The Lone Rangers - Single Parents' Writing Project

INTRODUCTION

Late in 1993 two single mothers, Karen Clark and Helen Tailor approached QueenSpark Books with the idea of forming a group to work on a book by and about lone parents. (You can find more information about who QSB are and how we work at the end of this book.)

As a single parent myself and a writing facilitator I was excited at the idea of working on such a project, so we quickly went about looking for writers. Members were found through SMASH, a local self-help group for single mothers, and also through friends and contacts. With the help of Brighton Borough Council’s Equalities Committee, the Single Parents’ Writing Project began. Brighton Unemployed Centre, at that time home of the only free creche in town, and a long standing focus for informal support networks amongst single parents, gave the project a venue, and our first meeting took place in February 94.

At that meeting we wrote and talked about our hopes for the project, the kind of group we wanted to have and the kind of book we wanted to write. We were full of positive energy and ideas, and couldn’t wait to begin writing. Week by week we wrote together about our lives and the issues that affected us, and I think all of us found those sessions to be great sources of strength and mutual support.

The Project continued for three terms of writing workshops, and a further nine months of typing, editing and bookmaking. Over that period we have overcome our fair share of difficulties.

All of us have at times struggled to find the time and energy needed to see the work through. But in between part- time work, cooking, applying for and completing college and university courses, shopping, delivering our children to school and collecting them, washing, looking after other family members, moving houses, dealing with family bereavements, beginning and ending relationships, recovering from illnesses ( ours and our children’s) and generally staying on board the roller coasters which are our lives, we have managed to write, re-write, type, edit, plan and design; and learn desk-top publishing and proof-reading skills and use them.

We hope that the results of our labours (!) will live up to the high expectations we have had from the start.

Lorna Jones – writing facilitator

Whilst being involved in editing this book I have experienced a range of different emotions. At times I’ve felt despondent and angry, at other times optimistic and proud. The predominant feeling is that of inspiration, instilled by the determination and strength of the authors and the honesty of their accounts.

Single parent families are on the increase. We come in all shapes and sizes and the diversity of the material here reflects this. The reader has the opportunity to share some of the writers’ most personal hopes, fears, struggles and achievements on their journey through parenthood.

Being a parent is no picnic. We can only learn from our mistakes, from each other and from our children. As single parents we alone carry this responsibility; it is relentless.

For many of us the economic, educational and environmental future that awaits our children seems at best unknown, at worst dismal. Despite this and despite the odds stacked against us the contributions in this book reflect a will to thrive, to keep our own and our children’s heads above water, and to do our best to offer them the basis for a secure and rich childhood.

The women here. like so many others are finding and using their voices. This book is a testimony to the strength, vision, courage and humour they display throughout the enormous and undervalued task of raising the next generation.

Miranda Frost – editorial advisor

Our Aims for this Book

Karen

It would be nice if the book were to reach a variety of readers, who have not experienced single parenthood, so hopefully they might have a better understanding of our situation, instead of using us as scapegoats when society does not always live up to their expectations.

Sophie

I want other single mothers to get a feeling of “you are not alone”. I want them also to feel a sense of pride in who they are and what they are doing. So many people make you feel incapable and unworthy of being a mother because you don’t have a partner and I just really want to get the point across that we’re alright. We are courageous.

Shirley

I want any single mother reading this book to feel that on the whole, a single mother family is a positive, progressive and brave way of life. Although all our stories are different, I want them to sense that many of our problems are the same and that they aren’t self inflicted. I want them to feel encouraged.

Sharon

I hope this book will be an antidote to attacks from the moral majority; that it will show that being a single parent can be a positive and rewarding experience; that single parent readers will be able to value themselves for who they are and their achievements.

HOW WE BECAME SINGLE PARENTS

Dawn

I became a single parent the moment I became pregnant. There was a small popping sensation in my belly and I suddenly felt different and sure. As soon as I knew, I realised that the father was not someone I wanted a long term relationship with. When he walked away from me in the middle of St Mary Street he was doing to me what I would have done to him eventually.

In that time I had taken a overdose and spent a week in hospital. The psychiatrist and the nurses could not and would not believe that I was pregnant. Those weeks were the most panic stricken in my life. God knows what they put on my medical records. My friends were understanding but a bit sceptical. When the test did finally show positive my sense of relief was overwhelming. I had really felt that was losing my mind.

Although I spent a couple of weeks after that in a state of numbness, my acceptance of the situation grew with the foetus inside me. I began to feel so physically strong and healthy. My body was reassuring me that everything was going to be OK.

I told my mother I was pregnant in their hotel room in Weston – Super – Mare. Her only comment was, “I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing”. She had come to the conclusion from my style of dress and no mention of boyfriends that I was a lesbian, so it must have been an unexpected shock for her rather than just shock. That was all she said to me about it and she was soon knitting baby clothes.

Bethan was born a month later than expected. Despite regularly riding around the pot holed streets of Splott on an old sit-up-and-beg bike, nothing happened and I was finally induced. When I first held Bethan in my arms it felt so natural and right. Now some seven years later, despite all the problems we have faced together, it still feels right.

Lorna

It was a fling. I took the morning after pill. Six weeks later I knew I was carrying child. I felt it was my duty to tell P but I didn’t want him involved- a serious relationship with him was out of the question. For me there was no decision to make. Being pregnant meant preparing to be a mother.

The first moment when I knew that I was pregnant was when I was walking home alone after a drink with some friends. Over my half pint of Guiness I’d made the revelation- half guilty half excited-“I think I might be pregnant”.

I’d always insisted I would not have an abortion under any circumstances, and one of my friends, G. felt that this was an irresponsible standpoint. “‘That’s totally selfish,” she would say, “You should think of the child, ask yourself what sort of life it would have. How can you think of bringing a child into the world without even considering how it would cope with being poor, or being called a bastard?” I’m sure I was red cheeked and raising my voice above the noise of the pub as I tried to defend my right not to consider an abortion. To me being pregnant meant that my body had decided to hold, nourish and nurture a group of cells until they grew into a baby. Once this process was underway, I didn’t feel that I could judge the point at which life began, and the idea of submitting to what seemed to me a brutal medical intervention was just unthinkable.

… “I hope your not pregnant, anyway,” said G “for the child’s sake.”

I was upset. Walking home alone, I found myself thinking about how I would cope, rather than thinking about what a disaster it would be, and I found that my hands were resting gently on my belly. An incredible feeling of tenderness suddenly overwhelmed me. Tears welled up, and inside my head I spoke to my child. “Don’t worry little baby,” I said, “I’ll look after you.”

Sharon

I remember the first time I saw him, the father of my children. Across the room I thought he was gorgeous. I looked into his striking blue eyes and it felt like our souls were colliding.

He was witty, warm and friendly, a bit of a social magnet, he could charm anyone. There was so much positive energy, synchronicity, certainly one of the happiest times in my life. I felt so emotionally secure, blessed, loved and contented – this was the basis, the platform on which my first child was conceived. I was over the moon! Oh, what a wonderful family we would be. I even had a relatively easy birth. I was walking on air.

Then I came home from the hospital. My partner did not seem to understand: he got so angry whenever the baby cried. And so started the catalogue of excuses – he’s having difficulty coping, it’s only while she’s so young, maybe it’s because he’s jealous but won’t admit it. On and on it went. I resigned myself to a row every morning, telling myself that it was not so bad. The odd slap didn’t hurt so much.

Things seemed to improve a little, I got used to Motherhood. Then lo and behold, I became pregnant again. Oh my God, can I handle all those sleepless nights – the anger that would be projected, all that negativity all over again? Michael was born. He slept for eight hours straight away – that was it, he had redeemed himself. He was such an affectionate baby.

My partner continued to act like a spoilt brat (not always, but often enough). I decided that we needed separate places- he didn’t pay bills and after visits from the bailiffs I decided I couldn’t live with the insecurity. I didn’t want the children growing up to see all our belongings walking through the door. My partner began to see the children most often around bedtime and I had to remind him to make the effort to take them out, which he seldom did.

After seven years of trying to repair an ever widening rift, we went on a camping holiday, me and the kids. For the first time I had a chance to think – to listen to others who had true insight into the patterns we are conditioned with. So I sat and thought of what I wanted out of life – and the unfairness of the situation. So yes, I loved him, but I couldn’t continue this relationship. Maybe I had gained a little self respect. I went home and told him, the anger was so strong, what a useless relationship we had, how it was going nowhere.

Sophie

Well, my story begins at the beginning. I was in a relationship that suited me at the time – I was young and reckless and basically the person I was having a relationship with was the most reckless person I had ever met. The inevitable happened, and yes, you’ve guessed it, I became pregnant. I actually knew then that I would be a single parent one day. So my partner and I played happy families during my pregnancy. I moved in with him in very dire circumstances, added stress that we both didn’t need.

Then the baby was born. I felt so happy with the new being – like I’d discovered the miracle of life. However my state of bliss was soon to fly out of the window. My mum and my brother took me to my home and said goodbye. I was waving out of the window to them and I felt like I was waving goodbye to my old life.

I was so tired. My partner was happy with our baby but determined to carry on being reckless. Determined that the birth of his baby wasn’t going to change his life! So I basically had hardly any help at all. We had to move very shortly after the baby was born. I had to find a place to live without any help from my partner. Shortly after we moved in he started dealing drugs there. I felt really depressed a lot of the time, with the place full of people I didn’t know. My partner was out of work and I even started working part-time because of our benefits being stopped.

By this time I really thought I was going mad. It was absolute hell being with him but I feared being without him so much. But this fear didn’t last. I just imagined what life would be without him and came to the conclusion: absolute bliss.

We split up a few times after some very aggressive, violent rows over trivial things like washing up. The crunch finally came one horrible Winter’s day, when he humiliated me in front of friends and family. He ended up very drunk and aggressive and I decided that I would never be humiliated like that ever again in my life and I made him move out. I knew then that I would never live with this pig again. I could think of a lot stronger words, by the way. So from that day on I have been a single parent and I will put up with all the hardship to be free of living like that again.

