Elephant Herds: The Power of Moms Working Together

Last September, I found myself in the ICU. A heart scare. The kind that makes you stop and ask: What am I even doing?

The doctors didn’t find blockages or need to put in stents, but they did find something else—damage. 

And still, a week later, I went to Africa on my scheduled vacation of a lifetime. Because life is short, I took a risk, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that waiting until the “right time” often means never.

Africa gave me perspective in ways I didn’t expect.

One evening, as the sun melted into the horizon, we went for a game drive, where we hoped to see all of the animals as they went to get water. 

I watched a herd of elephants moving toward the river. Over 25 elephants had to pass a pride of lions resting under a tree, and I braced for the drama.

But the lions? They ran.

They didn’t challenge the elephants. They didn’t even try. Because when elephants move together, they are unstoppable. They don’t flinch. They don’t scatter. They stand in unshakable solidarity.

And I realized something: We’ve lost this.

We used to have it. Community. Women standing together. But over time, life and busyness chipped away at it, and COVID was the final nail in the coffin.

We were already hanging on by our fingertips, trying to hold onto friendships, making do with surface-level connection, drowning in busyness. And then—lockdown. Isolation. It became easier to stay in our little worlds, to scroll instead of reach out, and to let friendships fade.

And it’s not just us. Our kids are struggling, too.

They don’t know how to reach out. How to reconnect. How to be with people instead of just around them.

Elephants have something called the elephant circle. When one of them is in labor, the other females form a ring around her, standing guard as she brings new life into the world. They protect. They shield. They celebrate.

When one is injured, they do it again—shoulder to shoulder, unwavering.

There’s no competition. No judgment. No do it on your own. Just the instinct to stand together.

And here’s the thing: elephants all look the same, but they are not the same.

And neither are we.

Somewhere along the way, the message of “Be a strong woman” got tangled up with be strong—but do it my way.

You guys, I am not doing it “a man’s way.” I am not doing it “your way.”

I am doing it MY way. And I will cheer you on as you do it YOUR way.

That is the heart of it.

We don’t need to slap a label on ourselves, our children, or others. We don’t need to box ourselves in just to be accepted. We need to embrace our differences. We need to model that for our girls.

Recently, I had a conversation with a group of 24-year-old women, and they asked me:

"Why are older women so mean?"

“Can you explain “mean”?

Their reply hit some pressure points:

“We respect older women. We know what it means to be a woman—we’re learning that from you. But sometimes, it feels like you think we can’t think for ourselves. Like we don’t see the world just because we see it differently. You talk at us, not with us. And it stings—because we expected that from boomers, not from women who should understand the power of connection.

We’re not here to argue—we’re here to understand. We want conversations, not criticism. We want connection, not condemnation.
You say we’re Gen Z—entitled, lazy, ungrateful. But that’s not a relationship. That’s rejection.

Your story matters. But so does ours.
We do see the world differently. Why can’t that be a good thing?”

Why can’t our experiences be shared in a way that gives, not lectures? Why can’t both generations offer our perspectives without being dismissed?

And maybe… that’s exactly what makes this moment full of possibility—if we’re both willing to listen.

We can blame it on menopause, the patriarchy, society—God knows what else. 

But blame doesn’t create unity.

Blame isolates. Blame intimidates.

Dignity isn’t about being right. It’s about standing firm in yourself without tearing someone else down in the process. It’s the quiet strength of knowing your worth without demanding validation. It’s the ability to disagree without disrespect, to listen without losing yourself, and to walk away without bitterness.

And I truly believe that strength is best modeled with dignity.

If a woman doesn’t think like me? Okay.
If she hates me? Okay.
If she wants to attack me? Okay.
That’s on her.

Christian. Non-Christian. Liberal. Republican. We all seem to be looking for a cause to fight for—or fight against. And in the process, we isolate each other, convinced that righteousness must come at the cost of connection. I’ve been there. I’ve stood in my own self-righteousness, judging to make myself feel better. But that only builds more walls, fuels more division, creates more noise.

We don’t have to be best friends. We don’t have to hang out. But we can evolve—with curiosity instead of criticism. Women already face enough judgment from the world; we don’t need to clutch our pearls and pile them on each other.

