You're Not Failing at Parenting. You're Parenting in a System That Wasn't Built to Support Families.

I was recently sitting in the waiting area during my kids’ dance class when one of the other kid’s grandmas turned to me and a couple of other parents and said,

"Excuse me, can I ask you guys something? I know there are a lot of great programs offered through the town rec department but it seems like they never fill up. I was wondering, if there was free childcare provided, do you think you would be interested in participating? Like taking a dance class with your husband on a Friday night, or another class with your friends. Because we’ve been talking a lot in some of my church volunteer groups and everyone is really focused on how we can volunteer to help older members of the community who may be isolated and need support. But it seems to me like nobody is really thinking about parents. And I live with my daughter and even then it seems like everybody has so much going on that even with my help it’s a lot. So without that, I just can’t imagine you have any time to take care of yourselves or do anything besides work and take care of your kids."

Every parent in the room thanked her for recognizing this and confirmed childcare was a huge challenge in our lives. She thanked us for the feedback and everyone moved on.

But I have to tell you, my mind kept going back to this conversation for days.

Because OMG.

Somebody saw us.

And as a parent—who is also in the business of supporting parents—it was apparently mind-blowing to feel seen.

To be seen as a human who is more than an object meant to support our child's development.

To be seen as having needs of our own.

To be seen as needing support from the community around us.

To be seen as neglected in the social narrative in ways that leave us depleted, devalued, and frankly, invisible.

And to be seen for all of that without having to stand up and demand it.

My mind just couldn't believe it.

How meaningful it felt to hear someone outside of the struggle say they see us, they understand us, they value us, and they want to do more for us.

Parenting is hard.

But parenting in a social structure where the work of parenting is largely invisible, where it carries very little social capital, and where the community fabric that once surrounded families has slowly unraveled leaves parents trying to do one of the most important jobs in society almost entirely on their own.

It makes everything harder than it needs to be.

And the worst part?

When parenting feels impossibly hard, so many parents conclude that they are the problem.

That they aren't organized enough.

Patient enough.

Grateful enough.

Disciplined enough.

That they need better routines, more resilience, a better planner, another parenting book, more self-care, or somehow just need to "get it together."

When in reality, it's the system we're parenting in that's broken.

In the United States, we've gradually normalized a model of parenting that asks parents to function as an entire village.

We're expected to earn enough to afford housing, childcare, healthcare, extracurricular activities, and college savings while often both parents work full-time. We're expected to coordinate schedules that resemble executive-level project management, regulate our children's emotions, nurture their development, volunteer at school, maintain our marriages, care for aging parents, stay physically healthy, cultivate friendships, and somehow still have energy left to discover ourselves as people.

Meanwhile, many families live far from extended family. Neighbors often don't know one another. Third spaces have disappeared. Paid parental leave is limited. Affordable childcare doesn’t exist. Flexible work is inconsistent. Even opportunities designed for families frequently require parents to shoulder more logistics rather than reducing them.

None of this is because parents today are weaker.

It's because we're asking individual families to carry a weight that entire communities once shared.

If you travel to many other parts of the world, you'll notice something different.

Families are visible.

Children are expected to exist in public spaces.

Grandparents, neighbors, local businesses, schools, and communities often play a more active role in everyday family life. Parents are more likely to experience moments where the environment itself says, "We've thought about you. You belong here. We expect children to be part of this community, and we expect parents to need support."

Of course, no country gets it perfectly right.

Every culture has tradeoffs.

But many societies build systems that communicate something parents in America rarely hear:

You shouldn't have to do this alone.

That message matters.

Because humans were never designed to raise children in isolation.

Our brains evolved in communities.

Children evolved expecting multiple caring adults.

Parents evolved expecting practical help, shared responsibility, emotional connection, and periods of rest.

Isolation isn't just emotionally painful.

It changes how we experience parenting itself.

When we don't have enough support, our nervous systems spend more time in survival mode. We become more reactive, more exhausted, less patient, less playful, and more likely to believe we're failing.

Not because we're bad parents.

Because we're depleted humans.

So what do we do?

Yes, we continue advocating for larger cultural changes—paid family leave, affordable childcare, family-friendly workplaces, stronger communities, and policies that recognize parenting as essential work.

But while we work toward those bigger shifts, there are smaller ways we can push back against a system that tells us we're supposed to do this alone.

Understand the context you're parenting in

One of the most healing things you can do is stop viewing every struggle as a personal flaw.

Context matters.

When you're overwhelmed, ask yourself:

"Is this because I'm failing? Or is this because I'm trying to accomplish an impossible amount with too little support?"

That question doesn't remove responsibility.

It removes unnecessary shame.

Build—and actually use—your village

Many of us know we need support.

Far fewer of us know how to receive it.

We worry about burdening people.

We feel guilty asking.

We assume everyone else is managing better than we are.

But villages aren't something we're lucky enough to find.

They're something we intentionally build.

Offer help.

Accept help.

Trade childcare.

Eat dinner together.

Ask another parent to pick up your child.

Invite someone over even if your house isn't perfect.

Connection grows through small, repeated acts of mutual dependence—not through everyone pretending they've got it all handled.

Release perfectionism

Perfectionism thrives in isolation.

When there aren't enough people sharing the work, parents often respond by trying to become more efficient, more productive, more optimized.

But no amount of optimization replaces community.

Your child does not need a perfect parent.

They need a regulated enough parent.

A connected parent.

A parent with enough emotional bandwidth to enjoy them sometimes.

Lowering impossible standards isn't giving up.

It's making room for what actually matters.

Use your words

One of the reasons parents feel invisible is because everyone assumes everyone else is doing fine.

So start saying the quiet parts out loud.

"I could really use some help."

"I'm overwhelmed."

"Would anyone want to trade babysitting?"

"I miss adult conversation."

"This season is really hard."

Vulnerability gives other people permission to stop pretending too.

And sometimes you'll discover that the people around you have been waiting for someone else to say it first.

That grandmother in the dance waiting room reminded me of something I didn't realize I had been craving.

Not advice.

Not another productivity hack.

Not another parenting strategy.

Just to be seen.

Maybe that's where rebuilding our villages begins.

By noticing one another.

By asking parents what they need.

By creating spaces where they don't have to earn support by reaching a breaking point first.

Because parents were never meant to carry all of this alone.

And perhaps the most radical thing we can do is stop acting like they should.

Until next time,

Allie