Liz

My fundamentals are built on foundations that are middle-class, white, hard-working yet privileged. I was born into a marriage that like many in my family, will last until death. Nearly four years ago I thought that I’d fallen in love big time. A year and a half later, I did the pregnancy test. I failed. I was going to have a baby and all I could think was, “Let’s have a baby”, as if a baby were a cat or dog. A t the time it felt good. No, more than that. I was determined. I said things like, “I don’t mind how much you want to contribute. It’s up to you. I won’t pressure you…”. He said things like, “I’ll stand by you, whatever your decision.” A word of advice: if you hear this (I’ve heard it twice now), be suspicious.

For all the lip-service I paid to these words, by the time I started to show, I felt completely different. This baby was our marriage. Previously unrecognised conventions sprang from my mouth. I talked of commitment and trust. He couldn’t handle it. He yearned for uncomplicated love, and found it in other women. I was paranoid and clung to him even more. I thought I needed him. Our arguments began to repeat themselves. We’d end up with our heads against the same bricks of the same wall time and time again. Finally when our son was five months old, I’d had enough. I told him to move out. I met him leaving as I arrived home.

I was alone. I coped, but I suspect that I never really felt that pain; I merely vacuumed around it. My background never prepared me for this kind of horror. Now, two years later, I mostly feel angry that my ‘babyfather’ can pick me and my baby up, then put us down again when he’s so inclined.

Karen

When I was with my ex-husband I had been pregnant but had miscarried at three months. For one reason or another we never got round to trying again. In fact I went through a stage of saying that I didn’t want to have children. Perhaps there was a little bit of fear that I would miscarry again. I had been married and divorced by the age of twenty four.

Two years after my marriage had split up I met my son’s father. The relationship lasted for a few months but we did not seem to be going anywhere. There were no tears on my part and I don’t think there were any on his part either. He told me he was going back to London and I knew then that I would never see him again.

Two weeks later a friend told me that they suspected I was pregnant. My breasts had been very painful that day. I had a pregnancy test. It was confirmed. After the initial shock, I found myself quite pleased to be pregnant at last. When I fell pregnant with Elliot I knew that it was the right time for me. I was so happy and sure about it. I’ve never regretted my decision and if I had the chance to live my life all over again, Elliot is one part of my life I definitely would not change.

Shirley

I’d never pictured myself as a wife and mother in a standard nuclear family. I’d been living in Spain for a number of years and was just about to leave to do a computer course here in the UK when I discovered I was pregnant. If I’d been younger – I was thirty six at the time – I would probably have had a termination.

I didn’t have a well paid job. I didn’t have a home of my own. I was at a turning point and I had a plan for the next few years which didn’t include having a baby. But I was thirty six and I knew, and had known, that sometime I would want to have and raise a child. And I was afraid I wouldn’t get that chance again. This thought and the love and support of my two sisters in England persuaded me to continue with my pregnancy.

Being pregnant and having Joe was like taking a year’s holiday. I lived in the same town as my family, who were wonderful, especially my mother. I’d discovered an NHS midwife who practised acupuncture and was also a brilliant midwife. I also learnt of a nursing home in a nearby town where my grandfather and many of my extended family live. I went there for a few days after the birth. So Joe’s first few days of life were spent surrounded by family! From the nursing home, Joe, my mother and I drove to her sister’s house. She was very happy and proud that her house was the first her great nephew went into in his life.

All of this made me feel a bit like the ‘prodigal daughter’. I’d lived away from my family for eighteen years. I never would have expected or could have hoped for the acceptance, warmth and help they – all my family – gave me when Joe was born.

ABSENT FATHERS AND MALE ROLE MODELS

Absent Fathers

Dawn

Bethan’s father was a friend of a friend at college. It wasn’t until we started having a relationship that I realised that all the things which had attracted me to him were to be the things I would find the most annoying. He was really trying to make something of his life but could not let go of his past – his heavy drinking, heavy dope smoking, doing silly things for the crack, past.

We were only together for a few weeks, but that was all it took for me to go from thinking of him as free fun loving and exciting to being childish and irresponsible, blaming everyone but himself for his own misfortunes.

I have not seen or heard of him since I was six months pregnant. He asked me to marry him, out of the blue. I had been hurt too much by him to even consider marrying him. I had also had six months to reconcile myself to my situation and I felt strong and determined to be not just a single parent, but a good parent.

Liz

His father may do a lot of thinking about his son, but actually isn’t around a hell of a lot, seemingly when he finds it convenient. Although in my heart this doesn’t surprise me I keep feeling this tidal wave of expectations towards him. Maybe I think he owes me and his son one because he was there at the biological beginning and professes to be there now. Separating out these complex issues- how I feel about my son’s father, how I think of their private relationship, how I feel about my son ‘needing a father’, how to prevent the past from bubbling to the present. It’s so difficult.

After so long without much input from his father, I find the idea of him somehow possessing a Heaven-sent right of access, deciding things that until now I’ve decided alone, very hard to cope with.

My son when he was learning to talk used to say, ‘Daddy’ with, ironically, a surprised look on his face. This hurt me a bit because I got tired of telling him that Daddy will be over later, later, later. I seem to have spent most of my time with this unreliable man waiting for him to turn up or phone or whatever and I sincerely hope that his son doesn’t do the same.

I once watched a mother with her daughter in the park. Mother was pushing a large pram, the little girl pushing a toy pram. I was thinking about how children copy their elders like a mirror. I wondered if I would try to divert that obvious ‘female’ job copying if I’d had a girl. I looked at my own son to see him playing football with his dad. It’s not so much that the father of my child does a lot of back-slapping and rough-and-tumble, more that his son is a miniature of himself- all the pain the boy feels, for example, the father wants to take it away, feel the pain for his son, be his son, almost. I have a problem with that!

Lorna

When I was pregnant I didn’t want to think about Pat all. As far as I was concerned this was my child. When I did think about P it was with regret that the biological father was not someone I loved. I also had fears and worries: “What if the baby is like him and that puts me off?” Apart from the call to inform P that I was having a baby, I had no contact with him. I had felt that it was my duty to let him know, even though I definitely did not want him involved. Nonetheless, I was angry at his attitude – he instantly assumed that I would be after him for money, and was very defensive. I didn’t want his support, but I would have respected him if he’d had the decency to offer.

Will reminded me a bit of P even as a newborn infant, but that didn’t affect my feelings in the least. I just remember being totally overwhelmed with the most intense feelings of love for my tiny son during the first hours and days of motherhood.

When Will was about six months old I decided to try to contact P. I wanted to offer him the opportunity of getting to know Will. I didn’t find P but I did get in contact with his mum. I ended up telling her why I was looking for him, and as soon as she heard about Will she was eager to take on her role of his Granny. B is now a valued friend who thinks the world of Will. I’m very glad that he has some connection with that side of his family. From B I got pictures of Will’s father which I can show to Will whenever he asks about him. When he was two or three I used to say to him, “This is your father, the one who helped to make you grow in my tummy”. Then I would talk to him about Daddies and what they do, and we would list together all the people in his life who did those things with him.

Shirley

Our relationship lasted for about a year. It ended during my pregnancy. He lives in a different country. There was some communication up until Joe was one, then it tailed off.

When I began meeting other single mothers I realised that, for most, the biological fathers were still around, or had been around in their children’s memories- and that Joe was going to be short changed even as single parent families go. I have thought seriously about going to find him and ‘presenting’ Joe to him. I wanted Joe to have a flesh and blood father and not just a photo – even for just that one meeting. I played a scene through my mind. We meet in a plaza in Spain. Joe runs up to him with a question he’s asked a hundred times, “Are you my Daddy?” And for once the man says, “Yes, I am. “. Delight on Joe’s face. Relief End of guilt for me.

Then I changed my mind. It is years since I saw Joe’s father. He wasn’t’ the man in my life’. To make an expensive trip for Joe to see him would encourage Joe to see him as somebody ‘special’ – maybe to make an idol of him. Yet he isn’t special, he hasn’t been Joe’s daddy, a parent, or even around. I don’t know him anymore. He’s part of my history, not of Joe’s present. And as much as I would like to make a ‘present’ of him to Joe, the last four years have made that impossible. His biological father never has, and never will, pay the bills, read him stories, cook his dinner, give him a bath, take him to the park…

In the end, I think I’d much rather point to his photo in the book and say, “That’s our daddy.. he doesn’t live with us… he’s a nice man… you’ll be a nice man too one day.”

The Child’s Perspective

Lorna

I made my mind up early on that I would be as honest and open as possible with Will when he asked about his father. I wanted him to be able to make the distinction between the biological role of father and the practical role of Daddy. At the time I suppose I hoped and half expected that I would find a Daddy for Will. I loved being a mum, and had a naive fantasy of creating the perfect happy family – having lots more kids with an ideal Dad who would love Will just as much as his own.

Will needs to feel loved and accepted. He likes plenty of cuddles and laps to curl up on. He also seems to need a different, more rough and tumble kind of physicality. He needs security, and I am at the centre of that for him. He needs attention; time to be really listened to. He needs support in dealing with his world. However small his problems may seem to an adult perspective, to him something like losing a favourite car at school is a big deal.

Will wants sweets, ice creams, a crash dummy car, to play outside. Most of the wants he expresses are material and immediate. He wants to be accepted by his classmates, so he wants to be like them. As far as material things are concerned, I’ve always felt that Will is adequately provided for. I want him to understand that good relationships with others, and feeling good about himself will make him happy, not having things. I think it’s an issue that waxes and wanes for him, but sometimes he wants a Dad.

The first time he bluntly expressed this wish to me was when he was four. I started the old speech about dads, who they are, what they do, who does these things with Will, and so on, and suddenly I realised that this was not a complete answer for him.

“You’re lucky to have all these friends,” I said, “but I know it’s not the same as having a Dad.”

As I looked at him, lying in his bed, I was suddenly aware of the sadness and longing he was feeling.

“I guess you want a Dad who would be always there for you, to love you like I do,” I said, “a man to live with you and be here every day.”

Will nodded, and I felt that it was a moment of understanding between us. We shared the sadness of what he didn’t, and couldn’t have.

“I’m sorry Will,” I said, giving him a hug, “I wish I could give you a Dad but I can’t.”

“Why can’t I have a Dad?” he asked.

