How to make parenting less lonely | Stacey McLachlan

Stacey McLaughlin begins with her cousin Beth, whose daughter Birdie is a lively, creative “renaissance woman” who does karate, gardens, and makes stop-motion films. Even with such an engaging child, Beth describes parenthood as “the loneliest decade of my life.” Stacey says the experience is widespread: an Action for Children study of 2,000 people found that 68% of parents felt isolated from friends after having children, while 40% felt unsupported. Another UK study found that half of mothers under 30 felt lonely often or always. Stacey explains that the problem is not simply resentment over babies receiving attention. Parents and childless friends fall out of sync because the activities they once shared become difficult: a baby cannot easily accompany someone to a pottery studio, improv class, or drinks with friends. Parents may withdraw because they are worried about ruining other people’s fun, or because hostile reactions to children in restaurants make socializing stressful. She connects this personal loss to the findings of an 80-year Harvard study, which identified close relationships—not wealth, status, or physical appearance—as the strongest indicator of happiness, longevity, and success. Stacey argues that parental loneliness is therefore a collective problem: when parents are pushed out of social spaces, the relationships that distribute care and keep people connected are weakened for everyone.

When Stacey became pregnant four years before the talk, she worried that she would be forced into “mom only” activities. She jokes about wondering how much coffee she could drink without giving her child an extra set of arms, but beneath the joke was a serious fear: she did not want to abandon the adult identity and friendships she had before becoming a parent. Her own childhood suggested that parenthood could work differently. Growing up in an 1980s townhouse complex, she and the other children played in a shared courtyard and playground as a “feral pack of Capri Sun-fueled little animals.” Adults watched from balconies or joined the children, making margaritas, sharing gossip, and yelling at them to stop playing Power Rangers in the garden beds. Stacey calls this courtyard a “third space,” the sociological term for a gathering place that is neither home nor work. It supported multi-generational fun: children could play while adults enjoyed drinks, jokes, and mutual support. Stacey believed that kind of community was still possible, but recognized that Vancouver did not automatically provide a communal courtyard or safe cul-de-sac. She would have to create the experience intentionally. Her goal was not to drink at the expense of supervising her child, but to preserve shared spaces where adults and children could be present together rather than separating parents from the rest of social life.

Stacey decides that her daughter Coco will be her “plus one to everything.” While Coco is small enough to be carried, Stacey brings her to a wine bar, trivia nights, and even a professional wrestling show, where the baby wears headphones. This works until Coco becomes mobile. At a sports bar happy hour, Stacey repeatedly abandons her IPA and conversation to stop her 18-month-old from falling off a bar stool, stealing fries, hitting her head, or attempting to work behind the bar. After apologizing to the bartender for Coco trying to tap the keg, Stacey realizes that the issue is not necessarily that she is wrong to bring her child; adult venues need better designs for families. She imagines a “bar designed for babies,” with soft corners, secure gates, toys, and no dangerous bar stools, while adults could still have craft beer and finish conversations. She points to examples elsewhere: children commonly run around British pubs, Australian restaurants and breweries may include large playgrounds, and friends in Spain have sent her photos of adults drinking espresso beside playgrounds. She emphasizes that drinking is not the point and that caregivers must be responsible. The larger principle is that multi-generational spaces are more vibrant and human, while age-segregating social life makes both parents and nonparents lonelier.

Unable to afford opening a venue, Stacey sends an email to a bright, family-friendly cocktail tasting room with rounded Scandinavian-style furniture. The owner, who also has a two-year-old, immediately agrees to try an event. Stacey calls it “Witching Hour,” referring to the difficult period between nap time and dinner when children become, in her words, “maniacs.” The event sells out in a day, not through pity purchases from her friends but through interest from strangers who want to socialize with a baby in the room. Stacey buys a slide on Facebook Marketplace, brings a bag of toys, and converts the lounge into what she calls a “poor man’s playground.” The first attendee, Allison, takes three buses from the suburbs—a 90-minute trip—with her two children because she wants to be around “people who get it.” Sixty children and parents eventually fill the room. Fish crackers fly, a child takes off a shirt, and yet the adults remain relaxed because everyone has permission to be themselves: the children can act like children and the parents can act like people. Stacey also enjoys the event with childless friends from the neighborhood. She feels more embedded in her community, not less, and says her life feels bigger rather than smaller. Witching Hour is held more than 30 times at Please Beverage Co. and other bars throughout Vancouver.

Stacey says the enthusiastic response to Witching Hour demonstrates a real hunger for multi-generational third spaces. She receives extensive praise for what was, materially, just sending an email and bringing a bag of Duplo, but she interprets that praise as evidence that parents lack accessible ways to maintain adult social lives. Restaurants, pubs, cafés, and art workshops may be physically or socially difficult to navigate with young children. Without money for childcare, parents may stay home or spend nearly all their social time at children’s activities such as t-ball and karate. Her proposed fix is deliberately simple. Businesses should make one night a month family-friendly. Parents should email their favorite bars or other gathering places and ask to bring their children, because other parents will follow. Designers and city planners should create spaces that invite interaction across generations. Everyone else should remember that parents and the children they are raising deserve a night out, including the possibility of a drink, just as much as anyone else. Stacey clarifies that she does not want baby-friendly bars because toddlers need to appreciate pilsners. She wants to recover the social arrangement she remembers from childhood, when children were present, adults talked over their heads, and neighbors watched out for one another. Witching Hour asks communities to stop losing people to parenthood and instead make room for parents and their “sticky little plus ones” at the table—or, in her formulation, at the bar.