For most of my childhood and nearly all of
my brother’s, my mum was a single mum. Not a primary caregiver who shared
custody. Nor a parent who received maintenance payments from an absent father.
No, she was a 100%, full-time single mum who raised two children on her own.
She was the mother, the father, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner, the
cleaner, the good cop, the bad cop, the cook and the nurturer. It wasn’t an
easy life. For her or for us. But it certainly wasn’t a terrible life either. We endured
that life together and now, as adults can look back with an almost fondness in
our hearts.
“Remember how poor we were Tan?” Mum would
ask, smiling. And I smile too when I answer “Yes! How could I forget?” Because
there’s something about shared struggle that really binds people and hearts.
We were a small, tight and happy family. The simpleness of our lives, borne out of
the inherent lack of money and financial security bred intense gratitude for the
smallest things. Fillet steak for dinner on my birthday and my brother’s first
ever designer sneakers come to mind. But conversely it also developed a desire
for a greater life and a hunger for security – both emotional and financial.
I talk about my mum being a single parent a
lot. I do it because I’m proud. Because I understand just how incredibly strong
and capable a person needs to be to fulfill that role with any level of success
and competence. And I’m proud that MY mum is one of those people. I do it also because I wholeheartedly believe that being raised in a single parent family
has shaped me as a woman, as a wife and as a mother. Some of it in my favour
and some of it to my detriment.
As a woman I am empowered. I know, without
any doubt, that if the shit hit the fan and our lives went to hell that I would
be able to pull us through. I believe in me and I believe in women. My mum
didn’t mean to raise me as a feminist, it was just the by-product of having
such an incredibly non-reliant, kick-arse, can-do female role model. I value
women. I value my girl friends. I value me. Seeing my mum unapologetically take
on the world lit a fire in my belly. But the flipside is I don’t value men as
much. I have a distrust of them. Though that is changing. With every year and
with every test I subconsciously set for the men in my life, but it is still
there. It’s a hard feeling to shake. Having sons helps. Watching and helping them
grow into loving, respectful and reliable young men restores my lost faith.
As a wife I am mostly pragmatic and
demanding. On the one hand I believe I don’t need my husband and I can do
everything without him. On the other hand, I’m terrified that he will leave and I have high expectations of him to be an active partner and father. Perhaps testing him. Perhaps
trying to convince myself that he’s a good man. Growing up I always knew I had
to ‘find a good man’. And now that I’ve got one I almost dare him to prove me
wrong. He hasn’t and the largest part of my heart knows he won’t, but the
smallest part still waits. I am heavily involved with my in-law family, grateful for
them and what they bring to our lives. I only had my mum’s side of the family
when I was growing up and though I never missed my dad’s side I am profoundly
aware of how fortunate I am to have two extended families to call my own these
days.
I am far too emotionally invested in my
home. We moved quite a few times when I was a kid. There’s no family home for
me to go back to. My mum hasn’t converted my childhood bedroom into a gym.
There aren’t any marks on any walls that show how tall my brother and I grew
over the years. We were long-term renters so my dream was always to buy a big
house, fill it with kids and stay forever. I am in my forever house. Even
though it’s not sensible or affordable or even manageable at the moment. I am
in love with my house and have an unhealthy and intense feeling of security
there. Even the thought of selling it makes my stomach turn.
As a mother I am tough. But mostly on
myself. I want to be all things to my boys. I want to be strong and capable
like my mum. I want to teach them gratefulness by not giving them everything
but I don’t want them to ever feel hungry. I want them to learn independence
and resilience but I never want to not be there for them. I never want my work
to be more important or necessary to me than being there for them. As the only
income earner in our household, my mother’s numerous jobs were necessary to our
survival as a family. It meant she was away from us a lot. Even as kids we
understood that but we shouldn’t have had to and I don’t want that for my boys.
I expect them to appreciate the privileged life they live, though they know no
other life. I struggle with my absolute maternal need to give them the life I didn’t have and my fear that I am robbing them of ever understanding the
value of disadvantage. So I am tough and contradictory. I sacrifice overseas
holidays, designer clothes and new cars to send them to a private school but refuse to succumb to
spoiling them with the latest technology, gadgets and toys. I tell them that our
family and our home are the most important things in the world. I tell them
that my main job as their mum is to help them get through life with their health and
their heart and their happiness. I tell them these things in words because I’m
not confident that they will work it out themselves and I need them to know these things. I tell them they’re lucky
and I tell them I’m lucky too. Because if you hear it enough times, you begin to believe it. I tell them what a good man their dad is and I
show them that I love him and he shows them that he loves me. We don’t hide our
arguments from them. We tell them that it is ok to argue with someone you love.
It is safe. Family can disagree and still be family. Together. I want my boys to always know
the feeling of security. Emotional, spiritual and financial.
I love the woman I am today. It took many
years to love her and to understand her but all my resilience and insecurity
and contradiction combined makes sense to me now. And it all fell into place
when I realised that I had it wrong. Coming from a single parent family was not something bad that happened to me. It was a gift and a life-long lesson in family, love, strength, self, vulnerability, courage and choice.
Being raised by my single mum was the best
thing that ever happened to me.
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