I tried my best to explain, firstly, why his natural father isn’t a Dad in the sense that he wants, and secondly, why Frazer, our housemate, or Kev, my boyfriend, couldn’t be his Dad. I told him, “I can’t give you a Dad. All I can do is be your Mum, and I’m trying my best to be a good mum, and I’ll always love you and I’ll always look after you.”

Will responded,” I like it when you tell me that. Tell me again.”

If Will could have another parent, as committed to him and as concerned for his welfare as I am, then of course that would be a good thing. How could I not want that for him, or fail to see why he wants it?

Dawn

Bethan is very keen to meet her father and wants me to find him. I have very mixed feelings about this. On one hand I want her to know him and develop some kind of relationship with him. I think she has the right to do that. However, it makes me scared to think of him coming back into my life. I think of him as a element of chaos that will churn up what Bethan and I have. Anything that may alter the way things are makes me feel uneasy. And yet -I would like to meet him again, to see who he is now and how he has changed. Perhaps I want to know that there really is something good about him and that the whole thing wasn’t just a huge misjudgement of mine.

I have said very little about Bethan ‘s father to her. I don’t want to give her my negative feelings about him. It is eight years since I last saw him and I hope and expect that he has grown and changed.

Bethan wants to find her father one day and I want her to form her own opinions of him. All I have told her is that we split up because we argued a lot, and I have described him physically. Over the past few months Bethan has been getting upset about her father. The worst time was after we went to see “The Secret Garden”. The dramatic slushy oversentimental beautiful reconciliation of the boy and his father must have fired her imagination. Her father is in her imagination – in a world she cannot share with me, in a place where everything is perfect and everyone has mums and dads who love them. The reality of her father as a stranger is beyond her conception, and nothing I do or say will change that.

Shirley

Joe went to a childminder when he was 6 to 18 months. We were regular visitors to her house until he was three and a half.

The ‘problem’ was that her family – herself, her husband and two school-age children – are the happiest family I’ve ever come across. We went through a time when Joe felt just as, or even more, protected, loved, secure, stimulated than at home with me. And pampered – he used to sit in front of the telly, watching videos, with crisps or biscuits or sweets – stuff he wouldn’t get from me. He was very much the third child of that family. What stopped him from being perfectly normal, in a sense, was me.

Having said that, I don’t think he understands he’s different yet. He has this ‘quest’ for a ‘daddy’. He’s been trying it out on most men he knows for more than a year now. He shouted it out to the world in general at last year’s Christmas pantomime. There’s something out there he’s trying to get – I don’t know if it’s just the name he hears other children using, or the relationship he sees in action – like that between his ex-childminder’s children and their father.

You very rarely see’ whole’ families together at any one time -like in a photograph. Life is much more fluid than that. But it’s a very strong image and its ‘rightness’ is continually reinforced. It’s in our heads that families are two parents and two and a bit children, but I don’t think it’s in his – yet.

I like Joe to see that the world isn’t only populated by women who, in one way another, serve him. As far as his women servants go – he’s got me, his ex childminder, aunties, my friends, women who work in nurseries, etc.

I’m glad Joe hasn’t got a father who idolises him – or whom he idolises; or a father who wants him to be a ‘success’ in traditional male terms. Since he hasn’t got a father ‘given’ – a permanent fixture -he could have this huge freedom to choose from all the bits and pieces of ‘maleness’ in the world. All he needs to learn is to criminate.

Other Male Role Models

Liz

My son is at an age where he only really watches other children and adults for behaviour to copy. The males that I have in my life have little contact with my son. But those who do are in my opinion excellent people. My son is really shy but very willing to give if you make the first move. A couple of men he meets seem very able to pick this up. And given time, he refuses to leave their house! He seems particularly keen on a couple of men at the moment. They play without the obligatory waiting for mother to finish talking.

The men he meets through his father are, in my mind, used to children, many being fathers themselves. He gets spoiled with lots of chocolate and is free to play all the instruments or pull out all the tapes and so on. It seems to be a relaxed and accepting environment, but one which as an outsider scares me a bit because it’s not one which I’m used to, so I feel a bit intimidated.

Lorna

Because Will is a boy, I have always considered it important for him to have men playing a role in his life. If I have a choice I try to get male babysitters for him. One of the first and best male role models in Will’s life was my friend Pete. He was always a sensitive and supportive friend, and used to visit us at least once a week during the first year of Will’s life. Unlike many men, Pete is very tuned in to the nitty gritty of childcare. I remember one occasion when a large group of us went out for a picnic. Pete was the only adult without a child of his own, and also the only one to bring a damp flannel in a plastic bag, for the wiping of sticky hands and faces.

When I got my first part time job Pete became Will’s first regular babysitter. I was very fortunate to have someone who was prepared to take on this responsibility. Will was just over a year old, and didn’t like being left. Pete would hold him, and give him lots of love and reassurance, and Will soon felt safe with Pete, and even looked forward to their time together.

I suppose one of the best things about Pete was that he felt he was gaining through being with Will, so gave his time to us gladly. When he left Brighton, he took his relationship with Will seriously enough to be concerned about the effect his leaving would have. He stayed in very regular contact at first, and we’ve since been frequent visitors to one another, so Pete has remained constant in Will’s life.

Karen

My brother Ian was the closest person to Elliot that was anything like a father type figure. But unfortunately Ian died on the 30th March 1994 which was very sad for us all.

Elliot was very close to Ian and ever since he was two years old always called hi Uncle Tattoo. He was seven when Ian died and deeply misses him. I remember Elliot saying how sad he felt that he didn’t have an uncle any more. I then realise that it was at a time like this that it must be hard for a child not to have a father around.

Ian and Elliot got on very well. Ian was very loving and kind towards Elliot. He was firm with him and would not put up with any nonsense from him. If he was naughty at all Ian would always try to correct him. So Ian was like a father figure in that respect and would also have little talks with Elliot on other occasions too.

It used to be nice for Elliot to have a man to talk to.

Elliot has not had many male role models around him, apart from his Uncle, and his Grandad who loves playing with kids. This is probably due to the fact that I find it hard to trust men with Elliot unless I know them really well. I hear so much about fathers or boyfriends abusing children, and this makes me very wary of who I let close to Elliot. Maybe I am a bit overprotective towards Elliot, but we all know there are people out there who do take advantage of a child’s innocence, I don’t think it’s something we can ignore and just hope that it never happens to our child.

Personally I would love to be in a relationship with someone and for Elliot to have a kind, loving father figure, but unfortunately I have not met anyone yet that I trust enough to fill that role. When I do settle with someone I want it to be in the right circumstances. That we both have respect for each other and he will be a good role model for Elliot. If this is not possible then I would rather be without.

Sharon

The majority of male role models I have known have been rather disappointing, Sadly the men I have loved most in my life are not the sort of men I want my son to emulate.

The better role models have usually been the weekend fathers and as we all know it is easier to be nice when the burden of responsibility can be handed over to another.

One of the soundest men I ever met was a contradiction, that is his words and actions gave very opposing messages. He would do his share, make meals, change nappies, wake and bed his children etc., whilst giving out a subtle message of not particularly liking children. I think he did the work out of love for his partner and the fact is – he did do the nitty-gritty, and they do seem to a close knit family; and I do think he really loves them.

Perhaps I am too critical – I wanted to find someone who could (and would) share the nitty-gritty and still be aware of the psychological impact their words and behaviour would have on the children. This is something many men say they agree with, unfortunately from my own experience too many of them treat it like an academic theory. They would rather talk about it, explore it, perfect it – ultimately avoiding it, or else they do the bare minimum, elaborately exaggerating just how good they have been.

Others, New Age Men (New Age Chauvinists), talk of the Goddess, praise women and do little for others in their own family, wash a few pots, hoover the carpet and expect heaps of praise and thanks. They offer to change the babies’ nappies for Mums as if it were the mother that had been incontinent, totally failing to realise that the action needs to be done for the child. They do not seem to recognise the child as a person and see them as animated objects.

Then there are the male chauvinists who think that looking after their own children is actually babysitting. Assuming the option of choice to go out as and when they please, expecting their partners to fit in with what they want. There are also the heavy handed disciplinarians, the bullies, who try to dominate, the macho peacocks, selfish brats seeking a surrogate mother, reluctant to accept responsibility for themselves – let alone another!

I do not doubt that many of the men I have known have had a lot of love to give, but it does sadden me to think that so many expect so much in return, abandoning the task because the emotional payoff from children is erratic. I wonder if male role models would be as important if my children were both girls (strong females seem to abound). Alas, I have a son who wants men who he can identify with – sometimes it seems there are very few needles in an ever growing haystack.

One of the strangest things – I do actually like men and once they can accept the equality of responsibility then we shall all be a step nearer to freeing ourselves from the grip of gender roles and prejudices. Equality is the way forward, after all we are complimentary and should not be using valuable energy dissenting, but for mutual growth.

MONEY, WORK, BENEFITS, HOUSING

Crime and Punishment

The crime is having a child to support alone.
The punishment
is hours of queuing
in dingy offices
and being talked down to
through walls of glass.

The crime is needing a home.
The punishment is a price
that you can never pay on your own.
The punishment is soon to be revised:
they call it “market rents”
and “more appropriate accommodation
for the poor”.

The crime is wanting to work.
The punishment is forfeiting
your wage for childcare,
or wondering how
you will cover the cost
of having a job
if you can get one.

The crime is caring for your child alone.
The punishments are
forced dependancy,
humiliation,
and bearing the blame
for housing shortages
and rising crime rates.

Lorna

The Facts of Life

Childcare costs

Around £3,000 a year (£60 a week) for full time childcare, which would be needed for the first five years. Part- time childcare costs around £2 per hour, but having a part- time job that earns more than £15 per week would mean loss of benefits, and there is no ‘disregard’ of childcare costs in the regulations.

Benefit rules

There seems to be no middle way, especially for those saddled with mortgages; either you stay on the lowest level of benefit (Income Support) or you work full time and pay for childcare, (and how can you justify being away from your child, let alone having to work, for 40 plus hours a week if you’re no better off for it? ).As this book approaches publication news has been leaked of plans to axe Lone Parent Benefit in the November 95 Budget – another £6.50 a week taken away from single parents who wish to work.

