How I Became a Single Mother

When introducing myself to people for the first time, I always mention that I am a mother. In response, I typically witness strange facial expressions and receive the following question: “Are you with his father?” Everyone wants to know my situation, and I can’t always blame them for being nosey. If you don’t know me on a personal level, my age is questionable—I look too young to have a child, let alone a six-year-old. I also openly talk to others about my son, but never mention any sort of relationship with his father. Over the past few years, I have been seeking out other women’s stories because of what I have been through (and still go through) with my own child’s father. It’s never to judge or compare, but to gain perspective and reflect. So, let me tell you my story.

At the age of 21 I became a mother, and at 22 I became a single mother. Breaking up with my son’s father was the best decision I ever made, but it was also quite hard. I felt my relationship with him ended the day I found out I was pregnant. Everything seemed to change. We remained together throughout my pregnancy and up until my son was just over one year old. It is hard to explain, but I was extremely unhappy during my pregnancy and my son’s first year of life, and I felt disconnected from the experience of motherhood. My relationship was unhealthy, toxic and abusive. There was no physical abuse, but there was plenty of verbal, emotional and psychological abuse. I eventually reached my breaking point and had to remove myself from the relationship. I left the relationship not only for myself, but also for my son. I needed to find me again—and my happiness. I also needed to be able to give my son everything he deserved from me as his mother.

The decision I made to leave my relationship hurt, even though it was for the best, and sometimes I still feel that pain. The pain comes from feeling like I failed as a parent. A part of me feels guilty because I haven’t been able to give my son a home with two parents. Instead, he inconsistently goes back and forth between two cities. He doesn’t have the experience or memories of a “normal” family, with both parents living under one roof. This was never my plan. Unfortunately, my choices and decisions led me here and I carry guilt for that. Despite this situation, my son is still extremely blessed and the happiest child I know. Yes, I was unable to provide him with one home, but I have to thank God for giving him two homes full of loving individuals. 

Even though it caused me pain, leaving the relationship automatically felt like a huge burden was lifted off my shoulders—and that was a great feeling. I felt a sense of freedom after feeling trapped for so long. But the feeling of freedom was short lived. Strong emotions began to settle in, including hurt. Extreme hurt. I would go in bed in tears asking God, “Why me?” I was looking for a reason to understand what I did so wrong in my relationship or life to deserve what I was going through. I am not perfect, but God knows no one deserves this. Eventually, feelings of disillusionment sank in and I became extremely disappointed in myself. But this was not me. Anger and bitterness began to sink in deep. The bitter feelings come from wasted time and allowing someone to take away experiences I can’t get back. I allowed someone to significantly change how I saw myself, and I allowed myself to be disrespected. I forgot about the things I valued the most. I watched the people I love be treated horribly by someone I brought into their lives.

During the relationship I was numb to my circumstances and I stayed quiet when I should have spoken up. This relationship consisted of many extreme highs and devastating lows. I couldn’t keep up anymore. What is funny (well, funny to me) is my breaking point was over something extremely petty. All the prior incidents where most people would have said, “Listen this is enough,” did not phase me. Like I said before, I became so numb. Numb to all the dangerous behaviours, and toxic and unhealthy lows. However, one lovely day he decided to bitch and complain about the temperature of my home and that set me off. I had enough. I have memories where I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. Significant moments were consistently taken away from me due to selfishness and I was angry about that. I had given someone my body, I carried their child for nine months, I spent eight to nine hours in labour, and he made my pregnancy and motherhood experiences rough. 

I decided this is going to be my first blog post because I continuously tell people I am a single mother and they always want to know why. I sugar-coat the story most of the time, I guess to protect others and to protect myself. This is my story—and just a snippet of my story. I have shared the surface, but of course, as you can imagine, it goes much deeper. I share this story not because it defines me, but because the relationship I had with my son’s father has greatly impacted my life. It changed me and helped shape who I am today, in positive and, possibly, not-so-positive ways.

As you continue to follow me on this journey through my blog, I will continue to share more. If you are a single mother, comment below and feel free to share a snippet of your story.

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