Word of the Week: Village

There’s a phrase I keep seeing everywhere lately:

“We need a village.”

It’s usually said with longing. Sometimes with frustration. Often with an unspoken follow-up:

Why don’t we have one anymore?

And almost immediately, another sentence shows up right behind it:

“Everyone wants a village, but no one wants to put in the time.”

I understand that observation, but I don’t think it tells the whole truth.

Because it’s not that people don’t want the village. It’s that people are exhausted.

We are stretched thin by work that never truly ends, parenting without pause, caregiving, financial stress, emotional labor, and a world that feels loud and heavy all the time. Many of us are still carrying the aftershocks of the last few years (grief, isolation, burnout) whether we’ve named it or not.

So when someone says,

"You have to build the village,” it can land like one more demand on an already overloaded nervous system.

Build a village?

I’m just trying to make dinner.

The Village Was Never Meant to Be Built Overnight

Somewhere along the way, “the village” became another ideal we’re failing at.

As if a real village looks like:

• weekly potlucks

• constant availability

• showing up for everything

• emotional capacity on demand

  
  

But historically, villages weren’t built through hustle or perfectly balanced calendars. They formed slowly, often out of necessity, repetition, and shared presence, not endless effort.

The problem isn’t a lack of commitment.

It’s that modern life leaves very little breathing room.

Wanting a Village Doesn’t Mean You Owe One Right Now

There’s a quiet truth we don’t say out loud enough:

You can long for connection and be too tired to sustain it in this season.

That doesn’t make you selfish.It makes you human.

Sometimes the village looks like:

• one person who can sit with you in silence

• a text thread that understands when you disappear for a week

• a neighbor who waves and doesn’t expect more

• a community you show up to once a month, not once a week

  
  

Villages ebb and flow. People move closer and farther. Capacity changes.

And that’s okay.

Maybe the Village Isn’t Built, Instead It’s Tended

Instead of asking,

“Why won’t people commit?” What if we asked, “What can people realistically offer right now?”

What if we let the village be:

• imperfect

• inconsistent

• gentle

• spacious enough for exhaustion

  
  

Maybe building the village isn’t about adding more, but about allowing less pressure.

Less performance. Less guilt. More grace.

Reflection Prompts

If you’re sitting with this word this week, here are a few gentle questions, not assignments, just invitations:

• What does “village” mean to me right now, not in an ideal world?

• Where am I craving connection, and where am I craving rest?

• Who feels safe, even in small doses?

• What would tending one thread of connection look like, instead of building something big?

  
  

You don’t have to construct the village this week.

Sometimes, just admitting you want one is enough for now.

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About the Author:

Elizabeth Rago is a storyteller, media strategist, and community builder who’s equally at home writing compelling content or navigating teenage chaos with tea in hand.

A seasoned writer with 20+ years of experience across industries from mental health and design to insurance and advocacy, she’s also the founder of MDW (The Modern Domestic Woman), a no-fluff resource hub for women in transition.

Whether she’s ghostwriting for execs or spotlighting small-town gems, Elizabeth brings heart, humor, and a fierce belief in the power of connection.

Learn more at MDWcares.com or find her on Instagram and LinkedIn