In the whirlwind of parenting—especially during the early years—there’s a quiet, persistent thought that tends to echo in the background: Why does it feel so hard to stay connected?

If you’re in the thick of the “crazy kid season”, you’ve likely had that moment in the school parking lot or after a quick text exchange when you thought, I really like this person... but when would I ever have the time to be their friend? It’s a common experience. And no, it doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. It just means you’re stretched thin.

One of the most compassionate truths we can offer ourselves in these seasons is this: our capacity is limited. It’s a simple statement, but it runs counter to everything our culture tries to tell us about productivity, connection, and being “enough.” The capacity to nurture deep friendships, manage a household, raise children, maintain a marriage or partnership, stay on top of work, and somehow also have time for ourselves? It’s extremely difficult, and even the most organized people struggle to juggle all the pieces.

In therapy, we often begin not with what's wrong, but with what’s real. And what’s real is that meaningful relationships take energy, presence, and time. And some seasons—especially those marked by new parenthood, transition, grief, or burnout—just don’t offer a surplus of any of those things.

It can be helpful to think of your relationships in terms of concentric circles. At the center is the bullseye: the people you rely on most and share life with daily. For many, that includes a partner, kids, or a close friend. As the circles expand outward, you have friends you love but don’t often see, neighbors, coworkers, extended family, and acquaintances. The key is recognizing who belongs where right now, based on your current capacity—not your ideals, your guilt, or other people’s expectations.

It’s not about ranking people. It’s about being honest with yourself about how much emotional energy you can give, and to whom. And sometimes, someone who used to be in the center might need to shift further out—not because you care less, but because life has shifted. That’s not a failure. That’s adaptation.

The pandemic added an even deeper complexity to all of this. For many parents, particularly those who had babies or young children during lockdowns, the natural pathways for building adult friendships just... vanished. Mommy-and-me classes, local library groups, playdates—all gone. Many people imagined early parenthood filled with community, but instead found themselves isolated, parenting in a vacuum. Even now, years later, the effects of that season linger. Some are still trying to catch up on friendships they never got to form, or mourning the ones that quietly disappeared.

For others, the only adult connection they consistently had was their partner. And while that kind of closeness can be beautiful, it can also carry strain. In an ideal world, we’d all have at least one or two connections outside the home—someone to text at midnight, to vent to after school drop-off, to laugh with about the chaos of it all. But sometimes, that’s just not the season we’re in.

In the therapy room, relationship struggles show up in all kinds of ways. Sometimes clients come in with a vague sense of something being off—overwhelm, sadness, tension—and it takes some digging to uncover that the root issue lies in a strained or absent relationship. Whether it’s a friendship that feels one-sided, a partnership under pressure, or a family connection that brings more harm than support, therapy can provide a much-needed mirror.

Part of the therapist’s role is to offer perspective. When you’re in the middle of a relationship dynamic, it’s hard to see it clearly. You might think something is your fault, or that it’s normal, simply because you’ve adapted to it. But a therapist might gently say, “That’s not okay,” or, “You deserve better,” or even, “This is psychological abuse.” Sometimes we just need someone outside the storm to point out what’s really going on.

And not every relational issue is rooted in conflict. Sometimes there’s grief—over a friendship that faded, a connection that never formed, or a relationship that was lost to distance, time, or miscommunication. That kind of grief is sometimes hard to pinpoint. You may not even recognize it as grief at first. You just feel tired. Disconnected. A little less yourself.

If you’re wondering what to do with all of this, here are a few ideas:

• Start by reflecting on who’s in your inner circle right now. Who do you have the emotional energy for? Who lifts you up, and who leaves you drained? It’s okay if the list is short. That’s often a sign of being in a demanding season, not of being a bad friend.

• Honor the stage you’re in. Maybe your world is small right now. Maybe most of your relational energy goes to your children or your partner. That’s not something to feel ashamed of—it’s simply reality. Small doesn’t mean inadequate. Sometimes, it just means full.

• If there are relationships you’ve lost—through time, distance, or the pandemic—it’s okay to grieve them. It’s okay to name what never was. And it’s okay to feel sadness, even if those friendships ended quietly.

• Finally, reach for small connection where you can. A five-minute phone call. A shared coffee or a small chat at school pickup. A voice note instead of a text. Relationships don’t have to be grand to be meaningful. Even brief moments of authenticity can nourish the soul.

Therapy won’t fix your relationships for you. But it can help you see them more clearly, understand your needs, and gently start to realign your inner circles. And if all you take away from therapy is the realization that you’re not failing at friendship—you’re just navigating a season that makes it hard to have friends—then that’s already something deeply healing.

You’re doing the best you can, with what you have, in the season you’re in. And that is more than enough.