Janne: “From best friends to strangers: motherhood cost me many friendships”

I've never had such a large group of girlfriends. You know, the kind of circle full of girls who go out to dinner in a group of ten on Friday nights and plan a weekend getaway every month. That was never my thing. I'd rather have a few good friends who are truly there for you than a bunch of superficial contacts. I had two: Karen and Vera. We've known each other since high school, and even after that, we remained an inseparable trio. Saturday nights were ours. Us, a glass of wine, dancing until the wee hours – it was our ritual. Karen and Vera were always the eternal singles, while I had been with Sven for years. But that was never an issue. We understood each other, complemented each other.

“We're becoming aunts!”

When I turned thirty, I started to get the itch. I wanted to start a family with Sven. Ten years together, a nice house, stable jobs; it felt like the time was right. Sven was immediately enthusiastic. “Let's just go for it,” he said. And within six months, it happened. Pregnant! What joy. Karen and Vera were over the moon. “We're going to be aunts!” they shouted in unison when I told them during a dinner. But from that moment on, I noticed something. It felt different.

Next week became next month

During my pregnancy, I continued to schedule the usual appointments, but Karen and Vera often seemed busy. Karen suddenly had to work overtime or had a date. Vera went on a spontaneous road trip with a friend I barely knew. “Is next week better for you?” they would ask. Of course, I thought. Next week. But the same thing happened the following week. I got the feeling that I was the one always doing the pulling.

I often received giggly responses when I shared my ailments

When I finally had a coffee with one of them, it felt different too. They did ask about the baby, but the conversation never went deep. And when I started talking about my fatigue or mentioned that my back pain was really severe, I often received giggly responses. “Well, that's what you get when you're growing a baby,” Karen once said with a wink. Or Vera: “That's why I'm waiting a bit longer.” I tried to brush it off. They obviously didn't know what it felt like to be pregnant. Maybe I shouldn't have made such a big deal out of it.

It took two months before they came for a postnatal visit

When Sep was born, everything changed. I was in love. Completely head over heels for this little person I had brought into the world. Sven and I were on cloud nine. We sent Karen and Vera a photo of Sep with the message that he had been born. They responded immediately. Hearts, exclamation marks, happy emojis. But it took two months before they finally came to admire him.

“Busy busy busy, but I really want to see him!”

In the first few weeks, I sent a message a couple of times. Asking if they had time to come over. Karen replied: “I'm so busy at work, but I'll let you know soon when I can!” Vera: “Busy busy busy, but I really want to see him!” I understood. Everyone has a life, and I didn't want to push. But after two months, it didn't feel normal anymore. When they finally came to visit, I had done everything to make it cozy. I baked cookies, made sure Sep was in a clean onesie. They stayed for an hour, looked at him briefly in the playpen, and gave some gifts. And that was it. No deep conversations, no questions about how I was feeling. I felt... a bit disappointed. But I said nothing.

My phone remained silent

In the months that followed, our friendship changed slowly but surely. Where we used to stand together in a bar every Saturday night, that was no longer an option. I was too tired, too busy with a baby that woke up at six in the morning. But instead of adapting to me or asking how they could see me, Karen and Vera just went out by themselves. I saw the photos on Instagram. Karen and Vera with a cocktail, Karen and Vera at a festival, Karen and Vera at a fancy brunch. My phone remained silent. Occasionally I sent a message, tried to plan something. It hardly worked. They were always busy.

We only saw each other once every few months

“Next month we could have lunch,” Vera said once. “Yes, then I'll have to check my schedule,” Karen said another time. And so it continued. Until we only saw each other once every few months. The conversations were fleeting. About their work, their latest Tinder dates. When I mentioned something about Sep, the attention was brief.

It feels like I'm slowly losing them

Sep is now eighteen months old, and it feels like I'm slowly losing them. They rarely text, and when I send something, it often takes days before I get a response. And meanwhile, I see their lives just continuing on Instagram. I see them together on vacation, in restaurants, at weddings of distant acquaintances. It hurts. Not even because I'm jealous of what they're doing – I don't even want to be there – but because it feels like there's no more room for me in their world.

I never expected motherhood to cost me my friendships

Of course, I knew things would change. But like this? That I would hardly ever see them again? That I would feel like an outsider in a friendship that once was my everything? I hadn't thought of that. And maybe that's the most painful part. That I now wonder if it was ever truly such a strong friendship. Whether we were just holding on to each other out of habit, because it was easy, because we had known each other for so long. Maybe our lives never quite fit together. And perhaps I'm only seeing that now, now that my life has changed so drastically.

Maybe I shouldn't want it all anymore

But what I do know is that I miss them. Karen's sarcastic jokes. Vera's spontaneous plans. Our endless conversations where nothing was off-limits. I miss it all. But I don't know if that's enough to bridge the gap that now exists between us. And maybe I also don't know if I should still want that and start looking for new friends with children who do understand me.

JANNE