I think most single mothers would say that the loneliness is the hardest thing about single motherhood. The long days alone with your child, no partner coming home to you, no partner to come home to, no adult at all. No one to share the highs and the lows of the magical and messy moments. If you don’t have a job with adults on your level, or you’re studying, or new to the area, or just finding it hard to get out and meet up with people, you can end up not receiving a real hug for weeks.
No real affection for weeks. No ‘wow, you’re doing amazing’ words of encouragement, or ‘wow that’s so hard, I hear you’ words of validation. Maybe you have one or two people to talk to on the phone from time to time, just for some adult connection. You wonder why you can’t seem to meet anyone in person. Why something always comes up. Why everyone lives in their bubbles that they don’t seem at all interested in expanding.
You wonder where are all the other lonely, alone, single mothers? You’ve tried reaching out, opening up, being available, but the principle of reciprocity seems to be lost these days. Everyone in survival mode. People’s bubbles are closed. Impenetrable.
Years like this, of desperation and frustration and a need to fill the emptiness inside, the broken heart. The grief of journeying motherhood, so alone. The resentment pools, the bitterness seeps, it seeps into your whole world. And into your relationship with your own child, without you meaning to. Single mums, you know exactly what I mean. And you know the shame and guilt that comes along with it.
The nights that are silent, after afternoons of chaos, your toddler’s tantrums, meltdowns, screams, throwing food, so many ‘no’s’. Moments of sweetness, as you pat them dry from their bath, or give them a little cuddle if they let you. The relief of kissing them goodnight, shutting the door, and hoping they won’t call for you again, because its 7pm and you’re about to collapse. Poking your head in half an hour later, the relief you feel to see their peaceful sleeping faces. The fear that you’re not good enough but reminding yourself you are trying your goddamn best to make lemonade from these shitty lemons life gave you. Of course, you made the choices along the way, you chose some of these damn lemons. Some of them were lemons in disguise (ie narcissists) so you give yourself some bloody grace about that.
Now they’re asleep, you can relax, but not really. You constantly stress about providing from them, about all the mental load of parenting falling on your shoulders alone. The burden is one of the heaviest weights you’ve ever carried. The constant undercurrent of restlessness, unsafety in your own home, as a defenceless woman living with her vulnerable child. It’s simply biology. So your sleep is never truly deep and restful, like a mama lion keeping one eye open.
You keep going, because you have no other choice. Trying to move forward, even though most the time it feels like you’re stagnate, stuck in survival mode. The absolute unnaturalness of parenting alone wreaks havoc on your nervous system. Having to protect and provide without the natural protector and provider. The father of your child. I don’t care if alternate resources are available to do so, it makes it no less painful. It’s unnatural, it is not in our DNA, in our memory, in our desires or deepest needs, to live this way.
I’ve been a single mother since my child was 10 weeks old. He’s nearly 4, and I’ve learnt a really valuable lesson. I had no other choice but to learn it to survive.
I’ve learnt how to be alone.
Single mothering, Part 2 – learning how to be alone – coming soon.
PS. big shout out to my parents & all the grandparents out there who are putting their retirement on hold to support their children and grandchildren. The grandparents of this era are certainly stepping it up in terms of support, doing their best to provide more resource and some semblance of a village in a world rife with disconnection and separation. We see you and thank you.
