I got overwhelmed on my way home from work today. It happens sometimes. That drowning feeling. That moment when I realise this is my life and, for the moment at least, it‘s impossible to imagine an alternative version. Growing up I believed I’d have a large family, a supportive husband and a lovely home. This wasn’t even some dream, no, I had dreams. This was just a given. Instead, I’ve woken to a reality of being a 30-something, divorced, single mum to an only child. I love my son. He is literally the best son I could ever want. If it wasn’t for him I’m not sure I’d still be here. But the thought that he will (most probably) be my only child breaks my heart.
I know you’ll all be in there saying, oh you’ll meet someone else. No offence, but you don’t know that. Sure, I don’t know for certain that I won’t, but I do know I’m unlikely to meet someone in time to have another child. If you ask me to have faith, then what you are really asking me to do is to trust in myself. But how can I trust in myself? How can I believe that things will work out fine when I made them so magnificently not fine by marrying and staying with a man so wrong for me? How can I now trust that fate – life – whatever you want to call it, will lead me to happiness? That fate will lead me to the right man? Or even just a plain old decent man? I can’t do it. That’s asking too much.
Perhaps there is a part of me – this part that lacks faith in myself – that fears who I would bring in to this family. Once you have a child, when you date you are no longer looking for a man for only you. You have to consider your child too. It’s such a heavy responsibility to carry. I’m scared of getting it wrong – again. I can’t imagine bringing anyone else into this house. I can’t imagine sharing my bed with another man. I can’t imagine my child feeling comfortable with someone else. Perhaps that’s why I can’t imagine having another child.
When the realisation comes – the realisation that this is my life – a part of my soul escapes my body. My soul, the essence of who I am, doesn’t want to be who I am. Bit by bit, it’s leaving me, pushing up through my chest and out of my throat. It wants to be a mother with a family to care for. I want to be a mother with a family to care for. I want a brood of kids at my feet. But I know, every day that passes is another day that the chance for me to build my family drifts further and further away.
There is one facebook status that rips through me whenever I read it. The one that comes after the birth of a second (or third) child; ‘our family is now complete’. Well mine isn’t, and from where I’m standing I don’t think it ever will be. I know I should be grateful for my child. I AM grateful for my child. But that doesn’t make it any easier. I never wanted a child alone. I never wanted a lone child. I wanted a family. A big fat, family.
Yesterday, when we came home from visiting a friend who has a new baby, my son insisted on sleeping with his dollies, cuddling them as he drifted off. It felt like this was his way of telling me he wanted another child in our lives as much as I do. The idea that my son will grow up without someone to play with in the garden, without another child to argue with at the dinner table, and without another little mischief maker to create chaos with at bedtime, literally breaks my heart.
Every time another friend has a second (or third child) it reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Over and over again. It taunts me with the shadows of images of what my life could have been, sending another jolt of reality searing through me. It grates on me when friends complain about having to deal with two kids (no doubt like this post will grate on those who desperately want even ONE child, the mother’s in waiting who would give anything to have a child – I’m sorry). Even worse are the people who ask if I have, ‘just the one?’ and then follow up with nuggets of wisdom like, ‘oh, lucky escape’ or ‘you made the right decision’. Would you just not. This was not a decision. I would give anything to be caring for two children (or more). I know on a practical level it would be harder (of course, there would be twice the nappies, mayhem and chaos), but on an emotional level it would be easier. The void I feel from not having a ‘family’ would lessen. The yearning to have another child would be met. And it’s that mayhem and chaos that I actually crave, rather than the loneliness that is my reality of single motherhood. If I can’t share my life, my son, with someone else, then at least let my child share his life with another child. Let me share in the joy of watching my children grow together.
