Women need women, not only during a crisis, but through the ordinary seasons of life.
At the end of my workday, just as I was preparing for bed, the phone rang.
“Miss Christine, you would never guess who this is,” the caller rang out.
She was right. I could not guess.
Then she mentioned her two sons, and the pages of my memory began to roll back. We had first spoken six years earlier, during the pandemic. Her husband had left her and filed for divorce. She had two sons in high school, and one of them, who had special learning needs, was experiencing serious difficulties at school.
She felt overwhelmed and had no one she believed she could talk to.
Somehow, she found an article I had written. Although we had never met and lived halfway across the country from each other, something in my words made her feel that she could call me.
A stranger.
I answered the phone and listened. We spoke for about an hour that first time and a few more times afterward. I prayed with her, pointed her toward resources, and helped connect her with services for her son.
Then life moved on for both of us. We lost contact, and over time, I forgot about her.
Six years later, she called again.
Six years later, another crisis brought her back to the same door.
During our conversation, she asked about me, my family, and Nathan. Then I asked how she was doing.
“I’m blessed. I’m blessed,” she replied.
But there was much more behind those words.
She had recently spent eleven days in the hospital and had been diagnosed with advanced heart disease. Her sons were grown now. Both had completed college, and she was deeply proud of them.
She had done what so many mothers work hard to do. She had helped her children reach the point where they could begin building lives of their own.
But somewhere in the years she had spent recovering from divorce, caring for her sons, and holding everything together, she had not made adequate long-term provision for herself.
Now she was facing a serious illness without the coverage or support she needed. Her first medication cost $700. She had reached out to her church, but no one responded. Her sons were only beginning their adult lives, and she did not believe they were in a position to help. She did not feel that she could turn to her family.
Once again, she felt lost and alone.
For the better part of an hour, I gave her room to empty out. I listened. I offered assurance. At her request, I prayed with her, which is part of my practice. Then we began talking about practical steps she could take and resources she might be able to access.
By the time we ended the call, her circumstances had not disappeared. Her diagnosis was still serious, and the financial concerns were still real.
But she was calmer.
She had some information and a plan of action.
After we hung up, I could not stop thinking about our conversation. Six years had passed. Her sons had grown up. Her entire life had changed shape. Yet the need beneath both calls had not changed. She still felt that she had no community.
The more I reflected on that realization, the more I understood that this was not only her story.
It is a pattern I have witnessed across more than two decades of relationships with women, including mothers of children with disabilities.
I listen. I pray. I share what I know. I connect women with resources. I show up.
Often, that connection begins during a crisis. Once the immediate crisis passes, however, the relationship grows quiet. Months or years may pass. Then another crisis comes, and the same woman reaches out again.
For a long time, I sometimes wondered whether a woman valued the relationship or simply needed what I could offer at that moment. But when the same pattern appears across different relationships and seasons, we have to look more deeply.
Perhaps it reveals more about how many of us have learned to think about community. We reach for it in an emergency, but we do not always nurture it as an ordinary part of life.
We talk about building a village, yet a village is not something we should begin searching for only after life falls apart. It is an ecosystem of relationships that we intentionally build, care for, and participate in over time.
One caring person can make a significant difference, but one person cannot become an entire support system.
Community must also be mutual. We need women who will listen to us, but we must become women who listen. We need women who will notice when something is wrong, but we must also learn to notice. We need people who will make room for us, and we must be willing to make room for them.
That kind of community grows through honesty, consistency, trust, and time.
As a woman and a mother, I recognize that I have spent the last two to three decades finding myself in community.
At first, it was not always intentional. I found myself among women, particularly those who were ahead of me in the journey. They shared what they knew. I listened and learned. Eventually, I began working alongside them.
After Nathan came into my life, building community became much more intentional.
I needed women who understood parts of the journey I had not yet traveled. I needed people who could help me learn, think, and make decisions. I needed women who could see what I could not yet see and share what I did not yet know to ask.
But equally, I needed women I could pour into, support, and encourage, not only because I had already traveled parts of the journey they were facing, but because I believed it was my responsibility. A wise older woman once told me that each generation is responsible for the generations coming behind it. Her words stayed with me. They reminded me that I have a duty to reach back and support those who are coming after me, especially other women.
Over the last few years, I have become more intentional about helping mothers of children with disabilities look beyond the demands of the now, think more broadly about the future, and plan for the long term.
The need is often easier to recognize in our families because the caregiving, emotional, decision-making, and financial responsibilities can be significant. But the conversation last night reminded me that this is a much broader issue.
It is a conversation for women.
Every woman needs a personal and professional ecosystem.
Our personal ecosystem includes the people who know us beyond the surface. They know what is really happening in our lives. They understand our values and wishes. They can listen, pray, tell us the truth, and stand beside us when life changes.
Our professional ecosystem includes people whose knowledge can help us prepare and respond wisely. Depending on our circumstances, this may include a doctor, attorney, financial professional, insurance representative, therapist, pastor, advocate, or social worker.
We should not wait until a diagnosis, divorce, death, caregiving crisis, or financial loss to begin building these relationships.
Community is not an emergency intervention. It is an ordinary and necessary part of life.
Intergenerational Community Systems
As I reflected on that phone call, another question came to me:
What am I teaching the women coming behind me?
As older women, we have a responsibility to share what life has taught us with younger women. We can help them understand that community is not something they should reach for only when they are falling apart. It is something they must cultivate throughout life.
We need to have these conversations with our girls, teenagers, college students, young adults, and younger mothers. We need to talk with them about health, insurance, finances, legal preparation, caregiving, family communication, and future care.
We also need to teach them how to become part of someone else’s ecosystem.
Receiving support is only one part of community. We must learn how to give it, remain connected when there is no crisis, and build relationships that are not based solely on what someone can do for us.
We live in a world where it is possible to be surrounded by people and still feel deeply alone. Yet life continues to remind us that we were not created to navigate everything by ourselves.
We learn from one another. We prepare one another. We pray for one another. We hold one another up.
We are better together.
My caller’s circumstances did not disappear during our conversation. But for that hour, she did not have to face them alone. She was heard, prayed for, and given practical information. She moved from distress toward a plan.
That is what women can offer one another.
But we should not wait until a woman is frightened, desperate, or at the end of her rope before we begin.
Reach out to another woman today. Ask a deeper question. Share something you have learned. Begin a conversation about health, family, preparation, or the future.
Then look honestly at your own ecosystem.
Who knows what is really happening in your life?
Who can you call before you reach the end of your rope?
Whose village are you intentionally helping to build?
And what are you teaching the women coming behind you?
Women need healthy communities with other women, but building that kind of community does not always come naturally. It is something we must learn. We have to learn how to choose relationships wisely, show up honestly, establish healthy boundaries, receive support, and pour into others without losing ourselves. Healthy community is not created simply because women gather. It is built through intention, trust, mutual care, and a shared willingness to grow.
Catch you next time.
