My husband and I bought a 7-bedroom house and filled it up with our community. They helped us survive early parenthood.

• In 2015 my husband and I bought a seven-bedroom house for those looking for accessible housing.
• We wanted to build a community in Denver, and now years later it feels more like a family.

I wanted to run down all three flights of stairs screaming, "I'm pregnant!" But one of our housemates was hosting a dinner party, and I was terrified. I wasn't sure how anyone would react to a tiny human in the house. Over a year earlier we announced at a house meeting that we were trying. The fertility struggle that followed became common knowledge.

My husband, Stephen, and I held hands, made our way to the dining room, and announced it. The room erupted in cheers.

In 2015, we bought a seven-bedroom house in Denver, Colorado, intending to fill those abundant rooms with people looking for accessible housing and a sense of community. Since that time, we've had therapists, teachers, lawyers, civil servants, social workers, and artists living in our co-op.

We live together responsibly. We cook meals, share chores, mow the lawn, and support one another through our successes and failures. We operate very much like a family. In fact, it's the only family our son has ever known. But as I stood in that dining room, happy faces staring back at me, I thought, "Can we still live this way when the baby comes, or will we have to leave?"

Our roommates helped us take care of our baby

Charlie was born after I labored in our living room for eight hours before heading to the midwifery center. Once we returned home, as my roommates took turns carrying him around the house, it was obvious it wouldn't be hard to integrate Charlie into the flow of the house. Everyone was so interested — even people who had never been around children bonded with him.

One day, during the time when none of us were sleeping, I was at my wit's end trying to comfort him. Tears streamed down both of our faces. My roommate said, "Let me take him," and scooped him into her arms.

I took a walk around the block twice, the fresh air blasting my face, relinquishing hormones and the feeling of overwhelm. When I returned, I felt more equipped to take care of the baby and myself.

Living in a community during the pandemic helped us all with isolation

No class or conversation with a parent prepares you for the jolting experience of going from not having a baby to suddenly having one. Yet the people who live in our house have a much clearer view and understanding of what it could be like to have a child.

I started to realize, especially in the early months of the pandemic, how much living in community was protecting us all from the isolating experience everyone else was having. I never felt lonely at that time.

I read stories about parents not being OK and the exhaustion of parenting through quarantine. It was exhausting having both a baby and uncertainty. But at the same time, an ecosystem developed in our house. It became clear that everyone was connected to Charlie, that they wanted us there, and that we were benefiting from being there.

Concerns we would outgrow the house — or that everyone would outgrow the novelty of having a baby around — dissipated.

We are in the process of creating a new microvillage

We don't have an urgent desire to leave, but we are already thinking about the next step.

We're beginning the process of building a house on a friend's 1-acre lot and creating a microvillage with other parents seeking mutual aid and support. We'll all have small houses and our own private spaces, but there'll be public spaces too, including a community center for shared dining, kid crafts, and celebrations. After experiencing our life in community, living on our own is the last thing I want.

I want more people to know about and see alternative options. You can build a house in your friend's backyard, under the right circumstances. You can buy a spacious '60s ranch, complete with a groovy basement wet bar, with another couple and each live on different floors. And you can buy a 5,000-square-foot mansion and live with your husband and five of your friends.

The magical thing about community living is it's not prescriptive: You decide what community actually means to you.

Sarah Wells is the cofounder of Queen City Cooperative, which purchased a second home and added five members in 2021. Her experience living collectively inspired her to change careers. She is now a partner at LiveWork Denver, where she champions housing innovation.