Lack of affordable accommodation

Rents are very high in Brighton, and the Interest Rates are unpredictable if you have a mortgage. There is no way of getting any help with mortgage costs, unless you stay on Income Support. Forthcoming changes in Housing Benefit rules look set to worsen the situation for all of us, working or not.

Lack of decent part-time work

Poorly paid work leaves hardly any profit after paying for childcare (e.g. if a job pays £3 per hour, we work for 5 hours to earn the maximum allowable £15 on top of benefits; £2 an hour for childcare leaves us with £5) and jobs like cleaning and child-minding offer no break from the pressures we’re under all the time, nor do they offer any stimulation, any chance of gaining skills, or opportunities for advancement.

Life on Income Support

Juggling with these factors leaves many single parents feeling trapped. Unable to find viable alternatives they stay on Income Support. This is a lifestyle that few would choose, given any workable alternatives. Lone parents on Income Support are stuck in poverty. Lacking the mental and social stimulation that work might offer, they often end up feeling isolated. The humiliation of dependency, and the existing social stigma (made worse when we become the butt of political rantings) can seriously undermine our self-esteem.

Money and Work: How We Manage

Liz

I don’t feel that I go without. I only occasionally get down about money because I just can’t spend on extra things, so I don’t look for the temptation.

My son is only a couple of years old and only just at the point of no return: the world of the Marketing Ploy. Because he sits in the pram, what he sees as I push him around the shops are things like boat-shaped nail brushes, a whale sponge or animal-shaped chocolate. I notice how often goods are deliberately placed so as to stimulate his desire.

I find it harder and harder to fend off the increasing demands for money to be spent. It seems that once there has been one ride on the electric car, or one ice cream when we collect our giro, there is one expected every time we leave the house. As a child I received the very thing that I asked for on birthdays and at Christmas. I am not equipped to deal with want. This issue will only grow as my son is bombarded with greater and greater pressure to buy.

My mother (who should be in Parliament) tells me to “Get a job”. She tells me that I ought to be grateful for the welfare state which she spent her working life putting into. Some people, she says, never know the back of poverty, dependence, ill health and illiteracy. I chose to keep the baby, so I’ve got to pull myself up by the boot-straps. Mother, I want to tell you something. I unfailingly provide 24 hour care to the best of my abilities for my little boy. The trap that I live in is silent and unseen until one has fallen in. I can’t get a part-time job because I’d be simply paying for the child-care while I’m working. I’d need a full-time job which pays £300 a week to be able to save anything. I live a gnawing tedium of juggling with so-called options when all I really juggle with is thin air. Yes, I chose to have a baby, but why punish me now that it’s too late?

Dawn

There are times when I worry or feel guilty that Bethan is deprived in some way because I have very little money to spare, but all I have to do is go into her bedroom and look at the shelves full of books, toys and ornaments she has. They are the accumulation of seven years of birthdays and Christmas’s. Her room is a real hotch potch and mismatch of old and new, bought and given, but it has a character to it that is uniquely hers which is far more important and grounding to Bethan than an anonymous white room with new white furniture and the latest toys.

She has also become an astute jumble saler, the most trashy things I hide and throw away later. She has her pets and her plants and her most important possession is her bike which I bought for five pounds from a friend. Of course Bethan does ask for things that I cannot afford- the walking-talking-eating drinking-weeing dolls for ridiculous prices. A computer that needs new games regularly for it to be any fun. But I can’t feel guilty about these things for very long.

Bethan’s clothes nearly all come from charity shops. I get given less and less the older she gets. But I really enjoy scouring the charity shops for appropriate clothes. I get a real sense of pleasure and triumph if I come home with something she likes and that fits!

In the prioritisation of expenditure household bills come at the top and I come at the bottom. I very rarely buy myself anything. My clothes are usually bargains from the cheap shops or from charity shops. I only ever buy what I know I need. Impulse buying is a thing of the distant past.

The things that I would call luxuries are what higher income families would regard as necessities. For example I consider my colour telly to be a luxury. When I decided to rent one my argument to myself was that it would be my source of entertainment as I hardly get the chance to go out in the evening.

Having very little money for a long period of time can do one of two things to a person. It can make them feel belittled and worthless or it can make them feel self righteous about their situation. Fortunately for me I feel the latter. Buying things from charity shops fits in with my views on recycling and the enormous and whimsical waste of perfectly good resources that goes on in the West. Having no money it is easy to reject the grotesque consumerism that people with money get sucked into.

See, I told you I was self righteous!

Lorna

For the first four years money was very tight indeed. I lived on Income Support, earning my additional £15 a week from when Will was one onwards. I’d like to have earned more, and there was more work available to me, but at the time I’d have needed to take home about £15,000 to pay for childcare, cover mortgage interest and keep the same standard of living. There was no compromise available, it was Income Support or nothing.

My £70 a week went on food, bills, nappies, mortgage endowment and other essentials. The extra that I earned went towards repaying debts: my student overdraft and the money I borrowed from a friend to pay for the legal costs of buying the flat.

Most of the time I kept a fairly positive attitude to having very little money. Every time I got worried about it I would console myself with the thought that poverty is relative, and compare myself to a global scale rather than a national one. At least Will and I always had enough to eat and a balanced diet – that was always the priority. You can eat well on a low income, but you need a good knowledge of nutrition to ensure a balanced vegetarian diet, and you also need basic cooking skills – pre-packaged food is always more expensive than making the same thing yourself.

A lot of juggling is required in order to have that amount available out of a small weekly income. I used to use a complicated system of envelopes; one for bills, one for the bank, one for rates, one for the money I owed, and one for saving up for things like shoes. I often used to end up “borrowing” from myself!

I bought only two or three items of new clothing until I got a full time job when Will was four. I got used to wearing clothes full of holes, and repairing things until they would repair no more. I really had to persuade myself that it was justifiable to buy new clothes when I finally had the money to do so.

As far as heating costs go, I was lucky enough to be on the middle floor of a terrace, which I’m sure enabled me to save a great deal without freezing. You don’t share the British obsession for home improvements when you’re on Income Support. My flat was kitted out entirely with cast offs and second hand bargains, from the beds down to the cutlery.

My two big luxuries have always been the telephone and rail travel, both of which played a big part in keeping me sane, and preventing us from being isolated.

Shirley

I tried very hard to be a rich single-parent. When Joe was a baby I did an intensive conversion course which gave me an MSc in Information Systems – which was supposed to get me a well-paid job. I didn’t get one for various reasons – a mixture of me, the state of the local and national economies and fortune. So although I have computing and other various skills to offer – secretarial, administrative, TEFL teaching – I’m on Income Support and have been for the last two years.

This makes me angry. I could have signed on at one of the temp agencies to do secretarial work or taught in a language school in the holidays. Why not? Because none of this would have paid enough to cover rent, childminding, bills, food and tax. Far from it. And because – even if those jobs did pay enough – they are by nature temporary and coming back on Income Support and getting your rent paid by Housing Benefit again takes months. Meanwhile, you’re out on the streets. Many two-wage-earner families struggle to raise children these days. I shouldn’t be surprised that I can’t afford to earn my own living.

What about when Joe goes to school? There would be less childminding to pay. Though there would still be early mornings and two or three hours in the afternoon. Great – a little less I have to earn. But what about the rent? When I get my council flat or house with a reasonable rent – wonderful, less and less I have to earn. A £12,000 a year job instead of a £16,000 one.

It’s extremely likely that Joe will go to school. But it’s extremely unlikely that we’ll ever have a council house.

Sick with Poverty

Going into the Post Office every week,
I get my £65, what a fucking cheek,
Sweat pours from my brow
As I wonder how
I’m going to eek it out.
£25, straight into the bank,
£20 left for food,
£8 for Josh’s nursery,
£5 for babysitter.
What does that leave me?
£7 for travelling, outings and pleasure.
I can’t stand this feeling,
So trapped.
How can I get out of this situation?
Start to consider a career,
Go to the Careers Library.
“Mummy, mummy, I want this,
I want that.”
I can’t get away from it.
I can’t get the information I want,
I can’t do anything and I feel frustrated,
“Shut-up Josh”
I take it all out on him.
Why aren’t there facilities for people like us?
Why aren’t there state nurseries?
Why don’t employers see the need for creches?
There is so much I could do
I know.
I don’t know where to start,
Or find out about what there is to do.
I want to start.
I want to get going.
I want to be Sophie again.

Sophie

Housing: Where We Live

Lorna

When I became pregnant I was living in one room of a damp, dilapidated house with mould beginning to grow on the walls, broken bannisters and no heating.

Getting somewhere decent to live was obviously my first priority. A few days after my pregnancy test I went down to the Council Housing Office. I was informed that the lack of a proper contract meant that I had a protected tenancy, and therefore I was not eligible to go on the waiting list for a council house. And even if I was, the list was so long that I would probably be put into Bed and Breakfast accommodation for up to two years before being offered a flat or house.

The next step was to start looking for private rented accommodation. I looked. And I looked. I saw several places I would have gladly moved to, but competition for decent places was fierce, and a soon to be single mother on Benefits comes way down the list of desirable tenants.

I was still in the same place by the time I had Will, and more desperate than ever for a way out. I heard about how I could get a 100% mortgage. It sounded too good to be true. A mortgage broker had an arrangement with a Building Society whereby he could get you a mortgage on the strength of the proof that the D.S.S. would have to cover the interest; exploiting a rule designed to cover home owners who become unemployed.

I was lucky enough to have a friend who was willing to lend me the £1000 I would need to pay for the solicitor’s fees and legal costs, so I went out and looked at some flats. It seemed unreal – like playing monopoly.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the housing market was at it’s peak and about to crash. The flat which I bought for £50,000 is now worth about £30,000. The Building Society is still raking in the interest – no wonder they were so keen to “help” single parents.

By negotiating a complex system of tax and benefits rules, I have, with the help of a University education, a professional qualification and some good fortune, been able to put the flat up for sale and rent it out, while I have moved into a shared rented house, enabling me to achieve the seemingly impossible goal of working and getting off of Income Support.

