Mother's Day as a solo or single parent
The first Mother's Day after my divorce was impossibly hard. Here's what I did to shift my mindset from ashamed to empowered.
This issue is brought to you by Honest Motherhood by Libby Ward. It’s the book I wish I had when my son was young. Still, reading it today, it reminds me to show grace for Past Me and Current Me, and reminds me that I’m actually doing a bang-up job. (You are too—Libby will show you.) Motherhood is hard enough without the judgment, pressure, and idealistic views society burdens us with. Instead of aspiring to be a perfect mom, Libby encourages us to be an honest mom, with the kind of raw, biting humor that every mom can relate to. If you’re ready for a motherhood book that’s as real as motherhood itself, pick up Honest Motherhood. (It makes the perfect Mother’s Day gift, too!)
It was May 2016. My son had just turned 3, and his dad and I were finalizing our divorce (a process that took a year and a half). This was the first Mother’s Day that I was officially solo parenting; the year before we were in the middle of The Whole30 book tour and putting on a convincing(ish) show of togetherness.
That Mother’s Day in 2016, my parents came to visit. I’m not sure if they came because it was Mother’s Day, or if it was just the best time for them to travel. Either way, I was grateful to have them there. We made reservations for a fancy brunch buffet, celebrating our two generations of moms. I remember doing my hair, picking out a dress (it was black… subconscious foreshadowing?), and putting my son in a cute outfit.
The day was beautiful. Brunch was delicious, my son was adorable and happy, and my parents were thrilled to spend time with their grandson. I, however, was miserable, and so self-conscious. Everyone saw me there with my kid… and my parents. Not a husband. Not even a boyfriend. I felt like there was a red neon arrow over my head blinking, “Divorced! Alone! Sad!” I thought everyone was watching, and judging. I saw grinning moms sit at their tables with their husbands and their children and felt like a loser.
I have photos from that day, but my smile was forced. I thought, “This is how Mother’s Day is going to feel from now on.”
The reframe
I would spend the next few Mother’s Days as a solo parent, but none were as hard as that first year. (I’d venture to say nothing was as hard as that first year, when it came to parenting.) I was doing a lot of therapy, and letting go of some of the stressful stories I had around my divorce.
I began to reframe my “flying solo” status as empowering, not sad. My son and I had a clean slate, free to create our own traditions. I could do it any way I wanted! We could do traditional Mother’s Day stuff, plan our idea of a special day, or treat it like any other Sunday. I was rebuilding my life, recovering my self-confidence, and creating new non-negotiables for myself and my son.
Most important—I never again had to sit through a “traditional” Mother’s Day (or Christmas, or anniversary) pretending to be happy. That thought, combined with, “I can do it any way I want,” became my touchstone for the next few years.
In the years following, I approached Mother’s Days differently. One year, I spent a leisurely 90 minutes at the gym (they had a great daycare), then went to the park, where my kid rode his scooter and played on the playground. The next year, we went on a snowy hike, where we played in the snow and a nice person took a great photo of us. The year after that, it was the gym, out for breakfast at our favorite diner, then bought myself flowers on the way home.
For me, the flowers were the ultimate power move. Yes, I’m buying them for myself. Yes, I feel great about it.
If people saw us—just a mom and her kid on Mother’s Day—I felt proud instead of embarrassed. We were owning this day. I was his mother. This was MY day. I didn’t need a husband or boyfriend to celebrate me, or legitimize me. I was celebrating my own damn self.
For you
If you are also parenting solo or single this Mother’s Day, here are a few things I wish someone had told me in those early days.
You can do Mother’s Day any way you want. You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. You can make a huge deal out of it. You can go out. You can stay home. You can do anything any other mom does, including taking yourself and your kids out for a fancy, dressed-up brunch, then buying yourself flowers. It’s YOUR day.
You can also opt out. You don’t have to celebrate Mother’s Day. You can treat it like any other Sunday. Tell your kids, “I celebrate being your mom every day. Let’s just relax, watch movies, and order pizza tonight.” If it feels too hard, skip the fanfare.
Nobody is judging you. Nobody is watching you, specifically. Nobody is making judgments about what kind of mom you are. Celebrating with your kids isn’t stressful. The story, “They’re judging me,” is the stressful part. You could just drop it. If someone is looking over at you, you can always tell yourself, “They think my kids are cute,” or “They’re divorced and know how I feel.” Those are just stories too, but they’re far kinder to yourself (and equally likely to be true).
You never know who you are inspiring. You are not the only solo or single parent out with kids on Mother’s Day. There are other moms who feel like I did that first year—uncertain, embarrassed, sad, or lonely. Watching you celebrate this day (and yourself) with your kids might be the inspiration or permission they need to do the same.
To every mom: May you have the kind of Mother’s Day that serves you best, whatever that looks like. Know that we are here, cheering you on.
XO, MU
P.S. Grab a copy of Honest Motherhood wherever books are sold, for you and for a mom you love. (This would make a fantastic book club read!)
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