social moms

I reflect on the subtle choreography of elementary school pick-up, the clusters, the hugs, the unspoken lines, and the quiet choice to stop performing belonging.

Social Moms is about social codes, energy, motherhood, and what happens when you decide not to squeeze yourself into rooms that don’t quite fit.

Quiet confidence, a soft sure heart and learning to find your way in a new crowd of peers.

hosted by Kathy Patalsky

healthyhappylife.com

IG: KathyPatalsky + notes.kathy

Transcript

SOCIAL MOMS

"A warm little circle of chatter and giggles. Play dates, snacks. The kind of energy you crave when you're alone in your house, picking up dirty laundry, wanting noise, proof that you exist somewhere beyond your kitchen.  "

Welcome to Notes with Kathy Patalsky.

Social Moms.

I stood there in the sterile hallway, waiting to see my daughter's face light up when I picked her up from school. Around me. Mom started to gather.

 I always seem to notice the wardrobe first.

 Casual sweats, work attire, trendy jeans. How are we all feeling today? A mental vibe. Check. Are we wearing yesterday's sweatpants or did we put jewelry over our sweatshirt Today? The vibe is chill. It usually is,

But I do notice how it's a little more intentional than I remember from preschool. Not as messy as those early days of motherhood, when it truly didn't matter if you rolled out of your house in pajama pants, because everybody gets it.

 But wardrobe isn't the only thing I seem to notice at these pickups.

 Last year, preschool, I would roll up to school and there would already be a cluster of moms.

I could easily plop myself inside of. A warm little circle of chatter and giggles and hum. Play dates, snacks. The kind of energy you crave when you're alone in your house, picking up dirty laundry, wanting noise, wanting warmth, wanting proof that you exist somewhere beyond your kitchen.

And that cozy little pod of moms that I knew from that school. I had that I really had it. Then city life kicked in and kindergarten shows its face. And everyone scatters like dandelion seeds in the wind. It's what happens in a big city. Different schools, different routes, different rhythms, pulling people in opposite directions.

It was a big transition and we're still going through it midway through the year. The transition was harder on me than it was for her. She's doing just fine. She runs to school every day.

She's never once said she doesn't want to go. Which is basically everything. So here I am now, standing somewhere near the bottom of the social rung, alongside a few other new moms. But somehow they always seem better than me at slipping inside boxes that look shiny and smart and just inviting enough.

Somehow everybody seems to connect a little easier than me.

So I just stand there waiting for my kid. I say, hi, it's warm.

It's not as bad as my head is probably making it every time I overthink these interactions. But then you see it.  It's subtle. It's an insider language they already have. It happens weekly now. The same choreography, the same quick embraces the same invisible lines.

I feel like it's a social performance happening in real time. And somehow I'm not in the show. I'm just standing on the sidelines watching. Something sinks a hollow inside my chest. It's some remembrance from high school or college or some adolescent social circle that I didn't fit into.

And even though I'm 45 years old, I feel like I've failed at fitting in with the cool kids. I want those connections too. But then again, I also don't. I'm also tired.

So I brace myself. I stand tight, quiet in my own little space.

Then I see it, my daughter's face, lights up. She bolts towards me.

She runs and grabs me, nearly pushing me over, completely unfiltered in her joy. She hugs me. I lower myself to her. I grab her hand, I hold it tight. We get in the elevator. She wants to stay with her friends.

And instead of leading through my own social compass the way I did at that preschool, it shifted. Now I'm following her lead. And something about that feels settling. It feels right.

So we walk towards our car with another parent and kid. And we say goodbyes. And all that time I didn't try to fit, I didn't try to squeeze myself into the circle that formed. I didn't try to force a hug. And I didn't even try to get invited. I don't even ask myself why. I just stand firmly with myself. Because that's how I'd want her someday to face that feeling of being left out. Once the friendliness of beginnings has passed.

Don't force yourself into rooms that just don't fit.

So today I muffle myself inside my own sweatshirt. I hold my daughter's hand as tight as I can. We both have big smiles on our faces as we walk forward.

I stay completely open to warm connections that might casually roll up to me like a gentle wave crashing on the shore, at just the right time. Golden hour sunset, warm air, salty breeze. But. I'm not gonna do it. I'm not gonna dive beneath, rumbling, tides that I know would swallow me whole right now.

I'm not gonna force that. I know how friendships form. I'm slower to cluster, and that's okay because today as I walk towards my car with my kid. Something inside me keeps breathing and I have space to listen to her talk about her day, to let her expand her little world inside my quiet bubble.

And today, that's definitely enough.



    📍  📍  📍  📍  📍  📍  📍 This was Notes by Kathy Patalsky

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