I had a desire to write and share my story tonight. It's hard being a single mum and every now and then we should stand back and give ourselves some credit.
Last night my nearly nine year old daughter looked at me earnestly and pronounced that I wasn’t successful because ‘you don’t do anything’.
Putting aside a desire to scream at her I calmly asked what she thought success was. She didn’t have an answer. But I did.
“The fact we live in a house that’s perfect for us, that I can pick you up from school, cook and eat with you, single handedly keep a roof over our heads and pay your school fees feels pretty much like success to me,” I said.
She wasn’t buying it. “It was different when I was in my twenties,” I said. “Success then was interviewing ministers, sitting in the press gallery in the Houses of Parliament, getting the splash, interviewing interesting people, working with great people (some of whom she knows and adores), being whisked off on press trips to America or the Edinburgh Fringe.”
She considered what I had said and looked at me, as if for the first time, as someone who was a person in their own right, with meaning, fulfilment, value and relationships that pre-existed her.
“That’s interesting,” she conceded.
And it struck me that it was. In the nearly ten years since I discovered I was pregnant, as the result of a three-night stand, my life has changed beyond recognition and my definition of success has been turned on its head.
But it’s one hell of a success story whichever way you look at it. It’s also a story that contradicts the demonising societal narrative around single motherhood.
When I found out I was pregnant at 37 my mum had been dead for ten years, my dad for five. I had a ten-year relationship and divorce behind me. I had tried to have children with my husband and it didn’t work. I convinced myself that was down to me and I couldn’t have children.
Getting on a bit, without parents and struggling to find anyone I had a cerebral connection with I followed a more base, three-night instinct and ended up pregnant.
What, how, why. Shit! Then a great sense of calm settled over me. This was my gift, it was my chance to give my all to another human being and that’s exactly what I was going to do.
In the couple of hours after I realised I was pregnant all I could think was that the worse thing that could happen to me was to lose my child.
The boy, it was definitely a boy, in my tummy, who was going to be called Jack, after my dad, was going to have the best mum I could possibly be.
I called a friend who advised me to ‘decide’ what I wanted to do before, if indeed I ever, spoke to the father.
I ignored her. My mind was made up. He was in Spain with his mates, he was drunk when I spoke to him. He didn’t want children but would support me whatever I decided.
The last nine years have taught me his idea of ‘support’ and mine could not be further apart.
He came back from his weekend away, couldn’t afford the rent on his flat, so I, very stupidly, invited him to move in with me. I thought we could make a go of it, be parents, in a respectful, loving relationship.
He was drunk for the entirety of my pregnancy. Didn’t attend scans. Called me a crank, accused me of trapping him, wished me dead – all while asking for money to achieve his abusive state, which was my fault the following morning when he couldn’t remember what he had said or done.
It was a shock to me. With hindsight I’d led a pretty sheltered life. I assumed people were good at heart, honest, fair and honourable. I’d travelled the World, experienced generosity and kindness from complete strangers and been on the receiving end of people who have nothing giving you a part of themselves.
To discover the father of my child was an abusive, manipulative, lying bully when I was at my most vulnerable, in need of love and support, was devastating.
I couldn’t rationalise the behaviour, lack of compassion, kindness, empathy and ridicule with my values. It was incomprehensible. And I felt so alone.
I eventually insisted he leave the week before Christmas when our daughter, Evelyn not Jack as it turned out, was six weeks old. He’d come in from a night out, slept in the spare bedroom and wet the bed because he was drunk – but he didn’t tell me that, I had to discover the sodden sheets and soiled pyjamas on our return from a night away.
It was the last straw. He went back to his mums and has been there ever since.
With no mum and dad and no support from my daughter’s dad or his mum I had to get a job pretty soon after Eve was born. I’d been contracting at the Department of Health when I was pregnant so no maternity pay or job to go back to.
I met Julian, the marketing director for a financial company, over a coffee when Eve was nine weeks old. He was offering less than half of what I had been earning for a full-time head of PR role.
I convinced him to pay me the full-time salary for three days a week and started when Eve was 12 weeks old. My auntie looked after Eve so I could work.
It got me out of the house, when everything else was going to shit, it gave me purpose and a sense of achievement.
Her father and his mother refused to help. He wanted to see her, but he didn’t want to let me know when, or if he did he would call and cancel half an hour before he was due to pick her up. Or he would say he was taking her to the pub on a Friday night with his mates.
On one occasion he said he was taking her to the pub I said he had to choose, daughter or pub, as the two were not natural bedfellows.
That resulted in a court application, in which he accused me of being abusive, to establish contact.
He’d started claiming unemployment benefit so he could access legal aid to take me to court. When you apply to the family court for access and there is an allegation of abusive behaviour they refer the case for assessment, it used to be Cafcass, by a social worker.
The process involves a telephone interview with the designated social worker who prepares their recommendations before the court hearing. Part of that process includes background checks on the applicant and the other parent.
The recommendations and background checks are shared with both parties before the hearing. Unsurprisingly my background check was squeaky clean, his had two pages of convictions and incidents, a lot of domestic violence I wasn’t aware of with an ex – the revelations helped me realise it wasn’t me, as victims of domestic abuse can often feel, it was him.
Contact was established, he didn’t go to the pub with Eve.
But he was relentless in his abusive behaviour towards me. Drop off and pick ups were punctuated with comments about Eve being dressed in ‘charity shop’ clothes. Me having no friends and no-one liking me. Accusations that I didn’t care about Eve I only cared about myself.
To be fair he hasn’t messed around with contact since. Maintenance is another matter, he’s either been on benefits when he’s been forced to pay £5 a week, or earning £11k a year, in which case he’s supposed to pay £96 a month.
He’s a builder, he works in cash and he’s a liar. He hasn’t submitted a tax return since 2011, no-one has chased it, no-one has questioned it. And he doesn’t pay £96 a month.
But what’s not in doubt is that he loves her, in his own narcissistic way. She loves him, dad is on a pedestal, he’s the fun guy who bribes with sweets instead of parenting and she manipulates him to her advantage.
But she also comes home and says he doesn’t look after her, she can’t do her homework at his house because he doesn’t know anything or he won’t listen to her read.
Back to me and why I’m a proud single mum. He’s still welcome in my house and his family are welcome in my house.
He gets an invite to our family Christmas, which features great food and company, and he’s treated with respect by all of us as Eve’s father – because that is the right thing for me and my family to do for her.
But being taken to court continuously, defending my values and asserting what I felt was right for Eve took its toll on me. The day after our last court appearance I was made redundant.
I couldn’t get a job that would challenge me, or pay the mortgage and childcare fees, without some help, and I didn’t have any.
So I set up my own business. We’ve been trading for five and a half years. We’ve got household names as our clients.
I’ve got the most amazing staff who support me, who I trust, who share the same values as me – and who I worry will leave because I’m not a multinational with an exciting work environment and endless opportunities for progression.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow.
Right now I’m happy and I’m my own version of successful. I’ve got a healthy relationship with the father of my child against the odds.
I sit down and have dinner with my daughter every night and we talk. I earn enough – I don’t need to do anything for anyone apart from me and my daughter.
I’m happy with me, who I am, what I am and how I am. And in my book that’s success as a single mum.
I’m sure there are lots of other single mums who’ve found success in their own way – don’t let other people define your success – and share your stories.
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