Being Sick and Not Having a Village

As the kids get older, I can feel the need for a village pull away a little. Just a smidge. Like an elastic band that stretches but never quite snaps back, it loosens ever so slightly. And before you roll your eyes, this is not a dig at my family. Let’s get that out of the way first. Our lack of a "village" is the result of unchangeable circumstances: people living far away, other commitments, and the general chaos of modern life. But that knowledge doesn’t make me any less sad about it. And when I really feel the weight of not having a village? Oh, that’s when we all get taken down by sickness.

Because if you’d told me before I had kids that I’d one day have to battle the flu while doing the school run, picking up my youngest from nursery, feeding my little termite army, and dealing with three consecutive poopy nappies, I would’ve drawn up some kind of pre-baby contract. Something with bullet points and signatures. Something legally binding. At least something where I could tap out of parenting when my body decided to betray me.

But no. There’s no tapping out. No substitutes waiting on the bench. It’s just you. And when you’re barely holding it together and the flu-induced weepiness kicks in, you start to spiral. You wonder:

Why is no one here?

Why is no one helping?

And why on earth do I have to look after my kids when I’m dying?!

In a last-ditch effort, I usually send out a desperate, half-joking, half-serious blanket text to anyone nearby. Something along the lines of, "HELP! I’m going under! Send pain relief! And possibly some childcare!"

Here are some of the very helpful responses I’ve received over the years - not just from my own experience but also from other mums in the trenches:

• “I wish I could help!”

• “Is there anything I can do?” (Translation: Please don’t ask me to do anything.)

• “You poor thing. I don’t know how you do it.” (Neither do I.)

• “You’re such a good mum!” (Am I though? Because my kids are currently eating biscuits off the floor naked.)

• “Get well soon!” (Great advice. Why didn’t I think of that?)

Thanks, everyone. That’s really helpful. Truly. So instead, I let the kids run feral. It becomes a survival-of-the-fittest situation. You want to write on the walls? Fine. Want chocolate at 8 a.m.? Knock yourselves out. Honestly, whatever keeps them quiet and stops me from having to move too much is fair game.

And yet, as chaotic and messy as these moments are, there’s also a quiet truth in them. Not having a village sucks. It’s lonely. It’s hard. And it’s not just about the practical side of things, having someone to do the nursery run or pop to Tesco when you’re bedridden. It’s about knowing someone has your back. That someone will step in and say, “I’ve got this. You rest.”

Instead, we muddle through. We parent through the flu, miscarriages, the existential crises. The unsung heroes of survival parenting, fuelled by paracetamol, sheer stubbornness and the fact we just have to. And while I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, there’s a strange, twisted kind of pride in knowing you’ve come out the other side.

So here’s to all the parents with no village, raising their kids while holding back their own tears. You’re not alone. And if you’re reading this while lying on the sofa, surrounded by kids who’ve just turned your living room into a war zone, let me just say: You’re such a good mum. Get well soon.