My son recently asked me if he can read my blog. I stopped in my tracks, my brain bouncing explanations back and forth as to why he shouldn’t. If I let him, I’d be afraid that he’d think that I don’t love being his mom. Why else would I have to vent to the world that mothering is so hard? Despite being 13, I feel he is too young to read it and not feel offended. Someday, he’ll read it and we will chat and laugh and he’ll see that I wrote this because I love him and his brother enough to share it with the world.

I do want him and his brother to know that this motherhood road has been rockier than I imagined it would be. When my oldest was born, I was living away from home and that in itself caused so many challenges as I had no friends, no family, no support system. When he was 2, we moved ‘home’. Well, closer to home. A few months later, his brother came along, and I was smacked in the face with post partem depression and anxiety. Fast forward 4 years and we packed up our car and moved again, this time leaving Daddy behind.

When I entertained the idea of becoming a mother, none of this came into consideration. Divorce and mental health issues wouldn’t happen to me!! This wouldn’t be my life. A single mother? It was outside the realm of possibility, when maybe it shouldn’t have been, but it was. And now here I am. While this wasn’t the plan, you play the hand you’re dealt.

I never thought I’d be a divorcee. But as broken as I felt, I never felt my kids came from a ‘broken’ home. In fact, I hate that term. I would be lying if, in those early days, I didn’t feel like I broke our family the day we left. And I felt so much guilt for that. But I’ve come to realize that that was not the case. We are not broken, we are just different than before.

Recently, we were swimming. I joined the kids in the pool and after a few jumps off the diving board, my eye makeup was halfway down my cheeks. A very attractive look, I might add. My oldest son said ‘Mom, you ruined your makeup. You look like you divorced’.

It took me a second to understand, but he meant it looked like I had been crying. And I guess he knows divorce is one thing that brings tears.

Our counsellor told me that next to death, divorce is the hardest thing for a child to go through. I believe it. Especially when the children don’t get to see their father regularly, like mine. Despite having accepted their parents’ divorce, I still see my children struggle sometimes. I see them eyeing father’s picking their classmates up from school. As a woman, I am also aware how outnumbered I am in the hockey rink dressing room trying my best to tie up hockey skates as tight as I can. I see this. I feel this. They do too.

When we first moved to town, we settled and worked on creating a new normal. It was embarrassing how often my kids saw me cry. I tried to hide it. I did. But there are only so many times you can run to the bathroom in one day and pretend you have to poop. They caught on to me. It hurt their heart, they told me, to see me cry. I felt horrible as I am the one to wipe their tears, as the parent, not the other way around.

I realize now that in those moments, my boys learned so much about empathy. Our world had been falling apart around us and I was the foundation, trying to keep us all together. I may have had a few cracks, but damn it, we are still standing. Maybe stronger than ever.  

They may have grown up a little bit too fast as a result of the changes they’ve had to endure in their short lives, but they played their cards with such resiliency. I am so proud to be their mother.

I may be the one raising them, but no doubt they are the ones that have helped me grow.