The Bright Spots of Single Motherhood

Most of my content revolves around the hard stuff—single parenting, family court, custody battles, post-separation abuse, and co-parenting with someone who is difficult, to say the least. These are the realities many of us face, and we seek validation for our experiences while also trying to strategize a way forward. It makes sense that this is where much of my focus is.

But today, I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about the bright spots of being a single mom.

I’ve been a single mom for seven years. My daughter was just one when I got divorced, and our lives have been shaped by that reality ever since. It has been hard—there’s no way around that. I’ve lost much of my 30s to navigating crises, finances, legal battles, and exhaustion. But through it all, there’s something I wouldn’t trade for anything: the time I have with her.

We share a deep connection. The only other connection I had like this was with my grandmother. It’s in the way I know her so well, in the way she knows me. I can sense when something is wrong without her saying a word. She picks up on my moods, too. I have been the constant in her world, and she has been mine.

Doing It Without a Village

People often talk about the importance of having a village when raising a child. I didn’t have one.

There was no co-parenting partner who showed up consistently. No family nearby to step in when I was exhausted. No built-in support system to help carry the weight. It was just me.

The only real support I’ve had has been one really good babysitter—someone I could trust when I needed those rare moments of space. She has been with us since Charlotte was 1.5. This summer, Charlotte will the flower girl in her wedding. And while I’m grateful for that, the reality is that most of this journey has been mine to carry alone.

There were times when that felt impossibly heavy. Times when I was sick and still had to parent, when I needed a break but there was no one to call, when the exhaustion of juggling everything felt like too much. But somehow, I kept going. Not because I had to, but because I chose to. It was a choice every day. Charlotte deserved that.

Some moments felt so heavy, I wondered how I was supposed to keep going. The scene in Maid where the child’s toy falls out the window while the mother is just trying to put on music, leaving a huge abusive fight—that scene wrecked me. That’s real life. That’s what every single day can feel like. You are escaping abuse while trying to make someone smile. You are trying to create normalcy while holding the weight of survival.

And then there’s every sick day. You never know what your kid has at first or what they need, and yet everything else in life pauses. I remember one month in Kindergarten, she was sick for almost the whole time. My whole world shrank down to caretaking Charlotte, especially when she was younger. The isolation of it, the exhaustion—it felt like a prison at times.

Or the countless times I had to cancel plans because she was sick. Coming home, thinking everything was fine, only to have her throwing up in the bathroom while I texted friends that I wouldn’t be making it to the Broadway show. And the times I did leave her with a babysitter—her crying at the door, begging me not to go, and me standing there, torn between the need to work and the guilt of walking out.

This is the weight of doing it alone. And yet, despite it all, I wouldn’t trade my time with her for anything.

Taking Care of Me, Too

Parenting alone is exhausting. There’s no way around that. The weight of responsibility never fully lifts, and I’ve had to learn how to carry it without completely losing myself in the process.

Right now, I’m dealing with a lot as a single parent, so I haven’t been able to do much socially—I used to, before things got rough and I needed to pull back. But I still prioritize what I can control. Sleep. Workouts. I do regular therapy and coaching, because I know I can’t hold all of this alone.

And then there’s travel….

For me, nothing compares to the feeling of landing in a new place, stepping into a language I don’t speak, watching Charlotte take it all in. I rarely ever go out to eat and save allll of my money for travel. The pictures of our adventures are my favorite thing, not because they’re perfectly curated moments, but because they capture something real—the wonder, the newness, the feeling of this is ours.

Travel reminds me that there is a world beyond the stress, beyond the exhaustion, beyond the hard parts. And when I need to reset, that’s where I find myself again.

A Bond That Won’t Break

One of the things I’ve come to realize is that Charlotte likes having me to herself. She trusts that I am her priority, and that’s something she can count on. Of course, there are moments when it gets annoying—for both of us. But in general, our life together has a rhythm that just works.

We don’t have to balance a million different personalities in our home. It’s just us, and that means we get to do what we want, when we want (and when we are emotionally regulated enough!)

She knows that if she needs me, I am there. She doesn’t have to question it. And that’s a security I hope she carries with her forever.

I asked her today, while we were getting pedicures together—one color for me, four for her, plus sparkles—what she loves most about our life. She thought for a moment and said, "Our routines and hanging out."

That’s what matters to her. The simple things. The moments that don’t feel big, but make up the foundation of her world. And honestly, they’re my favorite parts, too.

The Future and the Lessons I Hope She Carries

I know this time with her won’t last forever. One day, she won’t want to hang out with me as much. That day is not too far from right now, in fact, I-know-that-she-knows I will prioritize her friendships. One day, her world will expand beyond just us. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be.

But when she looks back on this time, I hope she remembers more than just our routines and adventures. I hope she carries forward the things that matter most.

That people come before things. That actions will always matter more than words.

I hope she learns that resilience matters. That even when life isn’t set up for your success on paper, you can find a way forward. I want her to know that while I didn’t have a village, I built systems. While I didn’t always have support, I figured things out. And that she, too, has everything she needs within her to succeed.

And one of our most important rules: we never go to bed angry. Even though she’s just eight, we make sure to repair, to make things right before the day ends. (I do go to bed exhausted, though—there’s no avoiding that.)

If nothing else, I hope she always knows that love isn’t just something you say—it’s something you show. That no matter where life takes her, no matter how big her world becomes, she was raised in a home where she was loved, prioritized, and chosen. That she had the tools to build the life she wants, even when things weren’t perfect.

And at the end of the day, when she calls, I will always answer. Because that’s what this is about—not just raising her, but being her safe place in the world. In fact, she called me at 1:40am last night….and I answered :)

If this resonates with you, I hope you know that you are not alone.

I think we underestimate how much single mothers give—not just in time, but in energy, in presence, in sheer emotional availability. It’s easy to romanticize the “doing it all” narrative, but the truth is, doing it alone is often crushing. And yet, somehow, you have not just survived it—you have carved joy out of it. That’s extraordinary.

If you need support, you can always find me at emotionalabusecoach.com.