An Open Letter to Married Single Moms

Dear Married Single Mother,

I am writing this letter in hopes of giving you a glimpse from the other side. The dishes, the laundry, the grocery list, the unswept floor: It can wait. I sit here across what seemed like a chasm to me not so long ago. Their dad has moved into an apartment down the street. My boys go there after school each day. We're settled into a steady rhythm. And life is much easier than it ever was. More peaceful. There is so much laughter. And without their dad to undermine every parenting decision, the house runs smoothly. The boys clean their rooms and pick up their mess. They do their chores. They don't fight much anymore, now that the tension is gone.

Having their dad here was far more draining than I realized. I was exhausted because I was a married single mom, tiptoeing around him. Asking him to do something was just a recipe for a fight. But he wouldn't take the kids out of the house so I could clean. So the house was dirty. And chaotic.

When their dad lived with us, my nervous system was on high alert all the time. There was no rest. Or resting. I was diagnosed with ADHD at nineteen. I have experienced a significant amount of trauma. I blamed my inability to focus, to get things done, on these issues. But now that he's gone, I work full time, run a business on the side, do the dishes, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the cleaning without blinking an eye. It turns out I have excellent executive function. It was just being undermined all of those years.

And now the house is clean. Now the house falls into quiet, even when the boys are here. They go to their dad's after school. I pick up the groceries I ordered on the way home from work, then pick up my little one while the older one races us home on his bike. We drive with the windows open, either blasting our favorite tunes or enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.

The boys then exhale and play together in the backyard or in the house, or do their own thing depending on their mood. We may go for a walk in the woods with the dogs. And then I cook supper. Sometimes they help me chop vegetables. They like to listen to the sizzle of chopped onion hitting the pan and smell the sauce filling the air. Sometimes they keep playing. Some nights we make s'mores in the fire pit under the stars. Tuesday night is taco night. On Friday nights, they head to their dad's for pizza and a movie. They come home midday Saturday, and we have the rest of the weekend together. I like to make meatloaf on Saturdays. They love the ketchup glaze.

Those Friday nights and Saturday mornings are precious time for me to get things done for my business. Or catch up with girlfriends. After more than a decade of not being able to talk on the phone in the house, with absolutely no time to myself, this feels like a scheduled breather at the end of the work week.

Weekday mornings are busy. I get the older one up at 7 and have him out the door by 7:30. Our old routine of me walking him to school has been replaced by me walking him to the back gate. I close the gate, and then he calls to me as he's walking across the ditch to the school property, "Have a great day, I love you." "You too, Mom, hearts!" I secretly watch him through a small hole in the fence, marveling at how grown he's gotten. His shoulders are becoming broad. I can see the man he will be. And I sigh, because it has been a journey with this one. And he has come out the other side with his tender heart intact.

Then a quick cup of coffee, and I go get the little one up. I carry him from his bed to the couch and ask him what he'd like for breakfast. It's usually oatmeal. I cover him with his aunt Laura's blanket, which is always draped over the couch, and get his breakfast ready. Then I sit and eat with him, and we keep talking while I get his snack and bag ready for preschool. Usually it's about his dreams. His dad pulls in at 8:30 to take him to school, and I send him on his way. "Bye, Mom, mwah!" he says, as he blows kisses my way. I never knew it could be this good.

With me at the helm of the home, my boys are able to play without having to worry about overwhelming their dad. My older son doesn't antagonize his little brother anymore. After all, he was only doing it to displace the tension he felt in his chest.

The other night I was sitting at the dinner table with both boys, the way we do every night. My older one said, "If I'd known it was going to be this good, I would have asked grandma to move him out sooner." We all laughed, and then I asked them how their dad is doing. "Oh, he's much happier too."

It's the best kept secret that separated mothers won't say out loud: It's the best of both worlds. In fact, it may be ideal.

Signed,

A thriving separated Mama.

P.S. Married single mother: I assure you, you will thrive too.