And why “showing up” looks a lot simpler than you’re making it
There’s a phrase that keeps circulating in solo mom spaces, parenting groups, and honestly most corners of the internet where people talk about how hard modern life is:
“Everyone wants a village, but no one wants to be a villager.”
I’ve been sitting with that one for a while now. And the more I think about it — the more I see it play out in real time — the more I think it’s one of the most honest things anyone has said about why so many of us feel isolated even in an era where connection has never been more technically accessible.
So let’s talk about it. Both sides of it.
What “the Village” Actually Means
The village is shorthand for community. Real community. The kind where someone brings you dinner when you’re sick without being asked, where your kid can go to the neighbor’s house without a scheduled playdate, where you’re not white-knuckling through every hard moment alone.
For solo moms — and specifically for single moms by choice — the village conversation comes up constantly. We chose this path knowing support structures aren’t guaranteed. We knew going in that we were likely doing the majority of this without a partner. What we sometimes didn’t anticipate is how loud the gap would feel when the village doesn’t materialize.
And a lot of the conversation in these spaces sounds like this:
“I don’t have family nearby.” “My friends don’t get it.” “I just don’t have anyone.”
I want to say something that might be a little uncomfortable: at some point, some of that is a choice. Not always — truly isolated circumstances are real and valid. But “I don’t have anyone nearby” is sometimes less about geography and more about whether we’ve done the sometimes-awkward work of being the person who reaches out first.
Making deep friendships as an adult is genuinely hard. The research backs this up — sociologists have found that adult friendships require proximity, repeated unplanned interaction, and a setting where people feel safe enough to drop their guard, conditions that don’t come naturally to modern life. But inviting someone you already like to join you at the park you’re already going to? That’s not hard. That’s a text message.
The village doesn’t show up pre-built. It gets built by people who are willing to be villagers first.
Being a Villager Is Not a Grand Gesture
Here’s where I think the concept gets distorted. When people imagine “showing up” for someone, they picture the big stuff. Meals during a crisis. Airport pickups at 11pm. Watching someone’s kids for a full weekend.
Those things matter. But they’re not the foundation. The foundation is smaller than that.
A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine moved into a new place. I offered to help her unpack. I showed up ready to work — I was genuinely prepared to empty every box in that house. But what actually happened was that I sat down on the floor with her and talked for three hours while she unpacked.
I didn’t unpack a single box.
And it was one of the most useful things I’ve ever done.
Enter: Body Doubling
That experience gave a name to something I’d been doing instinctively for years without realizing it had a term. A few weeks later, two completely unrelated people in my life both used the phrase body doubling in conversation, and something clicked.
Body doubling is a productivity strategy in which another person works alongside you as you complete a task you might otherwise find challenging. The term was coined in 1996 by ADHD coach Linda Anderson, and it’s become one of the most talked-about strategies in the neurodivergent community — though research suggests the effect isn’t limited to people with ADHD at all.
Here’s the key distinction: body doubling is not collaboration. It’s not accountability coaching. It’s parallel presence — two people doing their own things in shared space. The “body double” doesn’t have to be doing the same task. They don’t have to be checking your progress. They just have to be there.
Why does it work? According to researchers and clinicians, a few things are happening:
Regulated nervous system. Dr. Stephen Porges’ polyvagal theory suggests that the calm presence of another person can shift us from a state of anxiety or shutdown into a state of focused engagement. For people whose brains struggle with task initiation, that shift is the whole ballgame.
External executive function. As ADHD therapist Billy Roberts describes it, having another person present during a less desirable task can increase the enjoyment surrounding it — similar to putting on a great playlist while doing dishes. The task doesn’t change, but the felt experience of doing it does.
Soft accountability. You don’t need someone watching over your shoulder. Just the awareness that someone else is present and engaged creates enough low-level motivation to keep most people on track.
The research base is still developing — most of the evidence is anecdotal — but the lived experience is consistent enough that it’s worth taking seriously. And honestly? Most of us have been doing this our whole lives without a name for it. Studying at a coffee shop. Working from a coworking space. Calling a friend while you clean your kitchen. That’s body doubling.
The afternoon I spent sitting on my friend’s floor wasn’t about the boxes. It was about her nervous system having enough support to get through what would otherwise have felt overwhelming alone.
Connecting the Dots
So here’s what I keep coming back to.
The village isn’t built through grand acts of service. It’s built through repeated, low-stakes presence. It’s built by being the person who shows up — not because the timing is perfect or because you have something brilliant to offer, but because you’re there and that matters more than you realize.
I am genuinely lucky. I have family I can call in a pinch, and I have friends who have become family. But I don’t think that’s purely luck. My love language is quality time, and whether I named it that or not for most of my life, it shaped how I show up for people. I sit with them. I go to the boring stuff. I’m there for the move, the medical appointment, the slow Tuesday.
Something worth naming here: not everyone is wired the way I am. I’m an extrovert, and showing up comes fairly naturally to me. But some of my closest friends are textbook introverts. They don’t initiate the way I do, they need more recovery time after social interaction, and they’re not going to be the ones blowing up the group chat. And yet they are some of the most reliably present people in my life when it matters. Being a villager doesn’t mean being loud about it. It means being consistent. Personality type is not an excuse for never showing up — it’s just information about what showing up might look like for you specifically.
That’s not extraordinary. That’s just being a villager.
For solo moms especially: I know the desire to have a village can feel urgent and heavy and sometimes desperate. But I’d challenge you to flip the question. Instead of asking “why don’t I have a village?”, start asking “what kind of villager am I being?”
Offer the coffee date. Go to the park together instead of solo. Sit on your friend’s floor while she unpacks. You don’t have to fix anything. You just have to show up.
That’s how villages get built.
A Few Practical Starting Points
If you’re in a solo mom season and the isolation is real, here are some genuinely low-lift entry points:
Propose parallel plans. You’re already going to the park, the farmer’s market, Target. Text another mom and ask if she wants to come. Not “let’s plan something” — that never happens. “I’m heading to Wash Park Sunday at 10 with the kids. Want to join?”
Use body doubling intentionally. If you have a task you keep avoiding, invite a friend over — not to help, just to be there. Tell them what you’re doing. Put on a podcast. The presence alone will probably be enough to get you moving.
Be the one who reaches out first. Every time. Most people are waiting for someone else to go first. Be the someone else.
If you’re an introvert and the idea of initiating feels paralyzing, start with text. You don’t have to call. You don’t have to show up unannounced. A simple “I’ve been thinking about you, want to grab coffee this week?” is a complete act of village-building. You’re not committing to becoming a social butterfly — you’re committing to one small move. Do that consistently with a few people and watch what grows.
Lower the bar for “quality time.” It doesn’t have to be dinner reservations. A walk. A Trader Joe’s run. An hour on someone’s couch. Presence is the point.
The village you want exists. It’s just waiting for someone to start building it.
That someone might as well be you.
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