The school run is a nest of vipers where the real Mean Girls thrive

Sandwiched between two close friends at a local pub, I felt awkward and uncomfortable.

Not because we were squished into an alcove, rather because they were discussing the upcoming mums only night out that I knew nothing about and clearly wasn’t invited to.

As they talked excitedly about their outfits and how amazing it was going to be, I waited for someone to address me and the obvious awkwardness. They didn’t. 

And when the evening ended, I went home feeling excluded and isolated. Very much like a spare part. 

I really thought that, having children of my own, this Mean-Girls-clique-iness would be behind me now. But apparently not.   

It had been a long time since I had a really close-knit group of female friends. 

Back in university, I lived with eight other girls who became like sisters to me. We were so close. 

Then, towards the end of our third year, after a drunken night out in the student union, I told one of the girl’s boyfriends to f**k off because he was trying to offer her some class A drugs. 

But while I thought I was looking out for my best friend, the rest of the group didn’t take it like that. They felt that it wasn’t my place, that I was interfering. 

They all distanced themselves from me shortly after which was heartbreaking. 

Yes, I made other friends after I’d graduated, through work and going out. But none quite so close as them.

When I started a family of my own, I truly believed that, when my daughter started school, I’d get a second shot at building meaningful friendships with some of the other mums on the playground.

And it started out well.

I already knew one of the other mums. We’d been introduced by a mutual friend many years ago, and then we’d become closer after our children went to nursery together. 

In turn, she introduced me to other mums she knew. I started to stand with them in the playground as we waited to pick up our children. We’d laugh, chat, talk about our children. 

I had, I thought, started to feel involved. 

They even invited me to a couple of birthday celebrations. Unfortunately, I was unable to go. Partly due to childcare issues, but also because I didn’t have the money. 

I didn’t say this though, worried I’d be judged for not being able to afford it, so instead I lied and told the group that I had visit my sister at the last minute. 

I felt ashamed about lying and at the very least I wanted to be honest to the mum whose birthday it was, so I wrote her a card and a letter explaining that it wasn’t possible financially for me right now but that I wished her a great night. 

Shortly after this, I noticed we were no longer friends on Facebook, and that’s when the paranoia started. 

Did she think less of me? Was I not good enough? Did they think I was poor? Was it to do with status? Money? My five-year-old knackered Doc Martens? 

I couldn’t stop the questions, and each day I dreaded the school run even more.  

They were friendly to me, but I felt they were distant. They would say hello, smile or wave, but the invitations to coffees or meet ups, with or without children, stopped. 

I felt like I was being frozen out. It was a horrible feeling, especially after making myself so vulnerable in confiding in my financial situation to one of them. Had she told the others?

As much as I’d tell myself not to, I couldn’t help but compare their lives, houses, cars, jobs and even their clothes to mine. I lost all my confidence. I felt so examined. So exposed. 

You’d think that when the summer came around, I’d feel relieved. That without the school run, those feelings and anxieties would lift, but they only worsened because I hadn’t heard from any of them through the whole of the summer. I just assumed everyone was getting on with their family summer holidays. 

Towards the end of the holidays, I bumped into the mum I’d known originally. I asked her what she had been up to for the summer since back from her holidays: ‘We’ve all been meeting up at the park and each other’s houses,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you know?’ 

I’ve realised that I’m simply unable to control who likes me and who wants to spend time with me

No, I didn’t. It soon came to light that the reason I didn’t know was because I wasn’t included in their WhatsApp group. This mum thought I had been. 

Perhaps I should be gasping sighs of relief to be missed out of another WhatsApp group, one less relentless ping-after-ping to keep up with. 

But I suddenly felt very unpopular. It was hard not to take it personally. 

So, when I’d invited two of my close mum friends, Sophie and Claire out for a drink and they brought up another night out I wasn’t invited to, it felt like just the latest in a long line of rejections. These were the mums that I went way back with, that our children had grown up with together.  

Watching them all posting photos the next day across social media in their outfits, drinking, dancing and having fun without me was painful. I felt shocked. 

For weeks, I wracked my brain for anything I might have said, or done – or not said and done – to lead to my exclusion. Nothing surfaced. Why hadn’t I been asked to go?

I decided to address the matter and messaged both women, Sophie and Claire who I was initially very close to, to explain how hurt I had felt.

Sophie replied saying that I was right, she should have realised that I wasn’t invited. That she understood why I was hurt, and asked what she could do to make amends.

The other friend, Claire, not so much. She was adamant that we were entitled to have different friends and do what we wanted without having to justify it. And I understand that, and I agree with that, but this was a specific mum friendship group that I thought I was part of. All of us together.

I felt very much that if it had been me going on a big night out, I would’ve invited her. I would have invited both of them. I guess that’s why I felt so hurt. That I considered them close friends, when they didn’t seem to think of me that way. 

I tried to tell myself that things aren’t always what they seem. That it might just be all in my imagination. 

But it’s hard to remember that when all you want is to belong. Be ‘part of the group’. 

It took me straight back to being at school, and feeling the same way.

‘Shouldn’t we have all moved on?’ I found myself thinking. 

Since then, I’ve distanced myself from these mums. I still say hello and smile, but I stick to the other side of the playground, and don’t worry about their nights out anymore.

In fact, I reached out to other mums, ones I’d never spoken to properly, and made new friends. We all went out over Christmas, and I had the best time. Like maybe, I’ve finally found my tribe. 

I’ve realised that I’m simply unable to control who likes me and who wants to spend time with me. I’m never going to truly know what other people think about me and I guess, this helped to just release the panic that it might have been something ‘about me’. 

That actually, all along, I just needed to meet the right people. Find some good friends.

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