Karen

When Elliot was born I was living in a one bed roomed maisonette. It was an unfurnished, privately-rented flat. We enjoyed living there but as Elliot was getting older we really needed somewhere bigger so that he could have his own room.

Someone I used to work for had an empty house to let and asked me if I wanted to live there. I was in two minds whether to or not. At first I refused because I was not sure about it and part of me wanted to stay where we were.

I looked around for other places for a while but it was not easy. At that time rents had gone sky high and landlords seemed to want huge deposits. I hadn’t put my name on the council waiting list so it had to be a privately rented place, so in the end I accepted my boss’s offer.

But when my landlady found herself in financial difficulty she had to hand the house back to the Building Society.

I then went to see the Council to have my name put on the waiting list. I could have held on until they offered me somewhere, but there were no guarantees, and we would have to have spent some time in Bed and Breakfast, which I was not willing to do.

Luckily I found somewhere quite quickly, a two bed roomed flat, where we still live.

Shirley

We’ve just moved. We’ve moved three times since Joe was born – that’s every year of his life so far. And I don’t expect things to change. At the moment, we’re lucky. Our last move was from a damp, one-bedroom flat to a house with two bedrooms and a garden. Joe loves it here and that’s good, but it’s difficult to encourage him to enjoy it and feel at home because in ten months’ time we might well have to move again.

When you’re on Income Support and totally reliant on the combination of high private-sector rents and Housing Benefit, you really have no control over where you live and for how long. Joe might well grow up with no concept of ‘home’ at all, just a series of places where we’ve lived. As if all this wasn’t enough to unnerve and unsettle us, threats to reduce Housing Benefit to force people like us into squalid living conditions mean that Joe’s future ‘homes’ could be very bleak ones indeed.

SOCIAL STIGMA

Lilley’s List

Lilley’s got a little list, and guess what? I’m on it.
Portillo is appalled. At what? – At me.
How dare I have a child and be on Benefit.
I should be working all hours of the day to support us.
But if I did, some other Tory in a suit
Would accuse me of neglecting my child.
Of producing a deliquent.
It’s so easy to blame the mother.
It’s absolutely nothing to do with reduced public spending,
No jobs and no Benefits for 16 and 17 year olds.
More nursery places and after school clubs are not the key.
It’s the mother’s knee they should be on
(As long as she has a private income to rely on).
So you want a decent home with a garden.
Where did you get that idea from?
You have to have what’s appropriate to your income!
There’s a cupboard under the stairs just come on the market.
I’m sure you’ll fit if you bend down a bit.
But of course you can’t keep a child there.
We’ll just have to take her into care.
And what about the father and his responsibility?
Naturally, we don’t want to find him just for the money
Although that will come in handy.
I know he hit you and scared the kids
But everything will be just dandy
When he starts to give the CSA
More money than he can pay.

Dawn

Stereotypes: Truth or Lies?

When we sat down at our first meeting to draw up a list of subjects we wanted to write about, one issue that appeared on everyone’s list was the prejudice faced by single parents.

We are writing these pieces at a time when single parents are high on the political agenda.

The following list of negative stereotypes was drawn up initially by just two of us, and sent out to the rest of the group. One member who received it on a day when she was feeling vulnerable said that reading the list reduced her to tears. Another said that the list was uncomfortably close to the image she had of herself. These reactions underline the power of these stereotypes to affect our confidence in ourselves as mothers and as people. If we do not submit to these definition of ourselves, then we must struggle against them.

So where does it come from, this narrow and depressing view of who and what we are? It is not just a figment of our paranoid imaginations, this prejudice. It is real, so real that it gets in under our skins and we begin to doubt ourselves. There are also of course grains of truth, in so far as this list describes problems which are indeed linked with poverty, and we are most of us trapped on the lowest levels of benefit. Some of us have been scruffy because I have been unable to afford new clothes for ourselves. Within our list, we can see a sliding scale, from painful truth to damaging lie. None us got pregnant to jump the housing queue, or saw single motherhood as a ticket to an easy life. We are not irresponsible or immoral. Far from being a social problem, we have a lot to contribute, if only we could be given a chance. But maybe we are a danger to society. If we are allowed to demand respect as mothers but not wives; if we are allowed to care for our children adequately, and also to work and make good use of our various skills and talents, if we are allowed to make successes of our lives, then how many women will positively choose this life against the alternatives? How many men will not have the control over women’s lives which they are used to? What will happen to society if single parents are not kept in their place?

Negative Stereotypes of Single Parents and their Children

The Parent:
– gets pregnant to jump the housing queue
– lives in a council flat / house
– is a dole scrounger
– is unable to provide properly for her child, both materially and emotionally
– is unable to control her child
– lacks authority as a parent
– is irresponsible / immoral
– hates men or is a tart / slut / slag etc.
– is an emotional mess
– is scruffy
– constitutes a social problem

The child:
– is neglected
– is deprived, both materially and emotionally
– is deprived of a male role model
– suffers the absence of a father
– is unruly and undisciplined
– is spoilt
– is scruffy and unkempt
– will get involved in crime as a teenager
– constitutes a social problem

Show Me

Show me the woman who got pregnant
just so that she could jump the housing queue.
If she exists, she’s in one room
of a dingy b&b hotel,
with laundry strung up across the ceiling,
drunks on the stairs,
and nowhere to cook the dinner.

Show me the woman
who wants to spend eighteen years on the dole.
I’ve never met her.
I’ve never seen her laughing
at the fast one she’s pulling
on the tax payers and the government.

Show me the men
who make the rules that trap us.
Show me what they know about our lives.

Lorna

Liz

At various times and for various reasons I’ve felt all the things society and the Government says I am. I’ve felt irresponsible and naive, lacking in authority, emotionally screwed-up and insensitive to my son and the rest of the world; I’ve felt like a scrounger who’s only ever taken from the welfare state, scruffy and grubby in an uncaring way, especially in the Children’s Library and at nursery.

I don’t however worry about being ‘socially dangerous’ because I see through that pitiful veneer of political maneuvering. Nonetheless I often worry about my son growing up to be ‘out of control’, becoming a physically huge fifteen year-old who answers back and enjoys petty crime, hard drugs and violent bullying!

I fear that future so much. Will my son be disadvantaged like society says he will?

All of these feelings show my own insecurities as a person and as a parent. I feel that being a parent in this society is a perilous business. I walk about seeing looks on peoples’ faces and I hear that tone in their voice and I wonder how much of it is true vibe and how much is paranoia. Paranoia stemming from my expectations and judgments of myself. I hear society hissing that I’m right to feel bad about myself.

More obvious, overt prejudice that I receive has been more connected to the fact that my son is mixed-race rather than the fact that I’m single, although through caring for a mixed-race child I’ve found that one is almost expected to be single, even by other parents of mixed-race children.

When I had my first scan at the hospital the nurse called, “Mrs R?” I panicked and thought,

“Shit, my mother’s come down on a surprise visit!”

I immediately realised that the nurse was calling me. I called across to her and told her that.

“I am not Mrs R. That is my mother. I am Miss R.” I felt crushed by indignation. The nurse laughed and said that she was always marrying people off. It hadn’t occurred to me before that someone would make an assumption about the prefix to your name. Since then I’ve learned to expect this. Actually, unless it’s necessary I don’t correct the mistake. I think that I secretly enjoy the respect that having married woman status brings. It means that you are talked to eye to eye, rather than eye to top of head. It means that you are allowed to be assertive, ask lots of questions, be a grown-up. It means you can handle money, that you know about the secrets of men, that you are in society. It means that you are acceptable.

Sophie

What are you thinking in your pinstripe suit – hiding behind your newspaper, your glasses and your cold thick skin. Struggling into the train you see a scruffy young mum, with her two year old D.M.s and even scruffier, louder, very unruly, dirty, smelly three year old, with long hair (and he’s a boy). As I squeeze myself into the seat next to you, after sorting Josh out, putting bag and buggy in rack – with absolutely no help whatsoever – I can feel fear oozing out of you. The child phobia of the career woman. I can see you painting pictures of our life in your mind, when I meet your eyes apologetically!

We are living in a high rise block, on a very smeggy council estate. I live off the millions of pounds of taxes you pay, begrudgingly. Our flat is a mess and I am an emotional wreck, taking all my stuff out on my child – who is a three year old emotional wreck who gets away with murder. I smoke incessantly and take drugs and drink to cope with the pain.

As I sense all of this I start to get angry. It is a crowded train and every time my son touches you or even looks at you, I can feel you squirming in your seat at the thought of our lives.

Would you like to come around and see where we live? Would you? I think you’d get a surprise. We live in a two bed roomed Regency built flat on the sea front in Brighton, with sea views. I may have a few emotional problems, but they are in control and I am dealing with them. And I am too intelligent to smoke incessantly and take drugs and drink to cope with the pain.

And the only pain is the social stigma associated with being a single parent. The ultimate aim is to look behind the media image, and see the woman, who is bringing up a child on her own. She needs support and encouragement for the humungous task she has taken on, and not things stuck on her to bring her down even more.

My child is very well looked after, and above all, loved!

As I leave the train, again with no help, and I sense the relief as we leave, I want to shout and say,

“What’s the matter? Do you have a phobia of children?”

But I don’t….I leave the train and I take her resentment with me, weighing me down even more. I wish I’d had the guts to put her in the real picture, for my sake more than anything else. I long for the day when I can walk down the road, free from the feeling that I have to prove to everyone that I can cope and that life is swell. I am very proud of myself for coping and dealing with what I have done so far on my motherhood path. What I have achieved and what I have accomplished is unbelievable. My son and I are very privileged, I believe, and I want to be acknowledged for it.

Karen

Sometimes I get very annoyed over comments I hear about single mothers. And yet in an ideal world it would be very nice for every child to have a decent mother and father. Unfortunately this isn’t an ideal world and it is not always possible to have both parents living happily ever after.

I also get quite annoyed with the way men think about single mothers sometimes. Even men who think of themselves as open minded and liberated. One of the worse things I’ve found with men is that they think that single mothers are going to grab at them to be the automatic father figure for their children. This is very arrogant of them. Out of the men I have known I have not found one that I would like to fill that role.

