After my son was born six years ago, I experienced postpartum depression and anxiety. But this story isn’t just about that. In fact, many of the people in this story didn’t even know I was struggling.
My husband and I moved to Houston a few years ago for his job. Having relocated before, we knew the key to enjoying a new city was building relationships. I joined a book club and a running group, and together we started looking for a church. We found City Church, started attending, and quickly became involved in a small group (called a City Group) and a Sunday morning ministry team. It took time—our most valuable resource—but we made friends. Though we have wonderful family and close friends elsewhere, we knew we needed local community.
Two years after moving to Houston, we had our first child.
I entered motherhood with expectations. I knew it would be hard, but I believed the joy would outweigh the difficulty. That wasn’t how it began. Our baby cried constantly, and while we later learned why, we didn’t know at the time. I felt sadness and anxiety I couldn’t talk myself out of. I feared the worst, assuming every small task might end in disaster. Each night, I made a mental list of how I had failed my son—and I cried. Sometimes uncontrollably.
Even without knowing my internal struggles, our City Group set up a meal train. Friends brought meals, took out our trash, and helped with everyday tasks. When we discovered our son had a dairy and soy intolerance, they adjusted their meals and brought over safe snacks—little gestures that meant the world.
One of City Church’s deacons did know what I was going through and organized what she called a “baby-holding train.” Instead of meals, people signed up to come over and hold our son so I could get a break from the crying. We were also moving to a new house, so that time allowed me to pack—or simply shower. Friends held our inconsolable baby with such joy and grace, as if it were no burden at all.
That same deacon also helped me find a counselor who specialized in postpartum issues. I’d never struggled with depression before and wasn’t sure counseling would help. But it did—this counselor was exactly what I needed.
My husband is also in another small group at City Church called a Focus Group. Despite his lack of time, he attends every week without fail. I don’t know what they discussed during this season, but I do know my husband came home each week refreshed and able to continue encouraging me.
Building community takes effort. It’s awkward to show up at a group where you don’t know anyone. Committing to church can feel like just one more thing. But if you give it a year, the relationships you form will surprise you.
Friends who knew I was struggling walked with me through it. Friends who didn’t still showed up and carried us in ways they didn’t even realize.
We were not designed to do this alone. Our life is better, more full, more rested, and more positive because of our community. The time we invested created authentic friendships with people who love us. I’m so thankful.