I had gotten married straight out of college and for years felt that my primary identity was as a wife and mother. In high school I dreamed of one day starting my own business, but my guidance counselor pushed me toward a degree in liberal arts, saying, “You won’t need a career, you’ll have a husband.” Now, unprepared to do anything else, I had a teaching job that I hated. I felt stifled, as if I was merely passing time instead of living.
I knew I had to make a change, but the thought of raising a child on my own made me feel trapped. My parents lived far away, so there were few baby-sitting options. As a single mom trying to support my daughter, I wouldn’t have the luxury of exploring other career options.
Even so, when my husband said he wanted to be our daughter’s primary caregiver, I was stunned. I was the mother! How could I leave my daughter? What would people think? When he reminded me that I was miserable in the suburbs, I knew he was right. I’d be a lousy mother if I stayed. How could I possibly be a good role model and support system for my daughter when I felt like half a person? For the first time in my life, I made a decision based on what was best for me. I accepted my husband’s offer.
My family wasn’t thrilled with my decision, but they understood why I made it; my friends didn’t. When I called to chat with one woman I had known for years, her husband answered and informed me that his wife was a happily married mother, then explained that she couldn’t come to the phone. I never heard from either of them again. Another woman I played racquetball with regularly started canceling our games. When I confronted her about it, she explained that since she couldn’t imagine leaving her own child, she could no longer relate to me. It was so unfair–in the past I’d watched as my friends invited male friends who’d left their families over to dinner and offered to fix them up with other women before their marriages were cold.
Even worse than the sense of isolation I felt was seeing how hurt my daughter was. She sadly told me that she wished I were at home baking cookies like some of her friends’ moms. All I could do was apologize and explain why that could never be me.
Through all the pain and sorrow, I could see that I had made the right choice. My ex-husband was a great parent. He was a teacher, so he had regular hours and plenty of time to spend with our daughter. He joined Parents Without Partners, a support group that provides activities for single parents and their kids. And while I have always loved our daughter as much as her father has, he gave her more emotional support than I was able to.
My relationship with my daughter was often strained during the first few years after the divorce, but I was always there when she needed me. I made her a costume every Halloween, took care of her when she was sick and helped her with term papers. Because her dad and I remained friends, I would often cook dinner for the three of us during my weekly visit. When she was in high school I unknowingly planned a trip to Greece for the week of her junior prom. She burst into tears when I told her; who would comb her hair and fix her dress? I still haven’t been to Greece, but I know she looked gorgeous for her prom.
Eventually I got my act together. I started a record label, taught personal-growth workshops and wrote books. My efforts to strengthen my connection with my daughter began to pay off. When she graduated from high school, she paid to include this in her yearbook:
My daughter and I now have a wonderful relationship. She’s an independent, happy, confident young woman, in part because I chose the freedom to grow up over being a dysfunctional mother. People still look down on me because I bucked the traditional belief that says a mother’s place is with her child, no matter what. But I didn’t need to live with her to be a good parent. My daughter is proof of that.