Lorna

Although in my immediate social world I feel very much accepted and respected as a single mother, the world “out there” still affects me.

I have many friends, with and without children, couples and single people of all ages. I see myself as part of a community, bound together by outlooks, ideals and lifestyles. Much mutual support is exchanged by parents and non-parents alike. My sense of the divide between one and two parent families is not always acute, and often it dissolves altogether. When I do become aware of that divide, what I feel can vary enormously.

When I see good, thoroughly committed fathers, taking equal responsibility for their children, and sharing care (of the children, the home and each other) with the mothers, of course I feel a twinges of envy and of sadness for Will. But I also see women oppressed by men who, far from helping to take care of the children, expect to be taken care of themselves, men who deny their wives and partners any sense of autonomy, and women who do not seem to be in charge of their own lives.

But the world out there labels me and my son. For every person I meet who greets the knowledge that I bring up Will alone with deep respect for what this entails, there are many others who see me and my child as a problem.

Championing this faceless mass of prejudice are the fine upstanding men in suits, our self appointed moral guardians, the politicians. We provide them with a convenient scapegoat, to be blamed for a multitude of social ills.

Much as I would like to claim immunity from this disease of prejudice, it affects me. Despite being congratulated many times on the job that I do; despite people telling me how Will seems happier and is better behaved than such-and-such, a child who has two, well off, middle class parents; I worry. Every time Will gets into a minor scrape at school, I fear that I may be blamed, that I am failing in some way as his parent. Can I do enough? Can I give enough? Can I be enough for Will? Enough to make him happy, enough for him to feel secure?

Beneath these surface fears, I have, and cultivate within myself, a deep core of faith. I project this faith outwards to other single parents: we can do it!

But the world out there and the powers that be aren’t doing us any favours. They undermine us through trapping us in poverty, and blocking our escape routes to a better life, to self respect, to utilising our talents, skills and energies in ways that will benefit ourselves, our children and others. They undermine us through the myths they propogate and support about us and our children.

We are doing our best. We want to do our best. We don’t want the system to support us as a miserable, impoverished, dependant underclass.

We want support to be seen as equal, to be respected, to be enabled to do the work that we are capable of and want to do. We want moral, as well as practical, support to enable us to give of our best to our children and to society.

Sharon

Unfortunately these negative images have been woven into my fabric of being by a Christian upbringing and conventional norms. I try hard to tell myself it is not so, but somewhere there is a voice of recognition. Being poor does not help of course – and maybe some of the problems would be a little less severe if there were a bit more cash. I feel as though some people are making value judgments, without knowing who I am. This sometimes arouses anger and a sense of “who are you to judge me?”, but at other times the verbal arrow certainly hits its mark.

I try to work with the idea that other people’s opinion of me are not my sole concern. I have to work hard at maintaining the delicate spider’s web of self esteem, constantly repairing damage caused by self doubt.

Awareness of the stigma comes from many sources, overheard comments in shops, the media, everyday situations, where once people find out I’m a single parent, there is a subtle change of mood; conversations terminated early, sidelong glances-as though I had something contagious. I have a sense of embarrassment as I hand over my Income Support book; it is not just what other people are thinking, it is also the sense that I should have been able to achieve more for my children. That they deserve better than this.

When I have problems disciplining the children I feel I am funding the prejudice that single parents have unruly kids, but there again perhaps ‘unruly’ kids are just more at ease with self expression. I feel the need to defend and justify. Do couples feel it? Is it just a parenting problem? Maybe I think, examine, explore, consider many things that other parents, as a couple take for granted, so the emotional and psychological development of my children is more of a conscious decision instead of a stock response.

The breakdown of society is being landed at our collective feet-are we all so bad? The stigma continues, but on the reverse side of the coin we have to see the backward compliment –

You have so much power you are awesome!

RELATIONSHIPS WITH CHILDREN

How Having Children Changes Us

Karen

I will never forget the day we went home. When we were leaving the hospital one of the porters commented how radiant I looked with my baby in my arms which made me feel really good. When we reached my flat and walked through the door, I had an amazing feeling. I had never experienced anything like it. Everything looked and felt so bright, so perfect, I really felt totally at ease with myself.

I felt wonderful and my whole life felt wonderful too. That was the most perfect day of my life and the best spiritual feeling I’ve ever experienced. I felt so complete.

Dawn

Before I had Bethan I had decided that I would never have any children – I had seen what it had done to my two sisters and decided that I would never be like that; the bags under the eyes, the sharp tone of voice and quick to anger. That wasn’t for me, I was going to stay a member of the human race and enjoy my life. Do exactly as I pleased when I pleased.

When Bethan came along it was a voyage of discovery. Learning about her and the way she has learned and developed has been the most exciting and fulfilling time of my life.

Lorna

Other mothers tell you that your life will change beyond recognition. They tell you that you just can’t have any real idea of what it’s like to have a child until that child is born.

I wasn’t unhappy about the way my life changed. I loved having my beautiful little son to cherish and take care of. I took better care of myself than I had ever done before. It was mainly okay because Will slept at nights. When you are a mother, any sleep you lose is lost forever. You can’t have a lie in to make up for a late night. You can’t always have an early night when you want one. If the baby sleeps for a few hours during the day, there is usually a list of jobs waiting to be done before he wakes up. Good sleep, I think, is the key to good mothering. How can you cope if you’re dog tired?

Sharon

My children broke the illusion of the world I saw as a single person. They put me in touch with the reality of NOW, the privilege of a chance to share in the miracle of each of their births, and with each advent the chance to meet a new and wonderful personality. Our three way love affair.

Alexandra, Alex for short – the academic, who was born with deep insights. She has helped me so much to shake off many of my insecurities, given me faith in myself as a teacher, nurse, artist, healer and many other aspects.

Michael brought into this world a dry sense of humour, so many hugs, meandering speech with great attention to detail.

Alex started off very serious and really challenged me to sort myself out. She was thirsty for knowledge and I was eager to satiate her. Her absorption of any and all information was incredible. From eighteen months, when conversations began, she has been a close friend – telepathically linked in with me, knowing just when to offer support.

Michael was the catalyst needed to create fun and the release of the child within each of us. His sense of fun was infectious and the benefits have been reaped by us all.

My children have been my advisers on occasion, good and bad advice it’s true, but many, many insights and revelations have certainly come through. The way they see the world and the illumination they allow me to perceive is quite amazing, to the point that sometimes I feel visitors to be an intrusion on what is working so well for us.

I’ve also had to face up to things within myself that I had quite nimbly avoided most of my life. It’s shocking how much abuse I would take upon myself, but since having the children and being aware of myself as a role model – I have to stand up for what I believe, and stand up to those who try and squash me down, otherwise I will merely perpetuate the negative stereotyping of women that has always been passed down throughout the ages. I have been forced to stand up for my kids in terms of bullying, for example being confronted by six foot lager swilling, swearing louts and having to tell them to keep it down etc. Being amazed at being listened to. Before I had children I would not have dared to. I hope my courage is absorbed by them.

Having a Single Child

Dawn

Every year since Bethany’s birth I have gained a little more independence, a little more freedom, a little more time to get back into the human race. To have another baby now would mean that I would be right back at square one in the dependency stakes. It may only be for a few years but I feel I don’t have a few years to give. I would be in my early forties by the time it went to school. I need to think about a job and career now. I can’t put age as forty on my first job application in twelve years. It would be rejected before I could prove I’m not a matronly old frump.

“Don’t you worry about her being spoilt ?”, is a question I often hear from many different people. I really don’t know what this phrase means and why it is so important to people that they will have a baby that they cannot afford, don’t have room for, just so that the first child won’t be ‘spoilt’. The implication is always that an only child is selfish, lazy, precocious, arrogant etc. etc. Why? A child’s behaviour and attributes are largely governed by the parents’ attitudes, behaviour and parenting skills. Does this mean that all who choose to have one child are bad parents? Anyone who rejects this conditioning by having one child can expect to be attacked or made to feel selfish and inadequate by those who espouse this theory. I really don’t see why this is such a big issue. How many children a person has is a personal choice which should be made according to personal circumstances, needs and wants.

I recently heard someone talk about how much more negative attention only children get from their parents. This is so true. It is so difficult to let things go. The not speaking properly, dislikable attitudes and behaviour. It is important to me that I challenge what I don’t approve of. But if I had two or three I would not have the time or energy for such intense attention.

The Newborn Parent

Karen

When Elliot was born, three weeks early he was tiny. There were no breathing problems so he only had to stay in intensive care overnight. The next morning he was allowed down on the ward with me. I was so happy to have this wonderful little baby by my side.

For the first couple of years I was so content being a mum that nothing else could touch me. Elliot was happy and quite content, except for the normal teething problems, etc.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Elliot, he has brought me such a lot of joy. That’s not to say we haven’t had our problems too, but the joy is the most memorable.

I do sometimes find myself wishing he was a baby again, and I suppose that’s because I would love to be able to recapture that feeling of contentment.

I must admit I’m not as content and patient as I used to be. This maybe to do with Elliot starting to become his own person. I think sometimes I still want him to be my little boy, but of course I have to let him grow up.

Maybe that might be a little bit harder for a single parent if the child is the main focus point of their life.

Post Natal Depression

Post natal depression,
A branch of the lunacy tree.
Newborn baby and culture shock
Helped its roots to pervade me.
Feeling like an alien living in my brain,
Losing the hope of ever feeling sane.
Trying to escape, wanting to run away,
A terrified mother dragging a child
Both in dismay.
Then the realisation and also the horror:
It would still be there tomorrow.
Nowhere to run,
Everyone will shun,
No chance for my daughter,
No hope for the future,
“Oh but you cope so well!”
So why did it feel like a living hell?

Sharon

Two Parents in One

One of the first words that springs to mind when we think about difficulties with children is “discipline”, a word traditionally associated more with fathers than with mothers. Thinking about this, we decided to draw up a list of traditional male and female parental roles. The idea is not to suggest that this is what Mothers and Fathers are, or even were, but to look at the contrasting roles that parents may take on.

