By: Shannon Bussnick, LSW and mom of three ♥︎
Motherhood, as everyone loves to remind us, takes a village. But what they don’t tell you is that village doesn’t always come with the label, the classic framework of neighbors, family, and friends stepping in at every corner.
For many of us, the village is something less obvious, something not always tangible, yet it exists if we’re open to seeing it. It shows up in ways we might not expect, at moments when we need it most, but it’s there—quietly supporting, if we choose to let it.
My village showed up today. They were strangers. Beautiful ones at that.
At the grocery store, yet again, restocking those unrelenting preschool snacks and wrangling my mischievous two-year-old twins in hopes of some real-world socialization. Their little bodies squeezed into the lower level of the cart, half buried by frozen veggies, loaves of bread, and squeaky fruit containers teetering on the edge—let‘s make this quick and painless, I pray. Reaching the checkout, I stare at the Apple Pay scanner like it’s some cryptic riddle I’ve been tasked with solving under pressure.
This was surely not on my to-do list.
My anxious brain swirling, trying to figure out why they made the double-click button on my phone so impossibly difficult to manage with one hand. You can do this. It’ll be over before you know. Trying to create space for any amount of rational frequency to penetrate.
Is this even the scanner? Which way first? Ugh, my husband even gave me instructions. Unfortunately though for me, I didn’t have time to prep before entering the store. And so, here we are, a circus. Seriously, why is this double-click thing so unbelievably stubborn?
In the midst of my mental spiral, I feel it—a knot in my chest tightening, the familiar pang of social anxiety creeping up as my kids start to squirm, releasing those little warning chimes before they go rogue and pull the alarm. I can feel the heat of impatience coming from the world around me, even though no one has said a word. It’s as if my nerves are conspiring to turn this small inconvenience into a public spectacle.
But then, out of nowhere, she appeared.
An angel.
The woman peeking through my peripheral, there to ask in the gentlest, kindest voice: “Are you okay?”
It wasn’t nosy or pitying in the slightest. And mind you, I’m a sensitive person if you haven’t guessed. It was a simple, but profound contact. She saw me. Whether she was a mother or not, she understood. She had that sixth sense, an ability to read the energy of another woman struggling to keep it together. She was my village in that moment, as was the other lovely worker who joined in, both of them stepping up to help me with that dreaded Apple Pay conundrum.
Hunched over the Covid-implemented but here-to-stay self-checkout, we weren’t strangers at all, not in the ways that matter anyway… For someone who falls FAST into the pit of social anxiety, who dreads the intensity of those sudden interactions, this unforeseen moment felt like a breath of fresh air. Of rescue. I could exhale. I could trust in the kindness of others, even in the smallest of acts. To some, it may have been just another Apple Pay transaction; to me, it was something much deeper. It was a transaction of love, of kindness, of womanhood.
It was my village.
I’ve learned something along the way—something I hope resonates with other parents who are without the traditional ‘village’. And it’s that, a village doesn’t always look like family or friends showing up at your doorstep. My very own unpopular opinion: Some people, many like myself with specific mental health conditions or who identify as neurodiverse, actually prefer to do without the meal train or an extra set of eyes to watch the kids while we sleep. And yes, there are too many mamas who lack this involvement and would truly thrive with its presence, too. This conversation is certainly not meant to discount anyone’s experiences.
But in my own, admittedly unconventional motherly opinion, a village doesn’t have to be built on the familiar faces of people you know well. Sometimes, it’s built on fleeting moments of human connection, of strangers who offer a helping hand, a kind word, or simply see you when you feel invisible. And that’s okay. I mean, first-time apple-payers with mental health challenges probably get it—especially with two-year-old-twins in-cart.
My village is everywhere. It’s in the woman who helps me at the checkout line when I’m drowning in self-doubt and over-priced, nut-free snacks (just the thought of my child’s snack choices causing anaphylactic shock for their carpet buddy is a whole different level of anxiety); it’s in the smile from a fellow mother when our paths cross at the park, both of us chasing toddlers who seem to have a radar for danger; and it’s in the subtle nod of understanding from someone who knows what it’s like to feel overwhelmed. These people—whether they stay in my life for a moment or longer—are my village. And I see them. I thank them. I remember them.
And I think that’s the most liberating part of it all: realizing that my village is dynamic, ever-changing, and full of love if I’m open to accepting it—however it comes. It doesn’t have to look a certain way or meet some expectation. It just has to be there when I need it. I have to trust in others, in humanity, to challenge my self-limiting thoughts and behaviors. And today, my village showed up. In a checkout line. In the form of two angels. That’s something special.
So, if you find yourself wondering where your village is, take a moment to breathe and look around. It might be closer than you think. It might be in the hands of strangers, in the warmth of a small act of kindness, or in the quiet strength of knowing you don’t have to do it all alone—even if you prefer to most of the time. And if it’s not, maybe you’ve been busy being an angel to someone else and I pray you’re up next.
And just in case you’re wondering, I still don’t love the whole Apple Pay thing…
Vienna Lane 
Leave a comment