Why do I feel so alone even when I’m with my baby all day?

Question from Sarahí G., 28, Guanajuato, Mexico. Mom to a 2-month-old baby girl, Ivanna.

Ivanna is a stay-at-home mom who works online part-time. Her partner was offered an amazing job opportunity away from the town where they used to live, and they decided to take it. Now she's got no nearby family or friends and is struggling to find herself and her community. 

Mama, 

You’re not imagining it. That kind of loneliness — the one that follows you from diaper change to feed to nap time — is so real. It’s a silence that hums in your ears even when your baby’s crying. It’s a quiet that feels like a canyon between you and the rest of the world.

I remember that ache. I was home with two newborns, never alone, and yet I had never felt more isolated in my life. The days blurred together. My only conversations were with tiny humans who couldn’t talk back. And even though I was constantly needed — I felt invisible.

The loneliness of new motherhood is so sneaky.
You expect exhaustion. You even expect some chaos.
But no one warns you that being surrounded by love can still feel painfully empty sometimes.

I’d walk around the house holding one baby, bouncing the other in a wrap, and think:
Does anyone even know how quiet this feels?
Does anyone see how much I’m holding — emotionally, physically, mentally — all alone?

We think we shouldn’t feel lonely because we’re “never alone.”
But what we’re craving isn’t company — it’s connection.
It’s someone asking how you are.
It’s someone seeing the fatigue behind your eyes and saying, “Let me take care of you for a change.”

Motherhood doesn’t stop being beautiful just because it’s lonely.
And loneliness doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It just means you’re human — and you weren’t meant to do this without a village.

So if the silence feels loud…
If you cry during nap time, not from sadness exactly, but from feeling disconnected from the world…
You’re not broken. You’re not failing. You’re just feeling something we don’t talk about enough.

And I promise — you're not as alone as it feels.
You're part of a quiet chorus of moms, sitting in dark nurseries or pacing living rooms, feeling the same ache.

We're here.
You're seen.
And this season, even in its silence, won’t last forever.

Love,
Lina P.