I once chaperoned a Girl Scout camping weekend and I thought I was going to die, not because of the girls (though they wore me out, as a caregiver), but because of the moms and all the adult conversation I had to engage in. In my opinion, talking to 7 year olds is much less taxing.

I love the camaraderie. I love feeling like we’re united by parenting struggles, despite our other differences. I love knowing that these women get me like no other group of people in my life. I love that nothing is too gross or too embarrassing or too “out there” with these ladies because, when we get together, it’s understood that it’s a safe place to let your mom flag fly. It’s a relief to not be alone in motherhood.

I hate how much energy it takes for me to be “on” in a group setting. After two hours, I’m spent. Being social doesn’t come naturally to the introverted side of me, so I really have to work hard at casually having a good time.

After weekends with my kids, returning to work on Monday can sometimes feel like a light at the end of a tunnel. I don’t resent the time I spend with my children, especially as a working parent, but if I don’t get some space and quiet after raucous bouts of play (and arguing), I start imploding. Coming to work, even in an open office environment, offers a reprieve from the zoo of movement and noise and demands of two school-age children.

I would never want to work weekends, but I’m grateful to have someplace to go on Monday mornings.

As much as I love celebrating the successes of our lives with my friends, I have noticed that it can take a toll on my mental wellbeing. A lot of it has to do with being on the receiving end of conversations. Even if we weren’t in a setting with loud music, and clinking glasses, I’d have trouble processing all the stimuli.

Listening to other people, though I’m very good at it, takes a lot out of me. Maybe it’s because I don’t fake my interest and truly in intake mode when other people talk to me, because I would want them to do the same when I’m the one speaking. In a group situation, however, I am doing a lot of intake. So afterwards, I slip on my noise-cancelling headphones and try to find a way to be quiet as a recovery period.

I’m often so glad to have spent time with a group of my female friends. The relationships I have with other moms are unique and necessary. I can’t get what I get from my mom friends from anyone else, and it’s vital to my mental health that I maintain those friendships. So as much as I angst about these evenings, I don’t regret them.

I have always put way too much energy worrying about what people think about me. Getting together with a mom friend can be fraught with anxiety: about what to wear (I want to look put-together, but not so much so that it’s an inaccurate depiction of myself), what to order (just coffee? What if she orders a scone? Should I get one too so it’s not awkward? But carbs make me tired.) That’s the introverted side of my personality, which inevitably ends up spending major brain power on what others may consider minor details.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been better at managing this energy-sapping behavior, and have been able to go with the flow more. It does help to remind myself that my mom pal is probably feeling a lot of the same things I am.

Given how crowded our Queens neighborhood is, there’s always a good chance I’ll run into someone I know when I take my kids to the playground, especially on Sunday mornings when there’s a farmer’s market. I love that I don’t have to plan stuff like this and, instead, impromptu playdates are a common weekend morning occurrence as my 6-year-old son finds his buddy on the slides while the mom and I chat it up from the sidelines.

Of course, our conversation never gets deep, since we’re constantly looking away from one another to make sure we know where our kids are. Still, I like that we can keep our mutual expectations low while we hang out.

I’m sure my age has something to do with it because, well, I’m not an insecure teenager anymore. Regardless, I am honestly never disappointed if I don't see anyone I know at the playground. While it does mean my son enlists me as goalie or in a fierce game of tag I am in no shape to be playing, I don’t miss having to socialize.

The extroverted side of me can’t not be friendly. I get uncomfortable seeing people uncomfortable, so my tendency is to put them at ease with pleasant, if not benign, conversation. Unless you smell bad, I’ll sit next to you.

It may look like I have a lot of friends (if you’re keeping count on Facebook), but these days I feel we mislabel an acquaintance as something closer. I play things close to the vest. I don’t overshare, or post a stream of consciousness on social media. Very few people in my lives have been allowed to enter my “inner circle.” Those that have are the ones to whom I express my fears about being a good mom, or getting fired, or letting the light go out on my marriage. They are the ones who see my vulnerability, because those are the ones I trust to truly help me if I need it. I can sit in silence with these people, with no pressure to perform. Those are my friends. They are few in number, but deep in value to me.

I don’t discount the many other “lighter” friendships I have, but having lived for several decades, and part of understanding what it takes to maintain a true friendship, I realize I could only summon the energy to have just a few “best” friends. I am trying to teach my kids that as well. “You just need a couple of truly good friends,” I tell my tween daughter when she shares an incident of shifting alliances at school. “Quality over quantity.”