This Year, I Didn’t Wait to Feel Special

Lessons as a solo parent on Mother's Day

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I co-parent 50/50, but when my daughter is with me, I’m parenting 100% solo. I’m the only adult in the house. No family for 300 miles, no live-in partner. It’s just me. And something I’ve noticed in my ongoing (co)parenting adventures is how safe my daughter feels telling me things: little things, big things, weird things, feelings things. She doesn’t seem afraid to be honest with me, because she knows honesty isn’t punished in our house—it’s honored. And short of drawing on the walls (yup), few things get a “time out” at my house.

I’ve built a space where conversation comes before consequences, and connection always wins. I don’t know exactly how things feel for her in every environment, but I do know this: her willingness to be real with me tells me I’m doing something right.

I’m reminded of this often, like when we go to Dunkin’ Donuts as a special treat before school and she always insists we pick up a donut for her teacher; or how she says the sweetest, most affirming things to me quietly from the backseat after a day of fun; or when I get notes from school about how outspoken she is in class and how helpful and kind she is to other kids.

These are indicators — not that she’s the saintly daughter or that I’m a perfect angel of a mom (HA!), but that she is the way she is because I nurture the wild spectrum of her emotions. With me, she feels safe to express her anger and tell me things she might not be as forthcoming with others because she knows she will be met with calm (as much as possible) and an honest conversation. She knows I will never tamp down her fiery spirit or whimsical self expression (because ugh, I know what that’s like) and that as much as I still “get it wrong” in my overwhelmed moments, I always come back for the repair. I am not above apologizing to a seven year old when I’m wrong.

I see it in difficult moments, like when I’m having an existential crisis, overwhelmed with life and breaking down in tears. I let her witness that because I believe it’s vital children experience their parents emotionally regulating in real time, to know that we are not superhuman, as much as society tries to convince us we should be. I want her to notice how I care for myself with yoga or EFT in challenging moments to regulate my nervous system. I want her to know that I allow myself to cry (often). I want her to see me healthily expressing my anger (never directed at her though).

I want to continue having honest conversations about hard things because I don’t want her to reject or suppress parts of herself like I inevitably did growing up.

For as much as motherhood does not fulfill me, I know how incredible it is for growth and expanding our hearts exponentially (yep, I said it. And I want to make the distinction that the experience of motherhood itself is what does not sustain or fuel me, not my child). She is teaching me every moment of every day in her own way, just as I am doing for her.

Recently I had one of these growth-recognition moments. We were in the car, and she told me she and her dad recently played a bird game together. When she won and started celebrating, she mentioned her dad got upset with her. I don’t know the full scope, whether she may have been overly boastful or unintentionally rubbed it in his face, but the details aren’t important What is important is what I noticed and how I responded.

What I saw in that situation was not only myself but centuries of women who were made to feel less-than, small, and unworthy (pandering to a man, no less). What I heard wasn’t “Daddy got upset I won,” but rather, “I had to make myself small to keep others comfortable.” And that is something I squashed immediately with the swift fierceness of a hiking boot to a cockroach.

“Baby,” I said, “don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you can’t celebrate yourself.”