Anyone can get free child care in West Baltimore. Some moms found a village, too.

When a 19-year-old Kellie Woods started raising her nephew, she was surrounded by family help. About 25 years later, as a mom to a newborn, she had none.

So last summer, Woods took two buses from Dundalk to Upton with her son, Demarius, in search of other moms. She found them in the lunch room at the Rise Early Learning and Family Support Center, where they, in a role reversal, mothered her.

One mom instructed her to sit and eat. Another, Brittany Brinkley, had a simple demand: “Give me the baby.”

Brinkley took Woods under her wing, adding another mom to the loyal community that uses the resource center on Madison Avenue as its home base. Woods, who now lives a 15-minute walk from Rise, has gone every day since.

“We are the whole village,” Brinkley said. “Everybody that don’t have a village like myself, we have all become that.”

Rise is run by the University of Maryland School of Social Work and provides free child care and early learning for children from infancy until kindergarten. Parents, too, can take classes on topics such as cooking and financial literacy. They can eat, socialize and nap while their children are safe and supervised. Rise is open to all Baltimore parents of young kids, regardless of income.

But the biggest draw isn’t the free child care — it’s the “village.”

Social isolation is rising among parents of young children, said Sarah Dababnah, an associate professor at the Baltimore-based School of Social Work. Parents now tend to live farther from family they could traditionally rely on, and grandparents are working later into life, she said.

It doesn’t help that in Baltimore, many families struggle to find and afford child care, housing and reliable transportation.

It still takes a village to raise a child, and the moms at Rise made their own.

Woods learned about Rise like most do — by word of mouth. She was at the Druid Hill Park Swimming Pool last summer when she asked a group of moms if she could sit next to them. One of the women, Cinda Owens, turned to her: Was Woods part of a mom group? Did she want to join one at Rise?

Like Woods, Owens is in her 40s. She signed up for Rise while still pregnant. Since then, she’s made footprint paintings with her infant daughter and taken classes on child behavior. Over the summer, she brought her school-aged son to Rise, too, where he played kickball and went swimming.

“I love that there’s other moms,” Owens said. “’Cause it’s lonely when you don’t have it. And you’ve gotta deal with everything by yourself.”

The moms have group chats where they plan birthday parties, send each other tips about where to get free supplies and share pictures of their kids.

Woods said the other moms inspire her. She admires their strength and persistence, how they balance work, school, chores and multiple kids, especially when she sometimes feels like she’s barely holding it together.

“When I see other moms ... I’m like, ‘Oh, I could do that.’ They could do it, I could do it,” Woods said.

Part of Rise’s mission is to “work alongside families to really help them realize their own power in changing their own circumstances,” said Becky Davis, assistant director at the School of Social Work’s Center for Restorative Change, which oversees Rise.

In a nondescript office building, Rise has a traditional setup: offices, classrooms, a packed supply closet. The moms’ laughter and big strollers keep it from feeling stiff, as do the photos of children counting colorful circles and catching rubber duckies with nets.

After dropping their kids off at class Mondays through Thursdays, parents can use the computer lab to work remotely or update their résumés. Programs like B’more for Healthy Babies and Family Connections Baltimore are on-site to help them find jobs, housing or medical care. Families can take home diapers, wipes and strollers.

The social work students who intern at Rise teach parents to advocate for themselves in places like schools and help them understand systemic challenges that affect families, Davis said.

Parents continuously shape Rise: Woods asked for somewhere to meditate and exercise, for example, so she can decompress from the mom guilt that follows dropping a crying baby off at class.

But at least once a day, she gets to stay. Parents must spend a daily 15 minutes letting their children lead them in an activity related to what they’re learning in school.

At first, Woods bristled at the requirement: “I play with him enough at home,” she joked. But since attending sessions, where she paints, sings and dances with her son, she now considers it the best part of the program. She can’t imagine taking Demarius to day care without getting that little bit of mommy-and-me time first.

Drop-off is easier now; Demarius laughs and plays with the other kids. Rise has become a second home to both of them. Woods hopes to be one of the moms who come back and volunteer after their kids have aged out.

“I think I’m going to be here forever,” Woods said. “As long as they’re here, I’m probably going to be here.”

About the Education Hub

This reporting is part of The Banner’s Education Hub, community-funded journalism that provides parents with resources they need to make decisions about how their children learn. Read more.