I’m 12-years-old, crying on our living room sofa after my mom explains the real reason my father wasn’t in our lives. Following the time I was eight, crying on the same living room sofa as my step-father and step-brother were packing their truck to leave, after the final decision to divorce.
Now I’m 24-years-old, crying not because of the lack of fathers, but because of the realization of what my mother had to sacrifice to be a single parent of two children.
Like many people who grew up with one parent, understanding the hard work and sacrifice that our parents went through doesn’t come at a young age.
The feeling of realizing a little too late doesn’t escape me.
It’s frustrating to remember the ideologies from childhood of how having a single parent creates a weakness for a child, disregarding the obvious valuable examples of
resilience and hard work that comes from our single parents.
These can also cause a lot of harm to children of single parents and the parents themselves. Outcasting somebody because it doesn’t match what others perceive to be healthy enables bullying against not only children but the adult as well.
As a kid, my mom would ask if it was embarrassing to be a child of a single parent. The answer was always no and was often met with confusion, because why would I be embarrassed? This was the life I knew and was comfortable with.
Then that question became more common outside of my household. The stares of regret and pity after they ask me about my parents when I only respond with one. It always seemed more of a problem to others than it ever has been for me.
It’s an oversight on society’s behalf to create a narrative of embarrassment when there was a perfect opportunity to showcase the great strengths that can come from that experience.
As an adult, it feels impossible to fathom being a single parent to one child, let alone two. I owe every advantage and strength that I’ve gained to my mother.
The biggest lesson she’s taught me is to value my independence and individuality. Every phase I went through in childhood was met with open arms and genuine curiosity.
She gave me a childhood filled with books and art, following me into adulthood where I’ve pursued my passion for writing.
Imposter syndrome would have swallowed me a long time ago if it wasn’t for her.
