There are days when I genuinely question my ability to be a mother. Three years ago, I found myself a single mother after my partner walked out on both me and our children. Even prior to that, I faced difficulties in understanding what motherhood truly meant. Growing up in a turbulent household, raised by a mother who perhaps was not ready for the responsibilities of parenting, I’ve often felt lost in this role. At 32 years old, I grapple with the notion of motherhood, burdened by the emotional scars of my own upbringing. The legacy I inherited from my mother was one marred by pain, and now I’m left to navigate the complexities of parenting without a roadmap.
The knowledge I received from my mother was often harmful, and now I’m tasked with not only learning the basics of being a parent but also unlearning the detrimental lessons of my youth. There’s a profound fear that comes with breaking the cycle of abuse, a fear that statistics suggest I might not escape. However, I am determined to ensure that the cycle ends with me. Despite my uncertainties, I am resolute that I will never inflict harm on my children.
But beyond that certainty lies a vast ocean of doubt. Each developmental phase my children encounter feels like a new beginning for me, presenting challenges I am unprepared for. I often find myself questioning my abilities: Am I failing? Can I truly do this? Some days, like today, the answer feels elusive.
Like any mother, I aspire for my children to grow into confident, responsible, and kind individuals. I want them to thrive and to know they are loved unconditionally. Unfortunately, I was not taught these essential lessons, and I have stumbled through my own journey, often feeling like I was clawing my way out of darkness. I’ve survived, but can I teach my children how to navigate life?
Today, I feel uncertain. I adore my kids deeply, and I strive to do right by them, yet there are moments—like today—when I feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities of motherhood, especially as a single parent to children with special needs.
I’m exhausted from my efforts to rise above the financial struggles that plague our lives, working two or three jobs that often lead to 70-hour weeks. This relentless grind leaves me with towering piles of laundry and unwashed dishes that serve as constant reminders of how overwhelmed I truly am. I feel a sense of shame when I send my child to school without her homework completed or in clothes that no longer fit because time and money are luxuries I cannot afford. I often face heart-wrenching decisions, like choosing between putting food on the table or attending to my son’s essential medical appointments. It saddens me when I can’t tuck my kids in at night, realizing that the next three evenings will be the same.
I am running on empty without anyone to share these burdens. Watching my children grieve for a father who has chosen to leave them, and a mother who wishes she could be there more, is devastating. I’m at a loss for the answers they seek, answers that I don’t possess. I feel as though I’m sinking. I’m handling a monumental task on my own, without a partner to lean on or a mother to guide me.
Can I truly be the mother my children need and deserve? Will I ever feel confident in this role? Right now, I don’t have those answers, and I might never fully grasp them. Yet, one thing is certain: I love my children more than I was loved and more than their father ever cared for them, and that has to mean something.
I love them in a way that makes it incomprehensible how a mother could harm her child, a concept that baffles me given my own experiences. My love motivates me to be better so I can be the mother they require. While I may never achieve perfection in my parenting, my love for my kids drives me to keep trying. That’s what I’ll hold onto today.
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In summary, single motherhood is fraught with challenges and self-doubt, especially for those of us who have faced our own struggles. Despite the overwhelming odds, love prevails as a guiding force, motivating us to keep pushing forward for the sake of our children.