Dignity and character show up in how we handle differences. It’s the ability to learn from people we disagree with—or don’t even like. It’s choosing to clarify before jumping to conclusions. It’s being curious instead of judgmental. It’s staying open enough to appreciate different perspectives without trying to force, manipulate, or condescend.

That’s what dignity in action looks like. And that’s the kind of strength that actually changes things.

Because when I watched those elephants, I saw something beautiful. They disagreed. They stomped. They had their temper tantrums. But then—radical acceptance. Maybe even respect.

Because when respect threads through the herd, when dignity threads through, that’s where the beauty lies. That’s where the power begins.

And I want that power back.

For myself. For my friendships. For the young women growing up in this messy, complicated world.

We need to rebuild our village. We need to reconnect. Not just for ourselves, but for our daughters.

Because when we do this, we build something bigger than ourselves.

Lessons from the Elephant Herd

Elephant herds are led by the oldest, wisest female—known as the matriarch—who helps guide the group through difficult terrain, find food, and avoid danger. The other females, from mothers to aunts, come together to protect the young and care for one another.

As moms, we often feel like we need to go it alone, but like the elephants, we thrive when we rely on the wisdom and support of other women. We don’t have to face the challenges of parenting by ourselves—leaning on other moms for advice, reassurance, and encouragement makes the journey so much easier.

They Protect and Lift Each Other Up
We say we respect each other—but too often, we compare.

“I’m parenting better than her.”
“I’m doing the real work.”
“That mom? She’s messing it all up.”

But let’s be real: that’s not strength. That’s survival mode in a world that’s pitted us against each other.

In elephant herds, when one is in distress—whether it’s a calf in danger or a mother struggling—the whole herd circles around. No judgment. No shaming. Just instinctual protection, care, and unity.

What if we did that?
What if we stopped trying to out-parent each other and started circling around one another instead?

You have your story. I have mine. We may see the world differently, raise our kids differently, vote, love, and live differently—but we’re still mothers. We’re still women. And that means we can choose to protect each other’s hearts, not poke holes in them.

Your experience matters. So does mine.
Let’s stop competing and start circling—like the elephants.
Not to prove we’re better.
But to prove we’re in this together.

They Adapt To Change

In the wild, when an elephant herd grows too large or resources shift, they don’t implode—they expand. They migrate. They branch out and move with purpose. It’s not division—it’s evolution. It’s how the herd grows stronger.

What if motherhood worked like that?

What if your "herd" didn’t shrink when you changed—but expanded?

What if, instead of isolating yourself from moms who parent differently, vote differently, or discipline differently… you led a herd of your own?
Not from ego. Not to be “better.”
But to create a space rooted in love, vision, and acceptance.

Because real leadership isn’t about being the loudest or the most right. It’s about migrating with intention.
It’s about building a community that nourishes, protects, and evolves with you.

So if you're in a season where the resources are scarce—your energy, your time, your peace—maybe it’s not a sign to compete or compare.

Maybe it’s a sign to migrate.
To grow your own herd.
To move toward women who protect, not perform.
Who give, not just judge.
Who remind you that strength is not in standing alone, but in walking together.

They Trust the Process of Learning and Growth

Elephants don’t expect wisdom to come overnight. Even the matriarch—the one they all follow—wasn’t born knowing what to do. She learned through mistakes, through seasons of trial and error, through watching and walking alongside her herd.

Motherhood works the same way.

We’re not supposed to have it all figured out. We learn as we go. We grow as we walk.

When we stop trying to get it perfect and start trusting the process—our process—we start to see the strength in the stumbles, the wisdom in the waiting, and the beauty in growing alongside our kids, not ahead of them.

Like the elephants, we become wise not by knowing it all, but by living it all—with grace, humility, and the courage to keep going.

Find Your Herd

I’m stepping in. I’m finding my herd again. Are you?

If you’ve felt the weight of loneliness, if you’ve been craving deeper friendships, if you’re ready to reconnect—not just for yourself, but for your daughter—I want you to be part of something different.

Let’s build the village we thought we’d have. Let’s raise the next generation together.