He Just Needs One Good Person… But I Still Believe in the Village

When I became a mother—on my own—I was met with a thousand pieces of advice, most of them unsolicited, most of them impossible.

But one thing I heard again and again was:

“All it takes is one stable, loving adult to change the course of a child’s life.”

And almost every time, they’d follow it with a smile and a nod,

“And he’s got you.”

And that meant something.
It meant everything, some days.

It gave me something to cling to at 2am when he was crying and I was running on fumes.
It reminded me that my love had weight. That I could be enough.
And for a long time, I was.
I was his everything—his comfort, his structure, his story at night.
His whole world spun around me.
And I spun around him.

But slowly—beautifully—he grew.
And I had to grow, too.
I had to learn the quiet truth that no one wants to say out loud:

Love matters. But one person alone is never enough.

Because we’re human.
Because our children are, too.

I still believe in the power of one good person.
But I believe even more in something else:

It takes a village.

Not a perfect village.
Not a big, bustling one with matching t-shirts and potlucks.
Just a real one.
People who stay.
People who speak life.
People who show up—not for the photo ops, but for the long haul.

But here’s the thing:

That village is hard to find.

And I don’t think I’m alone in saying that.

We all hear how it “takes a village,” but no one tells you where to find it.
Or what to do when the people you thought were your village
turn out to be more interested in critiquing than supporting.

I’ve felt that.
Not in a self-pitying way—just in a this is real life kind of way.

I’ve watched people who were supposed to be part of our support system
pull away, judge, or sit in silence while we navigated life on our own terms.

It’s tough.
Because while I’m confident in the way I parent,
and proud of the life I’ve built with my son,
I’ve also had to constantly prove my value to people
who don’t understand the kind of hustle I’ve chosen.

They look at my work—photography, writing, creativity—and assume it’s all passion and play.
As if building something meaningful outside of a traditional 9–5 is irresponsible.
As if choosing presence, flexibility, and fulfillment somehow disqualifies me from being “stable.”

They don’t see the planning.
The long hours.
The strength it takes to build a life that fits both of us.
Not because we’re scraping by—
but because I want to live intentionally.

And that bothers people.

I’ve lived through more than most of them will ever know—
not because I’m hiding it,
but because they’ve made it clear they don’t want to hear it.

And that’s fine.
I’ve made peace with the fact that not everyone will listen,
or care,
or try to understand.

But what I can’t accept is when those same people
feel entitled to judge.
To talk.
To reduce me to their assumptions
while knowing nothing about the weight I carry with grace.

I don’t share this for pity.
Not even close.
I share it because I know I’m not the only one.

So many of us are out here doing our best,
loving our kids fiercely,
showing up every day—without applause—
and still feeling like we’re falling short in the eyes of people
who couldn’t walk a mile in our shoes.

We don’t need sympathy.
We need space.
Respect.
And every now and then, a little understanding wouldn’t hurt.

So yes—maybe I was the one good person my son needed to begin his life.
And I will always be proud of that.

But he deserves more.
And so do I.

He deserves a village that sees him.
And I deserve one that sees me.

Not because I’m falling apart—
but because I’ve held it together for a long, long time.

And while I’ve learned how to carry this life with strength and intention,
I still believe in the beauty of being held sometimes, too.

We don’t talk about that enough—
how the strong ones still need support.
How the ones who look like they’re doing fine
still long for real connection.

So this isn’t a complaint.
It’s a truth.

It’s a quiet hand raised from one mom to another, saying:
“If you’ve ever felt this too—you’re not alone.”

We’re still building our village.
Still hoping.
Still showing up, every single day.

With love.
With grit.
With heart.

Even when the village is small.
Even when the world is loud.
Even when we feel unseen.

We keep going.

Because we were never the problem.
We’re just the ones brave enough to say it out loud.

-AG-