It is so important that I be very clear about this title. This title is not a mother who is mad at her child’s father or dislikes him. I am writing this for the women who went through pregnancy on their own. Whose name is the only one signed on their child’s birth certificate, whose child has to ask, “Who is daddy?” This is for those women.
This pulls at my heartstrings like no other topic in the world. So I want to share a story.
I attended a brand new church this morning. I have heard so many testimonies of others sharing their experiences and how amazing the worship was. My son just turned four years old. I felt it was a little past time for him to start hearing about the guy named Jesus and his father, God. The church campus is beautiful, immaculate, big enough that you more than likely would never meet every attendee. My ideal church. Security was high and protected in the children’s building, and my mind was at ease knowing my son would be safe and also have fun. I walked into the main church building, and I had never seen anything like it. God took over. Then the music began. The music is my favorite. Music makes you feel all sorts of feelings and tears definitely ruined my contour and highlight I blended to perfection earlier that morning. The sermon was great. Short, sweet, and kept my attention. After it was over, I walked back to the children’s building. My son was so excited; the teachers couldn’t compliment his behavior and attitude enough. Now, keep in mind this campus is huge with multiple parking lots. Walking in the Arizona summer sun at noon, I was taking the quickest route to the back lot to the car, dragging my mini behind me as he wants to pick up every rock he can. We almost get across the street to the back parking lot when I hear a man yell at me, “You couldn’t walk a little more and go to the crosswalk? Real good lesson to teach your kid, lady.” Stunned, I turned around and saw a parking lot director shaking his head and staring at me. Speechless, I turned around and kept walking to my vehicle. Then the tears began to flow.
I think I can speak for any mother, single or not, that we are the hardest on ourselves when it comes to doing right by our children. Single mothers I have known to be even more so. More responsibility, more criticism, we are doing it alone. Raising a human by ourselves and hoping they turn out to be alright. Then, here come the critics, reminding you that you’re falling short in the parental department.
To say this man ruined my morning and my high hopes of this church is an understatement. Instead of seeing a mother with her young son at church trying to teach him the ultimate lesson in life, he saw me not teaching him the lesson of using a crosswalk in a private parking lot. And some may think, "Well, that’s silly she let something like that upset her, it’s not a big deal.” But here’s the thing: To a single mother, everything concerning her child is a big deal. Every move she makes she is constantly thinking about her child and the outcome. When he is screaming and crying in the store, she notices every single person who looks her way. When he pitches a fit (like every child does), she wonders what she did wrong and what she could have done better to make him listen and act respectfully. When he gets hurt (like every child does), she wonders how she could have ever allowed that to happen to him.
Though this story is simple, it is important. There was no dramatic twist or tear rendering scenario, but this is a story about the little things people often forget to pay attention to. It is a real moment from every day life. It is a single mother struggling to feel good enough, because she does not have a significant other to give her that confident boost we all need.
So remember the single mother who has the world weighing on her shoulders and is trying to provide enough love and direction for the other missing parent. Remember, she is doing what she believes in her heart to be right. Remember, she is already hard enough and criticizes herself before you even think to.
