Tag Archives: single parenting

It’s Real

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A nightmare woke me up at 4:30am;
even with the light on I didn’t feel safe.
As sleep was out of the question at that point
I began to read and lost myself in bits about
blue-zone cultures and longevity.
And then breakfast and meditation
and yoga classes 1-2-3,
finishing at 12:30
talking on the drive home
with a dear friend in Colorado
going through some stuff of her own…
then lunch
and reordering business cards
and thinking about writing an
“about me” for my website
which has lain dormant for two years,
and a shower, ahh…hot, beautiful water…
and then it struck me.
My daily life used to feel like a nightmare.
I would pray to god to give me beautiful dreams
so that I could find solace at night when I slept.
Now, between working as much as I can teaching yoga
and taking care of my two beautiful children,
my life has become more fluid and easy
and I feel more empowered.
This was the dream I was looking for
at this time last year.
and now it’s real.
Without knowing when it would happen or how,
I’ve lived into a more powerful version of myself.
Today I feel strong, healthy and happy.
In comparison to the nightmare it once was,
today my life feels beautiful and light.
And I am so grateful.

Work and Play

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I’ve been working a lot harder
in order to make ends meet.
Between working and mothering
there isn’t much time or energy for anyting else.
They say all work and no play makes us dull,
but I feel so fortunate,
because I love my work.
I love teaching yoga.
I love helping my students relax and find center.
I am grateful that I get paid to help people be happier
with themselves, their bodies, their minds, their lives.
It somehow feels ok that I don’t have time
or money for a fancy vacation…
So maybe my work is my play?
At some point things will be clearer for me,
and I’ll be able to leverage my gifts, talents and abilities
to earn even more income doing what I love,
but until that time I’ll keep working hard
at this yoga teaching gig,
loving what I do,
loving the people who come to my classes,
loving that my work feels like play.

The Weight Of This Burden

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I’ve been working my @ss off,
trying to boost my finances
for what will come.
I’m tired, overhwhelmed,
my body aches, my mind is fuzzy,
and I’m flooded with a sense of futility.
And it hits me…
I’m doing what my
grandmothers and grandfathers did…
I am struggling just to get by.
*******
I thought when I married him
I’d be taken care of.
I’d raise our children
and take care of the house
and he would take care of us.
But that dream was shattered
in an ugly, unkind way.
*******
How can my faith in life be restored?
My family struggled through
the Great Depression.
And countless ancestors before them
struggled through poverty, famine,
sickness, and endless toil…
and through it all…
they somehow survived to procreate.
And so I was given a chance at life.
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been given this chance.
If I had known I would end up here,
wondering where I’ll live
and if I’ll have the mental fortitude to keep going,
I’m not sure I would’ve signed on.
******
What’s the point of living
when you’re struggling just to get by?
And I’m being asked to take on
and even greater challenge…
be strong for my progeny,
give them a reason to keep going,
pretend through it all
that I’m good at this,
that I like this,
that this is all ok.
Hats off to all the single moms out there
who managed to pull this off…
you deserve an award for your performance.
But frankly I resent being here.
I resent the weight of this burden.*

*I just want to acknowledge that in comparison to many, many people on this planet I am doing quite well. I currently have food, clothing, shelter (for now) and access to resources that could be of help. I recognize that all my whining and moaning and complaining about my situation here might elicit absolutely no sympathy at all from people who have been through far worse. I’m just sharing how I feel. I don’t expect that my feelings make sense to anyone. I’m just sitting in the middle of my own suffering wishing I could get away from it. Maybe one person out there knows this feeling. Maybe one person out there now knows that they aren’t alone.

At The End Of The Day

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I just want to be a good mother.
I try so hard.
And at the end of the day,
I lose it sometimes.
I lose it with my kids
when I’m tired and they’re tired.
There used to be another adult around
who’d step in
when I couldn’t anymore.
That adult is gone.
When I’m tired and sick
there is no one else to take care of me
but me.
I’m tired of taking care of myself,
tired of being alone.
I want help.
It’s in these moments
that the anger wells up
if I don’t stop it.
I get angry for being thrust into this place
of missing my kids when they’re not here
and overwhelmed when they are.
I’m tired of this mess, this story.
I can do so well for hours and hours.
I can be proud of my mothering,
the balance I manage to find.
But at the end of the day
I’m tired and they’re tired
and sometimes I just lose it.

Made It Through

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Spring was in the air,
so I threw open
all the windows,
rolled up my sleeves,
and got to work.
Load after load of laundry,
sorting through odd bits,
vacuuming,
tidying,
organizing,
cleaning…
so much cleaning.
Kids got home
and we went out,
out to the forest.
We slogged through mud,
over streams
and fallen logs,
slippery stones,
yellow-green moss.
Back home, homework,
dinner, bath,
reading together,
then bed.
I AM SO EXHAUSTED
AND I THINK I MIGHT HATE
SINGLE-PARENTING
THIS IS NOT
WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR
Then I write this
stream of consciousness poem,
and soon I’ll write in my
gratitude journal.
Ahh, I made it through another day.


Wish Me Luck

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Sleep deprivation.
Kids woke me up at night.
Lost my temper. Yelled.
Felt ashamed.
Too angry to sleep.
Tossed and turned all night.
Morning came. Groggy.
Meditation was a joke.
Meditated anyway.
Worried my teaching would be compromised.
Taught two yoga classes anyway.
Grocery store, card declined,
scrambling to scrape up money;
a girlfriend lent me the rest of what I needed.
(Had to drive to her house to borrow a card
and drive it back again.)
Embarrassed.
Ashamed.
Depressed.
Turned it around,
made dinner,
read the kids a story.
Snuggled my son.
He said he loved me.
Then he said he loved his dad.
The he said he loved the other woman.
He said her name as we were snuggling.
The kids went to their rooms. To bed.
I lost it again.
I was slamming and screaming
This isn’t fair!
I don’t deserve this.
Slamming and screaming.
Don’t traumatize the children.
I asked my husband to get the kids.
I told him I needed to get help.
He came and got them.
My daughter cried;
she didn’t want to leave.
I tried to reassure her that I’m going to be ok.
I was trying to reassure myself too.
Guilty.
Ashamed.
Tired.
Feeling defeated.
Spoke with two recovery friends.
Feeling a little better.
Trying to rest now.
Wish me luck.