Single Send parenting

Dear Diary...

I struggle with not knowing whether people truly understand. Understand the strain I'm under. I really don't want this to sound like a pity party, but sometimes that's exactly what it feels like. Writing helps me get the thoughts down in black and white so I can leave them on the page and move on.

Today I'm struggling with a few feelings.

Firstly, can we just touch upon the difference between co-parenting and, quite frankly, being a single mother? I would class myself as the latter.

Tommy's dad lives a mere 30 minutes away. However, there may as well be countries between us, never mind counties. He is struggling with his own demons, and I even resent that sometimes, because my demons are getting bigger and stronger through the lack of support. I wish I had the time he has to fight mine.

My job as Tommy's mother is 24/7. There is no break. He even sleeps in my bed.

The only respite I get is when he's at school, but even then I live on edge, wondering how he's coping there. I get a phone call a couple of times a week asking me to collect him early or updating me on his day, and it's never good news. No news is the good news.

I don't get a night off, never mind a weekend away.

Sometimes I'm even envious of friends who co-parent. I see them having nights out or even just one night a week where they get to be themselves and take off their mam hat for a while.

I hear people talk about how hard it is when their children go to their dad's for the weekend. And I don't doubt that it's difficult. But when you live the reality of single parenting with absolutely no break, and then add additional needs—which means additional appointments, additional advocacy, additional mental load—you're quite literally screaming for a break.

I need a break in order to carry on being the parent Tommy deserves. Yet there truly never seems to be one in sight. So I dig down into the deepest parts of myself, somehow find what's left, and carry on.

I don't even get to say, "Can you do bath time tonight?" or "I need an early night." Or, "Will you get up with him?" when it's 3 a.m.

It's all me.

Every bedtime.

Every wake-up.

Every appointment.

Every meltdown.

Every worry.

Every decision.

And the hardest part is that people see you coping, so they assume you're okay. They don't see the constant mental checklist running through your head or the exhaustion that sits so deep it becomes part of who you are. They don't see the tears you hold back because there's simply no time to fall apart.

Then there are the working mams. I'm even envious of them sometimes.

They get home at 5.30pm, share tea time, share bedtime, and then their kids are asleep by 7pm. What kind of alternative life is this? Haha.

If I actually added up how many extra hours of sole parenting I've done since the day Tommy was born compared to the average mam, I think the difference would be outrageous. Even just the fact that Tommy doesn't settle until around 10pm and is awake again by 5am means I'm doing several extra hours of parenting every single day. That's before you even consider that I'm doing it all alone.

And then there's the comment I hear so often:

"You're so lucky to only work a few hours a week though."

Lucky.

What people don't see is that every hour I work has to fit around Tommy's needs. They don't see the appointments, the school phone calls, the sleepless nights, the endless paperwork, the emotional labour, or the fact that my job as his mam doesn't pause when I'm working—it simply gets squeezed into the gaps.

The hours I don't spend in paid employment aren't hours off. They're unpaid hours spent caring, advocating, organising, comforting, teaching, worrying and surviving.

If anything, work is sometimes the closest thing I get to a break.

I know people don't mean to minimise it.

They just don't see the invisible workload that comes with raising a child who needs more from you than most people could ever imagine. Unless you've lived it, it's almost impossible to understand.

So yes, I only work a few hours a week.

But I'm "on shift" every other hour of every other day.

I'm not asking for sympathy. I'm asking for understanding.

Because being strong isn't a choice when there's nobody else to lean on. It's survival. And while I'll keep showing up for Tommy every single day—because that's what mothers do—I can't pretend that carrying it all, all of the time, doesn't feel unbearably heavy.

Glad to get this out my head and on the page. If you relate, we've got this (24/7 haha).

Lots of Love,

Diane oxoxoxo