I love my son. Our bond is incredible, so I can, on the good days, appreciate we could make the most amazing and complete little family that ever did live. And occasionally I have glimpses of that. But that is not how I feel most days. Yes, I know there are alternatives and maybe one day I’ll have the strength to go down that path, but for now it’s just the two of us, and that hurts. Perhaps one day I’ll feel differently. I hope, for my sake and my son’s, that day comes soon. But for now I’m grieving for that imagined family, the family I came so close to creating but who, day by day, slip further and further away.
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27th December 2018 at 8:12 am
I searched for blogposts of single Moms and I found you. I like the persona behind your voice and I like that you’re so raw and honest. I don’t know if that makes sense to say but, firstly, I am happy that you have a home and a job in developed country and, most importantly, a healthy boy. I live with parents, just lost the job and that loneliness and economical insecurity stops me from moving into another country where I can find more single Mums and better acceptance in the society. But I am happy bcs my son is healthy, just shows signs of Adhd (too early to say). And what stops me is that I feel weak, depressed, disoriented and not sure I can do it on my own. I didn’t even want kids but since I grew up in a big family, I imagined plenty of kids if I ever enter the family story however the suicide of a sibling left us in realization that we can do our best but we never know. And that we all have some mental gealth problems. Much more so than a lack of properties that rents to Mums or high price of it or lack of a daycare, I’m scared something is “wrong” with me but I don’t know what and I’m passing it to a child as the only parent. I got long here but what I actually wanted to say that you have had more than one story to tell. I’ll never have more kids is just one. I am so glad you didn’t focus on that one only and contnued to fight and I hope you have what you wanted now. Merry Christmas and loads of hugs from the south!
27th December 2018 at 12:14 pm
I’m so glad you found my little blog. In many ways I am very lucky, being born where I have been, having access to a (deteriorating but still existing) welfare state, having access to decent jobs and owning my own home. Unfortunately happiness is something within us, connected to our relationships with others, not the goods and wealth (although they certainly make life simpler and easier and less stressful in other ways) so I still find it a struggle. I’m sorry for the tough time you’ve been having. I hope that things improve soon and you’re able to follow the path you’d like to. Please don’t blame yourself for putting things onto your child, you’re right we all have mental health issues, some more than others, but it doesn’t necessarily pass down and it’s about how we try to seek support for those issues that really matters and what we teach our children about them. My son knows mummy gets sad sometimes and although it’s a shame he sees that, it’s reality and hopefully means he’ll learn from it too. Even if not, what can we do. If we broke our leg we wouldn’t try and pretend we hadn’t by playing football with the kids regardless, so we can’t do the same with our mental health either. It’s a part of who we are. Merry Christmas back to you and your family. I hope 2019 is a better year for you all. x
29th March 2018 at 9:57 pm
Amazing post! Totally relatable. Thank you for your honesty.
30th March 2018 at 10:23 am
Thanks xx
5th April 2016 at 10:02 pm
great post! one of the best I have read for a while. As an only child myself i personally never craved a sibling. I loved having all the attention myself and said if my mum and dad ever had another baby i would move to grans (possibly a rather spoilt written child).
Now I am at the total opposite end of the scale from you. I already have 1 3 year old and i am currently pregnant with my second, and i just keep wondering if i have made the right decision in having a second. She seems happy on her own. she has never asked or indicated for a sibling. Will she be ok when the baby is born? i will do everything in my power to include her and make sure she understands that having a new baby brother or sister, docent change how we feel about her. but will that be enough?
sorry for the long comment but you post really hit something and I just thought I would give a different point of view :0)
Lx
http://workingmumy.blogspot.com
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6th April 2016 at 8:37 pm
Hi Lisa. Thanks for the comment. Really interesting perspective. I come from a relatively large family so I’m totally sure that has influenced my assumptions that I’d always have a big family. I know lots of very happy, great only children. I’m sure your daughter is happy as an only child, but I’m also sure once she has a sibling she will also be very happy too (although it might take some adjustment!) Sounds like you’ve already really thought through how to make the change easier on her. Good luck with it all! xx