally branch out. Still others go much deeper with their relationships to parents, combining doula services, lactation consulting, and birth photography, often culminating with breastfeeding portraits as an end result of all their other work.

“Most of what we do in the days and weeks after birth are checking in on families and seeing how breastfeeding is going,” Jess Thomas of Pittsburgh Born Photography tells SheKnows. “Being a birth photographer and doula is an all-encompassing service.”

It’s not always easy or comfortable for the parent of a newborn or a toddler to sit for a photoshoot, so there’s more than one skill involved in taking these pictures.

“For moms who have not utilized my support services [as a doula and lactation consultant], we typically spend the beginning of the session getting to know each other and chatting about their motherhood journey so far, their experiences, their challenges, and their dreams and goals,” Jaimie Laki of Little Bear Photography in New Jersey tells us. “By the time their baby is feeling fussy, they’re usually happy for me to document them doing what they do best: soothing their baby. I am a strong advocate for responsive and instinctive parenting, which is another reason documentary photography is so special — we’re rarely aiming for the ‘picture perfect’ moments.”

“Instead, we’re embracing the real,” she continues. “In doing that, I’m able to capture genuine emotions, connections, and relationships.”

As with any other form of photography, there’s a variety of styles of breastfeeding photography. They might be posed against a beautiful backdrop, looking like the angelic subjects of a 19th century painting. Or they could go for a more documentary style.

“I like to think my images are powerful works of art, and when the mothers look back at their shoot, they can FEEL the moment,” Trina Cary, a photographer based in British Columbia, says. “I don’t focus on perfection or ask moms to wear outfits to hide their postpartum body. I encourage moms to get photos done right away before their bump goes away, before they are fit and ‘photo ready,’ because I think it is important to remember all the stages of your pregnancy and love and give gratitude to your body and the beauty that it is. For me, rawness and vulnerability are what makes art.”

While the parents in these photos are eager to capture this too-fleeting moment in time with their children, there are still those in the world who object to breastfeeding photography.

“I do think the more popular these kinds of images have become to share, the more I see people learning how to be supportive or keep their opinions to themselves,” Zaki says. “Of course, there is still much work to do in making these images normalized, and there is always someone who is still offended. But they are becoming the minority.”

A version of this article was published in 2021.

That’s one reason why Michele has partnered with Lysol for its HERE for Healthy Schools initiative, a program started in 2019 that promotes healthy habits at home and in classrooms. (The campaign, by the way, takes a hilarious swipe at that ridiculous rumor — you know the one — by having her read a book about “SOMO — Sick of Missing Out” — during story time in a classroom. Chef’s kiss.) With son Ever starting school in September, she wants to make sure he doesn’t miss out on any special moments throughout the year, she explains, while also adding that she’s genuinely a “huge fan” of the brand. “Even on the day I found out that I would be partnering up with Lysol, I had these disinfecting wipes in my purse at that very moment, and I took a picture to show everyone,” she says.

SheKnows chatted with Michele about the partnership, the preschool-to-K transition, how she and husband Zandy Reich, who got married in 2019, came up with their kids’ names, and which co-star she’d trust to babysit. Watch the video for the full SheKnows Parents Tell All interview!

Girls can be mean. While none of us needed to watch the movie Mean Girls, most of us did. It was a glorious affirmation that high school hierarchy is as real as it is vicious. But one character (sadly for us middle-aged fans) is underdeveloped: Regina’s mom, played by the brilliant Amy Poehler. She was desperate to be the cool mom by being her daughter’s friend, and a friend to her daughter’s friends. But what about HER friends? Did she hang out with Cady’s and Karen’s and Gretchen’s moms? 

I did, in fact, hang out with and talk to the moms of my daughter’s friends on a regular basis. I genuinely enjoyed their company, and the sweet, innocent bond the girls formed through school, sports, and summers at the beach. 

As if on cue, stuff got rocky at the start of 9th grade. If you’re a parent, I don’t need to explain to you the gut-wrenching emotions and psychological roller coaster that ensues when your child is hurt and confused and angry (and probably, on some level, participating in the drama; no child is perfect). 

What I did not expect was for this turmoil to directly impact how I felt about these girls’ parents. I was mad. Friend-group splinters are normal and a teen rite of passage. Our children must learn to navigate these challenges. But at some point, when it becomes so overwhelming for their growing teen brains, I felt as friends we could talk about how to help them. Not how to solve it for them; how to help them. I was wrong.  

I was close (I thought closer) with one of the moms in this group of 14 or so. But as the lunch table divisions, Snapchat ghosting, and bickering raged on, she pretty much disappeared. There was one phone call to discuss an incident in which my daughter was accused of being wrong, but after that, nothing. About a month into this mess, I sent a passive text to the effect of, “I know these girls will find their way back to each other. If there’s anything we can do to help, let me know.” 

The response was a thumbs-up emoji. Really? Wasn’t she feeling the same sadness I was? Wasn’t she concerned about how her daughter was acting? About how both girls were feeling? Had we ever really been friends, or was it a relationship by proxy? Granted, she had been through this before with her other daughters, so perhaps it affected her less. Or maybe she was just tired by her third go-round. But I was a novice. Could you throw me a lifeline? Give me some advice? Nothing. I was ghosted, too. 

Everything felt out of control. I became resentful, and interactions became awkward as the behavior between the girls intensified, and it became apparent that the toxicity of this splinter had permanently poisoned the friendships. Theirs and ours. 

I made my displeasure with the situation obvious, posting memes or advice for the situation on social media, hoping maybe someone would comment, “Hey you! I get it!” 

I was not an adult about it. I did not, in fact, follow the ground rules I set for my daughter: “Head high. Don’t let them have power over you. Stop trying to figure out the ‘why.’ Stay respectful. Confront any issues head-on.” I was too emotional and had an unhealthy investment in a fantasy that these girls would be friends forever. A fantasy that they would be an anomaly, rising above the drama that “everyone else” experienced. A fantasy that their feelings would be spared — and so would mine. But that would mean my daughter, and all those girls, would not grow. And you must suffer growing pains in order to complete emotional growth. 

The social tsunami that was freshman year whittled down to some annoying storms, then to some rough currents, and eventually it all felt very far away and very insignificant. I was the one who was left with baggage I packed all for myself. I’d like to think I helped guide my kid through it, which doesn’t make me special; it just makes me a mom. But maybe, just maybe, if I had the help of moms who had gone through this, I would have been able to navigate these challenges with more patience, empathy, and maturity. 

Another part of me is unsure of that, though. She is, after all, my child. My entire world. Maybe as mothers we are strong enough to handle the storms that circle us and forgive bad behavior when directed at us, but when your kid is absorbing the daggers it’s like the good decision-making parts of our brain suffer from atrophy. 

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to have a conversation with one of the moms and apologized for the way I handled it all. She graciously understood and said she could relate to some of the wretched feelings towards teenage girls and their parents. 

I do miss these friendships, because I enjoyed the conversations about our daughters. But friendships need to have pillars that are made of more than just having kids who are BFFs. Maybe this one person never felt that our friendship was any deeper, and she was relieved when it was apparent that the common threads had been severed. 

I had been warned. Girls’ friend groups change. But as I learned, in the end they all grow from the turmoil — and their moms do, too.