What I wish people knew about being a working, single mom

The next thing to do

My mind is often fending off thoughts of “the next thing” I need to do. At home I think about

work, and at work I think about home. Sometimes this is good for my planning-oriented brain, like when I remind myself at work that I need to schedule three dentist appointments before the end of the school year and make the phone call at lunchtime. Sometimes it’s not, like when my daughters, ages 10, seven, and five, and I are snuggling on the couch for a movie; I suddenly remember I need to send an urgent, work-related email and I have to whip out my phone in the middle of Rogue One.

I can't do it all and I feel guilty

I don’t have time or a flexible enough schedule to be part of the PTA, volunteer in my daughters’classrooms, or chaperone many field trips, and it makes me feel inferior. Yes, I’m the sole provider for my children so I have to be at work more than I’m not, and yes, I’m sure there are many other parents in that same situation. It doesn’t stop me from having an internal guilt battle with myself. It gets even harder when my seven year old gives me “puppy dog eyes” and I see tears welling up after I tell her I can’t come to the museum with her class because I have to work (stings badly when her sad little voice cries out, “you ALWAYS have to work!”).

Mom has bad days, too

I have really bad days sometimes, and no one to tag me out of the wrestling ring when I’m

feeling exhausted or sad or at the end of my patience. Yes, I have family and friends who are

incredibly supportive and my girls’ father is involved, but that doesn’t help when I get home

from a rough day at work, have to field no less than 347 questions from three children in a two-hour time frame, make dinner, do the bedtime routine, AND work through nighttime meltdowns (sometimes my own). In that moment when I feel like I’m going to break or say something unkind to one of my girls or yell or mishandle a situation or scar them for life somehow, I don’t have a partner right there who I can implore to give me five freaking minutes to use the bathroom uninterrupted so I can regain a sliver of my sanity. In those moments I feel helpless and worried I’m going to make a mistake I can’t take back, and it can paralyze me with anxiety and emotionally exhaust me.

Creating a safe space

Speaking of bathrooms…. I sometimes go into the bathroom just to flip through Instagram or take some deep breaths (after I spray air freshener) or drink some sips of wine in peace. We talk in Conscious Discipline (a great framework for managing behavior and building strong relationships with children) about having a ‘safe space’ and a method of ‘self-regulating’ and calming our emotions – the bathroom is my safe space. For now. But the door doesn’t lock, so …

My children need their mother, and I need them

This wasn’t my master plan for my life. Every day is challenging or difficult in some way. I

struggle with wanting to make sure my children have their mother as much as they need, but also wanting to show them what a healthy adult relationship looks like (and wanting to have my own needs for companionship and romance met…). My daughters see EVERYTHING I do and don’t do. This is actually mostly a good thing, I found out. When Mother’s Day arrived they gifted me with notes from school where they filled in answers to questions about me. I teared up when I read that my oldest’s response to the question “What should your mom change?” was “Nothing. She’s amazing,” my seven year old’s best recent memory was that I gave her the last popsicle, and my five year old wrote that she loves me because I hug her a lot. That brought me back to my center, to what I know in my heart matters to my children. I can be mad, sad, frustrated, tired, silly, or happy, and all they want is to have time with me and feel my love.

I. Am. Enough.

I may be frazzled, disorganized, forgetful, or a little loopy, but they don’t mind. They love Surprise Saturday, where we try to make a new recipe. They love impromptu trips in our pjs to Whitey’s for ice cream. They love my big, comfy bed when they can’t sleep. They love me. I. Am. Enough.

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This guest post is part of a series of posts tackling the topic, "What I wish you knew". If you would like to read more, see below in "related posts" or click on Guest Bloggers in the categories to your right. If you would like to contribute to this series, email AuthenticallyAmy.

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