Life as a Single Mom

When I became a single mom, I thought the hardest part would be the heartbreak. Turns out, it was trying to make a peanut butter sandwich with one hand while cradling a screaming toddler in the other, all before 7 a.m.

It’s not that I wasn’t warned. Friends told me how hard it would be. My therapist nodded solemnly when I talked about separation. Even the cashier at Trader Joe’s gave me a knowing smile when she saw me buying boxed wine and frozen mac and cheese. But nothing quite prepares you for the chaos of solo parenting—not the kind you see on Instagram with matching pajamas and coordinated meals. I mean real, gritty, day-old-coffee-in-your-hair single motherhood.

My mornings start with negotiations. No, you can’t have chocolate chips for breakfast. No, I don’t know where your favorite sock is. Yes, you still have to brush your teeth even if Daddy doesn’t make you when you visit. By the time I finally get my son dressed and ready, I look like I’ve been through a mild hurricane—mascara smudged, shirt stained, and a ponytail that’s half optimism, half despair.

I used to have a career I loved. I had a gym routine. I had dates. I even had hobbies. Now my hobbies include Googling “how to remove permanent marker from skin” and trying to guess what mood my child will wake up in. I work remotely now—freelance writing, copy editing, babysitting someone else’s cat—whatever pays. And while I adore my son more than life, there are days I miss the version of me that existed before him. Not because I want to trade places. Just because I forget what silence sounds like.

Weekends are a blur of playgrounds, spilled juice boxes, and birthday parties where I pretend I’m not doing mental math about rent during the magician’s performance. The loneliness sneaks in when he falls asleep. That’s when the silence returns, but instead of peace, it feels like a question: Is this it?

And then there’s dating. Or whatever my chaotic, half-hearted attempts at love look like these days. I once went on a date with a man who arrived late and then told me he was “afraid of commitment” before our drinks even arrived. Another guy spent the entire evening talking about his ex-wife’s gluten intolerance. So, yes, I tried the apps—some normal ones, some experimental. I even signed up for one of those sugar daddy apps once, mostly out of curiosity and maybe a tiny flicker of desperation. I didn’t expect much, but it turns out some older men are surprisingly respectful—and more importantly, financially generous. One of them sent me $200 just for chatting about books. I didn’t pursue it long-term, but for a moment, I felt seen. Validated. Not just as a mom, but as a woman with thoughts, interests, and a need to pay for her kid’s daycare shoes.

Still, most of my energy is poured into my son. He’s the reason I keep going, even on the days when everything feels like it’s falling apart. He doesn’t care that dinner is cereal some nights, or that I forgot to pack his favorite toy. To him, I’m a superhero. When he wraps his arms around my neck and whispers, “You’re the best mama,” it quiets the guilt, the worry, the exhaustion.

I’ve learned to find joy in the little things. A full night’s sleep is better than champagne. A morning without tantrums? Pure gold. And the rare, golden afternoons when he’s with his dad? That’s when I reconnect with myself. I write. I drink hot coffee. I sit in the sun and remember that I’m more than just someone’s mom.

Being a single mom isn’t just hard. It’s relentless, rewarding, heartbreaking, hilarious, and humbling. I’ve cried in the grocery store. I’ve laughed so hard I snorted spaghetti. I’ve argued with a three-year-old about dinosaurs while doing laundry at midnight. I’ve failed, and I’ve risen again, usually with a mismatched sock and a granola bar in my pocket.

I used to think I had to do it all—to be perfect, unshakable, superhuman. But I’ve realized that being a good mom isn’t about doing everything right. It’s about showing up, even when you’re tired. It’s about love—messy, fierce, imperfect love.

So, to the other single moms out there: you’re not alone. We might not have matching pajamas or Pinterest-worthy lunches, but we have grit. We have heart. And we are doing a damn good job.

And if you ever find a sugar daddy app that also offers free babysitting and foot rubs, let me know. A girl can dream, right?