‘They leave me out’: How to navigate mean mums at the school gate

For most of the year, I saw her every morning. She lived at the end of our road. She’d walk her son, about the same age as mine, to the same nursery. Every morning, I’d smile and try to catch her eye. Every morning she blanked me. I wasn’t searching for a best friend or wanting to endlessly yap at the nursery gates. I just thought it would be nice to say hello, a pleasant exchange hinting at community and a shared experience. I even thought we looked similar; we were around the same age, had the same taste in trainers, ear piercings and bomber jackets. Based on these few superficial similarities, I could imagine us being, at the very least, friendly. Once we arrived at nursery, I regularly saw her chatting away enthusiastically to other parents. She seemed to know a lot of them, dishing out smiles like confetti. What’s wrong with me? I’d ask my partner after the nursery run. He’d shrug, and I’d feel like an insecure 14-year-old, wondering why I hadn’t been invited to the party everyone else had. Eventually, I stopped seeing the woman at the end of the road walk her son to nursery. I assume the little boy went off to school, and their routine changed. Yet when I share this experience with friends with older children, baffled and a little hurt, the response is unanimous: just you wait. Because if you speak to parents about the social politics of the school gate, you quickly realise that my experience is far from unusual. I’ve since heard countless stories that belong in the playground, but instead of centring on the children, they’re about the adults: from established groups who seem to have known each other for years and aren’t interested in newcomers, to the WhatsApp groups you discover you’re not in, the mean rumours and gossiping, or the playdates and parties you hear about after the event.Jenny*, 34, Oxford, whose six-year-old daughter is at junior school, describes a group of mums who are very public about their friendship on social media. The women regularly go on nights out and arrange playdates, posting with an “evangelical fervour” about how “lucky” they are to have one another. “I don’t begrudge them their friendship, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bring me horrific flashbacks of school and watching the ‘popular gang’ who always seemed to be having the best time, and never asked me to join in.” More importantly, Jenny says, is the impact on her daughter. “My kid is friends with their children, and has begun asking why we weren’t invited to some of the weekend events. It’s hard to know what to tell her.” It’s not just children who can feel left out. Chantal*, 39, Frome, discovered over the summer that some of the other mums had created a breakaway WhatsApp group to arrange meet-ups. “I was really hurt I hadn’t been included. I had assumed we were building a friendship; now I feel like a bit of a fool.” Does it make you feel like you’re back at school? “Oh, 100 per cent.” She also worries about the impact on her children, six and eight: “We’ve got years left at this school. It’s something I have to face every day.” Dr Emma Hepburn, a clinical psychologist and author, says that while it’s natural to worry about our children, the social politics of the school gate can be particularly difficult to walk away from. “The school gates for most people will be a repeated experience that continues for several years. We may therefore become more invested in these relationships and place greater importance on developing them.” Essentially, she says, “the lack of ability to leave” can raise the stakes – and the stress levels. But the hurt and worry isn’t just about our children. It can all feel very personal. “We are naturally social beings and like to feel valued and that we belong,” says Hepburn. When we don’t, it can “trigger self-doubt or worry”. School groups can have an additional impact because they may bring back painful memories of our own childhood. “Childhood and adolescence are a time when we develop our self-concept and belief systems,” she explains. “Even if, as adults, we’ve moved on from some of these ideas – like the need to be popular or seek external validation – being left out in later life can bring back those feelings. And they can be just as painful.” The echoes of our own school experiences, and a recognisable social hierarchy, are a constant theme. “There’s a group of mums at the school gate who are the ‘cool mums’,” Anna* 42, London, says. “They always look effortlessly turned out, with a giant designer bag on their shoulder and the right shape of jeans. When I show up in tracksuit bottoms and a large coat, they look right through me. It can be a bit tiresome. I’ve found myself putting mascara on for the school run for the first time lately.” One couple, who had recently moved from Edinburgh to London, took their son, seven, to a birthday party at his new school. They found themselves surrounded by parents who all seemed to know one another. “My husband and I tried to talk to them, but they were so uninterested, it was actually quite rude. We weren’t trying to join their gang; we were just trying to be polite and pleasant, but they just sort of ignored us. If we tried to strike up a conversation, they’d offer a one-word response and turn back to whoever they knew. As soon as we could, we left.” It’s undeniable that conversations about bitchiness at the school gates or power plays on WhatsApp typically feature mums, and there is a familiar cultural shorthand here: women being cliquey, bitchy, competitive or exclusionary with one another. To me, it feels sexist – a tired notion that we secretly hate each other, forever rivals once vying for the attention of a floppy-haired boy, now a middle-aged dad. In some ways, the discussion can feel belittling and ridiculing, as if mothers have nothing more interesting going on in their lives. Perhaps this all stings so much because during parenthood, and arguably especially motherhood, there is a real need for friendship and connection. Michelle Kennedy is the founder of Peanut – self-described as “the ultimate mum app connecting women through all stages of motherhood”- which has over five million users globally. Kennedy tells me she created it out of her own frustration at the loneliness she felt when she became a mum. She wanted to meet women who understood the minutiae of parenting, and later, as her son grew older, someone to talk to about nursery, school, balancing work and feeling like a different person. Kennedy says she’s tried to create a space that is welcoming and kind: “It was so important to me that we really thought about the woman’s experience. There is no rejection on Peanut, because we’re all there with the same need and purpose – to find connection, to find the village (which no longer exists).” As Kennedy points out, the networks of previous generations, particularly living closer to family, are long gone for many, which means we are reliant on creating our own village. That’s why some of these schoolgate friendships can feel so important – and therefore so devastating if we’re left out or shunned. We feel we really need these friendships for our sanity, for our children. There’s a lot riding on them. As a parent of a three-year-old, I’m still trying to find my village, desperate for connection, smiling away manically at parents when I spot them on the street, often to no avail. Lots of friends keep telling me I’ll find my tribe once my son starts school. Hearing these stories can be daunting, but I haven’t given up hope entirely – I’m just more ready for the power plays along the way.