by Meredith Siegel Cohen, Creator, Single and Striking Out

This piece is dedicated to the solo moms—who love deeply, sacrifice greatly, and give generously of themselves. And to their mothers, particularly my own, who show us how.

They say aging is not for the faint of heart.

I would add single parenting to that list.

The day I became a solo mother is forever etched in my mind. It was a frosty February morning and the atmosphere inside our home was equally cold. After ‘separating,’ my husband and I lived uncomfortably under the same roof for over 2 months. This was the morning he was officially moving out.

It was time.

I was relieved, but also very fearful of what lay ahead. He wasn’t just exiting our home— he was relocating almost 3 hours away (on a light traffic day), to another state. Everything, and I mean everything, would now fall on me. The day-to-day parenting—including nurturing, disciplining, managing schedules, problem-solving, housekeeping, chauffeuring, and meal prepping—every one of their physical and emotional needs—would be solely my responsibility.

How would I independently parent two distraught kids amongst all that was ahead of me? From this point on, I would have to juggle my career, oversee the breakdown of a house—(and a life!), and muster the strength just to get myself out of bed each day.

I believe his parting words were “good luck!” as he angrily slammed the door behind him for the last time. Whether positively intended or not, it wasn’t a bad wish— I needed luck.

And make no mistake, he wasn’t the only one angry with me.

My kids blamed me for the implosion of the only life they knew. I initiated the divorce, so in their eyes, this situation was my fault. It was a bubbling hot, messy cauldron of challenge and I was scared. Mothering, even with a supportive partner, is not easy. Mix all this into the brew and I didn’t know how I was going to do it, or frankly, survive it, as my own emotional state was precarious at best.

And yet . . . I was extremely fortunate.

I had loving parents who lived minutes away.

My father appeared on our doorstep no later than 10 minutes after my ex drove away. He sat quietly with our weepy family in the living room, providing a reassuring presence.  We will get through this. Together.

Three months later, the kids and I temporarily moved in with my parents to regroup and search for a new home to call our own. I remember the first night— we were all exhausted. My children were settling into their spaces, when my mother suddenly showed up in the doorway of my room, tray in hand. She had assembled a portable cocktail party, with 3 strong drinks (a necessity at this point) and charcuterie. Along with my dad, we toasted to brighter days ahead.  

Just as my children were only seeing things from their young perspectives, I never considered my mother’s vantage point in all this. For three years leading up to this moment, she and my father were the only ones who knew about the deteriorating state of my marriage. I would frequently appear on their doorstep, sometimes without even alerting them to the fact that I was there, sobbing on the steps. Sobbing. I had no other safe space in which I could privately break down.

I was so self-focused. I didn’t think about the toll it might have on my parents, particularly my mom. She was my confidante, and listened to my problems day in and day out, offering comfort and guidance as best she could. Looking back, I realize how excruciating it must have been for her. To watch her child in pain and not be able to “fix” the situation.

Eight months later, we moved into what I like to call my “freedom home.” A townhouse that witnessed a metamorphosis of sorts.

It was a hard road. I didn’t get to move away and begin a fresh life, seeing the children when it was convenient for me. I had to stay in the trenches, wade through all the “tough” stuff, and be there.

Every damn day.

On nights I wanted to get into bed and throw the covers over my head, I had to pick up from cheer and marching band at the high school at midnight. On days my work commitments conflicted with an awards breakfast or evening recital, I had to quickly shuffle my schedule so the kids knew that they were my number one priority. There were loud arguments, gentle conversations, differing perspectives, much exasperation and frustration, and then, when least expected, understanding. And always, always, love and support.

So, no, solo parenting, whichever way it comes to us, is most definitely not for the faint of heart. It’s exhausting, it’s maddening, it’s terrifying; simply put, it ain’t easy. However, with fortitude and devotion, the solo mom stays the course, loves fiercely, and shows up as best she can. Through her actions, she silently teaches a masterclass in perseverance and determination.

As I reflect back, I recognize that my situation was unique. I am truly grateful to have had so much support. Many people are not as fortunate. Without family or other outside resources or encouragement, they bear a heavy load. Sometimes it’s the grandmothers that unwittingly become “moms” to their grandchildren, and sometimes it’s the fathers that have to be both mom and dad. Sometimes it’s other family members or individuals outside the nuclear unit who become the caregivers.

To all those solo parents in midlife, like myself, I hope on this Mother’s Day you will step back and think about what you have accomplished, with pride. While it might have taken some luck, you are the catalyst that brought your children to this point.

And finally, regardless of your status, on this special day celebrating all mothers, may you feel loved and appreciated for the incredible lioness you are.

XOXO,

Meredith

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