Participant ID: P03
Pseudonym: Sarah
Age: 34
Gender: Woman
Occupation: On parental leave (elementary school teacher)
Living situation: Lives with husband and 7-month-old daughter in Burnaby
Relevant context: First child; husband works long hours in tech; most close friends do not have children yet
Interview date: 2025-10-23
Interview length: 52 minutes
Interviewer: R1
Location: Sarah's home; baby napping

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I: Hi Sarah. Thanks for fitting this in around naps. Tell me a bit about yourself.

P: [whispers initially, then normal volume] Sorry, I'm trying to figure out — okay, the monitor's on. Yeah. So I'm Sarah, I'm a grade-three teacher, I've been off since March, my baby Maeve is seven months. I'm going back to work in February, which feels both very far away and like it's tomorrow. Um, I'm married, my husband Adam works at a startup, he's gone a lot. And we just moved to Burnaby about a year ago, which means I don't really know anyone here.

I: When you hear the word loneliness, what comes to mind?

P: Oh, it's so funny that you're asking me this. Because I would have said, before having a baby, that I knew what loneliness was. But it's so different now. So different. Now loneliness is — okay, it's the third 4 a.m. wake-up in a row, and Adam's asleep, which he has to be because he has work, and the baby's nursing, and there's this — there's this profound aloneness of just being awake with this small person who needs you and not being seen by anyone else. Like, the rest of the world is sleeping. And in the morning when people text me asking how I am, the version of me at 4 a.m. doesn't exist anymore. There's no record. So that's my new definition. The witness-less hours.

I: That's such a specific image. How does it feel in your body?

P: Exhausted. Like, the loneliness and the exhaustion are kind of fused. I can't separate them. I'm so tired all the time that I don't know if I'm sad because I'm lonely or sad because I'm tired. I cry more easily. I'll cry at, like, a yogurt commercial. Um. My body just feels — heavy. Different. I don't recognise it.

I: Is it different from being alone?

P: God, yes. I'm — okay, this is the thing. I am never alone. I haven't been alone in seven months. Not really alone. The baby's always there. So loneliness right now isn't about not having people around, it's about not having — adults? Not having people who can see me as a person and not as a milk machine. So I think loneliness for me right now is about being surrounded by another human who is completely dependent on me. Which is, like, the loneliest thing I've ever experienced, and that's a sentence I never thought I'd say before having a baby. Because everyone tells you motherhood is so connecting and so beautiful and yes, it is. But it's also — it's also this.

I: Has anything changed your experience of loneliness recently?

P: So my mom came to stay for two weeks in August. And that — that was a revelation. Just having another adult in the house, not even doing anything, just being there. I felt human again. And then she left and the next day I cried for, like, three hours. So I know now, like, what I'm missing. It's the presence of other adults who know me. And my friends, they're great, but most of them don't have kids yet, and they don't really get it. They'll invite me to brunch and I'll be like, well, the baby will be there, and they'll be like, oh, of course, but then I can see them kind of recalibrating, like, oh right, this is going to be different. And it is different. So I don't go to brunch as much anymore.

I: Have you tried things that worked?

P: Yeah. I joined a moms group. There's this drop-in at the community centre on Wednesdays. And for a long time I resisted it because I thought, oh, it's going to be performative, it's going to be all these women comparing baby sleep schedules and pretending everything's wonderful. And it kind of is, sometimes. But there's this one woman, her name's Tessa, her baby's about the same age as Maeve, and we just clicked. We text now. We meet up at the park. And that has — I cannot tell you what that has done for me. Like, just one other woman who's in the same exact stage of life. It's saved me.

I: Anything that didn't work?

P: [long pause] I — I tried to talk to Adam about it. Multiple times. And he tries. He really tries. But he hasn't been home all day with a baby who won't nap. So when I tell him I'm lonely he hears it as, like, an accusation. Like I'm saying he's not enough. And then he gets defensive. And then we don't actually talk about it. So I've kind of stopped trying to bring it up with him. Which is its own loneliness, you know? The loneliness of being in a marriage and not being able to say the true thing.

I: Have you sought any other help?

P: My family doctor screened me for postpartum depression at the six-week visit and I scored fine, which I think is technically accurate but feels misleading. Like, I'm not depressed. I love my baby. I'm functional. But I'm — there's something else going on that doesn't have a name on the screening tool. I haven't seen a therapist. I should. I keep meaning to.

I: What do you think your loneliness is telling you?

P: I think it's telling me that we — like, society — we have set up motherhood in a way that is fundamentally lonely. Like, in other cultures, in other times, women had grandmothers and aunties and sisters around. The baby was passed around. You weren't the one person responsible for keeping a tiny human alive all day. And now we have these nuclear-family setups in these little condos and we're, like, surprised when new moms are losing their minds. I'm not surprised. I think my loneliness is structural. Which is — I don't know if that helps me feel better or worse. Worse maybe. Because I can't fix structural.

I: Does it have anything to do with how you see yourself now?

P: I don't know who I am anymore, honestly. I used to be Ms. Sarah, the grade-three teacher who was, like, really good at her job. And now I'm — I don't know. I'm a mom. Which is a beautiful thing, but I'm only that. I haven't read a book in seven months. I haven't had a conversation about anything other than baby stuff in seven months. So I think the loneliness is partly mourning, like, the previous version of myself.

I: If you could change one thing about how society handles loneliness, what would it be?

P: Maternity leave should be paid better and there should be — okay, this is going to sound crazy, but there should be, like, community centres in every neighbourhood that are open during the day for parents on leave. With coffee. And other parents. And someone to hold your baby for ten minutes while you have a thought. That's all I want. Honestly. Ten minutes of someone else holding my baby and an adult conversation.

I: Anything I haven't asked about?

P: Just — yeah, I want to say, I love my daughter so much. Like, please don't make this sound like I don't. The loneliness has nothing to do with not loving her. It's, if anything, because I love her so much that the loneliness hurts more. Because there's so much I want to give her, and I can't pour from an empty cup, and right now my cup is empty, and that scares me.
