If It Aint Broke, Don’t Fix It

On my son’s first day of Kindergarten, he was asked to bring a family photo to school. It was for a project that would be displayed in their classroom at the end of the week. Really cute idea- a class family tree where everyone got to show off their nearest and dearest, and the class would learn about family dynamics. It was specific to include only those that lived under the same roof, and each child would identify the members of their immediate family. Awesome.

Except, for me, it wasn’t. I was a single mother living alone with my 5 year old son. There was nobody else. Just the two of us. My heart sank, and i felt inadequate. Not only was I a single mother, but I was also the youngest parent in the entire school. By a long shot. A bunch of labels tied to that whole scenario just springs to mind. In a moment of weakness, i felt words of criticism just digging into my skin.
“Where’s the dad?”
“But she’s so young!”
and my favorite …
“Kawawa naman yung bata.” [Poor kid]
I felt that a lot in those first few years of motherhood. Judgement and pity.

I debated on whether or not to send in a photo of my family instead. It would be my parents, my siblings, my son, and me. Since we lived together prior to our move, it didn’t really feel like cheating. I figured, that was our family anyway. We were the new kids in school, having recently relocated back to my hometown, and nobody really knew anything about us. Nobody would have been the wiser.

Then, it hit me. Dylan would know. He would wonder why his mom didn’t just tell the truth.

I thought maybe if i sent in a picture of a family represented by all the proper components that a family should have, it would be okay. I’d save face, in some weird way. It was as if a photograph of a group of people would make others more comfortable as opposed to seeing just a young lady with a child under the title of family. I was nervous about how we were being perceived, and i felt the need defend myself.

Well, i didn’t do it. I sent in a photo of our humble duo, all smiles, taken on a beach trip, just a couple of months before we moved out of the city. It was a decent photo, I clipped it onto his homework notebook and never thought about it again. I couldn’t escape my reality, and if people chose to talk about it, i would own it completely. My son and i were happy and that was something that never needed an explanation. We just made it work.

I was young, but that kid was my entire world. I made mistakes, a lot of them, but never did i make a decision without his best interest in mind. I stepped up to the plate and did what i had to do for our family. It came with hardships, yes. But motherhood is difficult regardless. Easy is really circumstantial, if you think about it, and i say this coming from back to back pregnancies with a household deemed “complete”.

There is a stigma that surrounds the concept of a broken family. We’ve been programmed to think that single parenthood and divorced couples are miserable and devastating. While it may be true for some, it’s not the reality for many. Some of the happiest parents and children i know come from families that learned to co-exist apart.

The truth is, this is not the situation we would have chosen if we were given a fair choice. Nobody really wants to raise a child on their own. People do not just break up with their partners for fun. Life happens. Toxicity happens. Sadness, infidelity, incompatibility, accidents, assholes, etc. (for lack of a better word). I mean, the list goes on.

We had a very loving home environment. When he wasn’t with me, he was with either one of his grandmothers. He was always with someone that loved him immensely, and i don’t see a problem with that at all. The circumstances may not be ideal, no arguments there. Of course, it would be better if a family stayed together. Yes, there are benefits of growing up in a household with both of your parents. But there is a false sense of security that comes with keeping a relationship going, only for the sake of family, which is deeply rooted in a patriarchal society. I say this because women are made to feel so much worse about abandoning the typical family structure compared to men who refuse to take care of their own children.

I mourned the idea of my would-have-been family when i chose to move back home with my parents, my 6 month old in tow. But you know what? I was unhappy, and it was clear to me, even then, that our values and priorities didn’t align. Yes, we were in a relationship and the child was obviously not planned, but the choice to continue with something that was already falling apart would have been my life sentence. I knew i was making the right decision. I did break up our family, absolutely. But we were not broken as a result. Dylan and I have a relationship that I’m extremely proud of, and a lot of single parents would say the same thing.

We are not broken. There is nothing that needs to be fixed, and we damn well don’t need saving. We may be broken in other aspects, but our family is not one of them. Anything or anyone that adds value to our unit is a welcome bonus. When things fall apart, there’s an opportunity for better things to come together, and life is too short to be spent wondering whether or not you could have been happier.

I paid that Kindergarten classroom a visit at the end of that first week. Dylan was all smiles as he presented our photo, pasted on colored cartolina.
“That’s my mom!”, he announced with full blown enthusiasm.
He still says that when people ask him who i am.

I am his mother. That was more than enough.