Of course all parents have power struggles with their children, all parents are held responsible for socialising their offspring. Two parents attempting to do this challenging job between them have the opportunity to share various aspects of bringing up their family, balancing each other out as they take on different roles at different times.

As single mothers we often feel that we must be all things to our children. In fact, we often are!

An image comes to mind of a see-saw. With one person at either end it’s fairly easy, provided they are of roughly equal weight to balance the see-saw and keep it moving. The single parent, standing alone, precariously atop the middle, has a more difficult job to do.

Traditional Parenting Roles

Mother

nurtures
provides comfort
serves the child’s physical needs:
feeds
clothes
cleans
nurses
educates
homemaker: one who is at home
unconditional supporter
meets dependency needs
is soft, cuddly and gentle

Father
protects
provides materially
disciplines the child
educates
works outside the home
has high expectations encourages independence
is strong, firm and provides the “rough and tumble”

I AM…

I am mother-hen: clucking,
Rosey-cheeked, too-fat, hot
Frayed-at-the-edges,
Darting at the dark sawdusty floor,
Wiping her lipstick off a little-one’s cheek.

I am the cockerel, crowing,
Sleek, proud protector,
Alone, calling tall to the outside world
From the peak of his hen-house roof
Cool, in the gold light of dawn.

Actually, I am everything.
I am the midwife-
Rubbing backs and crooning,
But also the the man doctor
-at the last tugging baby out.
I am the teacher
I live at school,
I’m all- knowing and beaming…
You can be sick on me!
But also the accountant-
I don’t live for the job, mate.
I fiddle the books and never meet your eye.
I am nurturing.
But also needing.
One thing I always am is tired.

Liz

Sharon

I know I am in control when it comes to the health and well-being of my children. I am their keystone – the one who makes so much possible. The one who has patched their wounded egos, kissed their bumps better, taught them many of their basics and provided a sense of security. The practical elements are mostly taken care of, but problems still arise. As my daughter grows we do have power struggles. She wants to be in charge and although it frequently backfires, I know that often the arguments are caused with her brother because she is trying to be more grown up than she is able. Her verbal eloquence, quick thinking, and sheer tenacity together with prepubescent hormones flying about can often leave me feeling on the verge of floundering. As time goes by it is becoming easier to reason with her and sometimes she feels like a really strong ally.

I have problems with my son as someone who has been bullied initially by his big sister and then later by other children at school. He has had problems in learning how to assert himself. Unfortunately now the tables are turning and here starts another world war! Enemies and alliances change sides on a whim. He is sensitive and frequently takes things the wrong way – compliments perceived as insults, statements as attacks. He does not attack the source unless on home territory. Hence the family is in the direct line of fire.

Sometimes it is possible to take control and at other times I have found it best to observe the uncontrolled explosion then administer aid. Too often I have gone in trying to mediate only to further aggravate the situation by being seen as taking sides. I suppose if this were a two parent family each faction could be given neutral support.

Maybe I am not strict enough. One of the problems of being the sole sucker in this family is the fact that sometimes I feel sucked dry, the wellspring of human kindness has closed and thoughts of escape are most prominent, but I will not give in.

I think sometimes the children push and shove at the boundaries to know they are still there and intact, to know that you get so worked up because you care so much. There are times though when the child in me screams and shouts and has a tantrum – and at such times it is not unusual for my daughter to chastise me!

The thing about negative qualities is that when channelled into more appropriate areas – hopefully in adulthood, they are often beneficial. I feel I must be doing something right as both of my children seem able to control themselves when out at school or at friends homes. Time will tell!

Dawn

I am not trying to be a mother and a father to Bethan. I am trying to be her parent; the main person who guides her through the minefields and meadows of the experiences and emotions she has to face as she goes through her childhood.

I am her protector, her friend, her supporter, her comforter, her critic, her discipliner. The one who has to gently push her out into life on her own. Many of these things are contradictory and I cannot be all at the same time.

What I can do is try to respond appropriately to events and circumstances. This means that I have to be consistent. This is the motto of all good child care and the thing that I find the most difficult to be.

Bethan does not have a concept of me as a discipliner, and so she finds it hard to cope when I have punished her. If I send her to her room or deny her treats she refers to it as me being nasty or horrible to her: She sees it as a very personal thing designed to hurt her feelings. If I send her to her room she will shout, “I thought you were my friend. I’m not your friend any more.” To which I shout back,

“I’m not your friend I’m your mother.”

This is not true, I am her friend. But I can’t show that when I am punishing her, even though I try to explain that punishing is something mothers have to do sometimes. This highlights the plethora of roles that single parents have to fulfill. I find being a discipliner hard. It is always done because I want to stamp out some emerging anti-social behaviour that will get her into trouble elsewhere. But it always takes something away from me spiritually.

Lorna

I admit it – a lot of the ‘mother’ stuff comes easier to me. I am not much of a father. And yet I’m not much of a mother either. I’m not always at home to put him to bed, or there to collect him from school. I ask myself if this makes me a ‘bad mother’? Am I providing Will with enough security and stability? The answer is a tricky one, because my activities outside the home also contribute towards his security. I’m either out working, earning money for us to live on, or at Yoga class – and doing Yoga certainly helps me to keep poised on that see-saw.

There have been times when I have resented being the only one who ‘disciplines’ Will. The boring one who has to tell him off when he’s larking around getting over excited; the inadequate one, to be blamed if he annoys others. Why can’t people be responsible for their own relationships with him? I hate it when people say, “Could you tell your child…”- even though they may be trying to be polite, I’d much rather they told him for a change.

Keeping Will safe, educating him and modifying his behaviour has become much easier since he started school. Now his teacher takes these responsibilities off my hands for six hours a day, five days a week.

I can’t stop looking through the list of parental roles; there’s so much to do, so much to think about. I’m very proud of all the parents I know for managing to keep up with the demands of the job, especially those who do so alone, including myself.

A Little Bit of Give and Take

Liz

Every Tuesday my son and I collect our money from the post-office and set off shopping. The boy does and has everything he wants on a Tuesday. He has a ride on at least two mechanical cars and during the peak of his undisciplined chocolate fetish he’d get maybe two Milky Bars.

Laden with shopping, bum at right-angles, I squeak and click the pram up the hill to our cafe treat. They know us now and pass me two menus as my sweat breaks out in sweat and I curse the unfoldable folding pram. The two of us sit on high chairs and ponder the inevitable on the menu. From here a big grown-up game starts. My son runs his fingers down the list going “Mmmm?” and orders chocolate milkshake. I add one for myself and an emergency waffle with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, just in case.

We sit and wait, the child occasionally shouting, “Where’s milshake?”. We watch the world of cool and vibe passing by. He points out funny hats, orange wheels, big birds, someone looking out of a window; a large van squeezing by; a crying baby; clouds drifting, rain coming, umbrellas clashing, dogs weeing. He giggles at the plant getting up my nose. We act like co-conspirators, plotting. He makes a play for the salt and pepper but the milkshakes arrive just in time. We sip quietly until an inch or so into the drinks when he starts blowing. It’s quiet at first; all I know of his game is the sudden splash of chocolate wet in my face and the memory of nearly but not quite packing the damn flannel. I make a half-hearted attempt at stopping him, but really it’s quite funny and I’m more interested in watching the milk bubbles grow ever larger around the top of the glass. We solemnly eat the hot waffle. He digs his fingers into the cream and noisily announces that “it’s delicious”. The people in the cafe are dying with delight and my son knows it: he’s showing off and I love it.

He puts his coat on backwards and hands in a fiver. After scrabbling about for the dropped change, we pop ourselves out into the outside world where he’s three feet tall again, and yes he must sit in the pram.

A Second Story:

I know that I’ve been warned against letting my son sleep next to me. I know too that he , being two years old, must not be expected to be a crutch for my emotional screw-ups. But the other night, after being told that I was “Redundant” (meant I’m sure in a humorous ‘Look at me, I’m coping’ kind of way) by my son’s father who’d spent one night looking after his child, I began to cry. I felt so crap as a mother. So tired, so angry at the inequality, so scared of my responsibility, too helpless to fight. My child was asleep but he turned over and kissed my eyes. I cried harder then but for different reasons.

Lorna

What I get from Will:

I get so much from being a mother, and as I get older I find that he is able to give me more and more. Sometimes being with Will can be a refuge from other stresses and strains in my life. Messing about with a small child can be a good way of unwinding, and coming down to earth, and it is also very reassuring to be offered such unconditional love. He sees me at my worst, grumpy, irritable and unreasonable, yet still he thinks I am the bee’s knees.

I am often amazed by his ability to be caring and supportive.

My own mother died when I was five, and in many ways sharing this mother-child bond again with Will has been the most powerful healing of that loss. As he passed the age I was when my mother died, he made me more aware than ever of what I had lost as a child, but also what I have gained in terms of being able to look after us both.

This year on the anniversary of my mother’s death, in February, I was feeling very sad and vulnerable. I hadn’t said anything to Will about this, when he suddenly came up to me and put his arms around me saying , “I love you more than any other kid loves their Mum.” I was already stunned before he added, “and you love your Mum just as much.”

What I want to give to Will:

I want Will to feel happy and secure in himself.
I want him to understand that happiness has more to do with having good relationships with others than with having things.
I want to give him a sense of stability.
I want to give him confidence and an awareness of his potential.
I want to give him independence, as and when he is ready for it.
I want to give him my best.

Sharon

The children have brought different interests to share with me, OK – so I was not into the mini beasts, ants, beetles, and the various other insects – but their views on the world, religions, gods, reincarnation, philosophy, remedies for taking care of the starving, the homeless. They are the sort of people I would choose to mix with anyway. We do not always see eye to eye, and voices are frequently raised. No, we are not afraid of shouting, and that is something else I am proud of, but out of the debates, the arguments, is the invincible quality of our love for each other. The safety of being called all the names under the sun and knowing there will still always be a kiss and a cuddle at bedtime, that we are there for each other come what may.

Life is a learning process and I feel my children are two of the greatest teachers. As their bodies and minds grow and expand so we shall all explore and improve, and then I will feel confident that I have tried my best to give them the best all round upbringing, care, education and above all love and security that we all needed.

WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ALONE

Alone and in Crisis

Whilst we may manage very well from day to day, there are times when being alone feels particularly difficult – when we do crave help and support that just isn’t available at the moment of need. The following are accounts of these times when the isolation of mother and child in highly stressful situations has been hard to bear: during illness, when accidents occur, coping with moving house and in the middle of the night when it all gets too much.

We share these experiences and feelings in solidarity with other single mothers. Although we want to show a positive picture of life in single parent families, we don’t want to pretend that it’s all plain sailing. Every family has its crises, and a family crisis can be particularly difficult to cope with when there is no other adult with whom to share responsibility.

As single mothers we often feel under pressure to prove to the world that we can do a good job of bringing up our children alone; so it isn’t always easy to tell others when we feel bad as mothers, or to ask for help when we need it.

To our fellow lone parents, who recognise the feelings we share in these accounts, we want to say:

“You’re not alone – we’ve all been here. Hitting low spots doesn’t mean you’re not coping, it happens to us all.”

To others we want to say:

“Look! This is what we deal with, so give us the recognition we deserve for the job we are doing.”

Shirley

Joe was ill for eight weeks. I remember feeling anxious all the time.

It started with a cold and a cough, then being sick and diarrohea, and then he wasn’t eating. He didn’t have any energy. We spent hours and hours in an armchair with him sitting on my lap, not doing anything at all. He wasn’t asleep and he wasn’t crying. But he wouldn’t let me get up and leave him alone there. I took him to see the doctor several times, and ended up calling them out several times too. This episode with the doctors made me very angry because each time I took him to the same doctor at the surgery, he diagnosed something different. I was always told to bring Joe to the baby clinic but the clinic is only two afternoons a week and I thought Joe’s case was serious and urgent and they should have seen him right away. No-one knew what was wrong and he wasn’t getting any better.

He got his own back one day, though. The waiting room for the baby clinic was packed and he threw up all over people, chairs, carpet and of course mostly me. It was very hot in there too. The receptionists were overworked. It was peak time. No-one helped me when Joe vomited. When I’d fought my way through to the reception, carrying Joe, to find something to clear up the mess with, all they could offer me was a box of tissues. So I pushed him home in the buggy, both of us stinking of vomit. Some of the things the doctors said made me angry. They thought I was making a fuss about nothing. “Is this your first child?” “Every child goes through a time like this, when they catch one bug after the other.” Because I was responsible for Joe on my own, I think this made me more vulnerable to their advice and to their mockery – because it felt like that at times.

‘They didn’t listen to me. The worst times during Joe’s illness were at night. He was still in nappies. He would wake up through the night crying. I knew he was in pain, but he was inconsolable and I couldn’t do anything about it. Then I realised he was crying every time he had a wee and tried to tell the doctors. They didn’t listen. They didn’t take a urine specimen – nothing.

I couldn’t get out of the flat and I don’t remember many people coming round. I felt relieved one evening when a couple I knew did come round. It was pathetic to watch Joe perk up and try to play. Over the weeks he would seem to get a little better and then get listless again. One day we went to Preston Park with another family. I left him with the others to go for a run, but I could see him as I was running, just standing, doing nothing.

Eventually, and it happened at my friend’s house, he had a febrile convulsion. We didn’t know what was happening to him. We dialled 999 and he was rushed to the Children’s Hospital. He was well taken care of and they diagnosed a urine infection and prescribed some antibiotics which cleared it up.

Lorna

I don’t think there was necessarily anything special about Will that made him sleep at nights. I tried to organise things so that we would have the minimum of disturbance around night feeds. To begin with he slept in a little carry cot next to my bed. I would wake gently to his hungry snuffling noises, scoop him into bed beside me, plug him on to my breast and doze off again. On many mornings I would awake to find him beside me, without either of us having fully regained consciousness during the night. No problems! He graduated from carry cot to cot and things went on peacefully for just over a year.

Then it became difficult. Instead of peacefully suckling and falling asleep, Will started messing about at nights. He seemed to be waking up for comfort rather than food. He kept me awake, irritating me with his fussing and tweaking, and I decided it was time to wean him, at least from night feeds.

Weaning mothers with helpful partners can do the obvious thing – send Daddy in to settle the baby down. What can you do when you’re on your own? You can’t ignore your child’s wakening whimpers, far less the angry yells that follow if you don’t respond. When the note of protest in your child’s voice becomes a note of rage, a note of panic, a note of desperation, sleep is long gone but alert, rational wakefulness is far beyond your reach.

I tried to speak calmly and firmly to Will, to tuck him back under his blankets, to offer him a cup of water. All of this seemed to utterly enrage him. Purple faced and quivering he would scream his lungs out in uncomprehending grief and fury; rearing his head up and fighting me with all his little body as I leaned over the cot trying to settle him down. He must have smelled the food and comfort he longed for, only inches way from him. He longed to be picked up and held, I longed to pick him up and hold him. I longed for quiet, for rest, for sleep. “Please Will, please, just let me sleep. I need to sleep.”

I would wake in the mornings exhausted, guilty and confused. Until these night time confrontations had begun things had been so peaceful between us. I knew I had the right to make this break, but what effect was it having? I worried that it would cause irreparable damage to Will and to our relationship.

After a while, I don’t know how long, Will accepted that night feeds were no longer available; but there were still more breaks to make. He had to learn to spend all night in his own bed, and then in his own room.

There was no one to turn to when I was so angry and desperate that I shook him and pressed him down into the bed, screaming back at him; no-one to turn to when he screamed behind the door as I held it shut with all my strength. It was just me and him. There was no-one else. In the middle of those nights I felt like crying aloud: “I can’t cope with this. I need someone to help!” But I was, and am, the only parent, the only adult, and as such responsible for all that confusion and turmoil; his, and mine.

Dawn

When Bethan was five months old she broke her leg and had to spend two weeks in hospital. It was the worst incident in Bethany’s life that I have had to deal with.

I used to change Bethany’s nappy with her lying on top of a chest of drawers. Late one evening I was changing her nappy when the baby wipes got stuck in the container. I turned to one side to sort it out and Bethan rolled over and fell to the floor. Of all the noises she had made in her life I had never heard her scream like that. I was convinced that she had seriously hurt herself and ran across the road to a nurse I had become friendly with. She came and looked at Bethan and said t hat she could find nothing wrong. By this time Bethan had stopped crying and seemed happy even. However, during the night, she gave out little cries every time she kicked her legs, and I noticed that she was moving one leg less than the other. I knew she was really injured. There was no phone in the house, it was pouring with rain, windy and cold. I didn’t want to take Bethan to the phone box and I didn’t want to leave her on her own. So we both spent a tortuous night waiting for the couple I shared the house with to wake up. I had, and have never felt so helpless as during those hours watching her in pain.

At the hospital they confirmed that Bethan had a broken leg. I really felt that I had done this to her. She was a helpless baby, she relied on me totally and absolutely but I had let her down completely, failed to keep her safe from harm.

I spent the first few hours at the hospital inconsolable. I could not believe what was happening. I felt so guilty, so unfit to be a mother. Each nurse and each doctor wanted to know exactly what had happened down to the last detail, and of course why I had not brought her straight there. Luckily the interview with the hospital social worker turned into a civilised formality when she realised that I was myself a social worker. I could not have coped with any kind of grilling.

I was just beginning to calm down and get used to what was happening when the doctor told me that to mend the bone they would have to bandage both her legs and hang them by rope to a bar over the top of the cot. She screamed for ages when t hey first did this. I thought that she would never get used to it and would scream for two weeks. All the feelings of guilt, shame and grief came flooding back with my tears. I had never felt so alone and so culpable. It was me who had done this to her and me who would have to cope with the situation.

Bethan did get used to the ropes and quite agilely crawled on two arms around the cot. I used to spend all day at the hospital and go home at night to sleep. Although this was quite tedious, I did enjoy talking with the other children. There was one little boy with cancer. He was not expected to live another year. The reality for that family soon put my own experiences into perspective. But I still felt that I had failed to be responsible and keep Bethan safe. And I am left with this awful feeling of guilt.

Liz

A week after my son’s first birthday we moved house. Packing up was fine; he enjoyed playing in the boxes. A friend who has a van moved me. After all my things were in the new place, three van loads later, I sat down with the child on the sofa. I looked around and saw the little depressing things about a rented house that you don’t see when you first look around it: cracked sinks, peeling paint, damp wallpaper. I’m a real home-maker type of person and how my immediate environment feels is crucial to my sense of well-being and safety.

My son was very unsettled. He wanted me to stay with him and play with his toys, which I’d managed to disentangle from the jumble around us. Every time I moved away he cried and cried. I would sit on the sofa again, smoke yet another cigarette and think of all the things that needed doing. I felt like my new home would never get sorted. I felt totally alone, totally in charge and at the bottom of a deep pit.

I put some sheets on the bed and resigned myself to at least getting the baby off to sleep for an hour or so. He fed and fed. My breasts were so sore. First one side, then he’d cry and claw at the other. This went on for hours and hours. He seemed to be asleep, but instantly awoke and cried when I moved my arms to put him down. I began to cry and we stayed like that for the rest of the miserable evening. That night I barely slept.

The next day was the same. We had breakfast together and for a while my son played happily with the boxes. I made a start on the kitchen. He got bored and crawled to me. So I was having to put the scouring pad down, wash my hands, sit on the sofa feeling all sweaty and dirty, and feed him. I felt filthy and absolutely incomplete.

I really needed someone to offer to take my child out for the afternoon. We walked to my friend’s house. She had a baby of a few months’ old. I sat and drank tea and cried. Their house was so calm and sorted. I imagined that I’d never get my place sorted. She said to me sympathetically, “I could take him out for a walk one day”. I felt so let down. Here was another mother who couldn’t see that I needed immediate attention for at least one afternoon. I felt worse than ever. It’s hard when there’s no one who ought to help out.

The opportunity to move from a small flat with bad damp and bad associations to a two bedroomed house with sunshine and an apple tree in the garden had sounded so good! Now I felt that I’d taken on too much; that it was all down to me. I remember wishing for a couple of days that my son could be at least invisible, or not even my responsibility at all.

To my great relief, another friend phoned me that evening and demanded that she take the child out for the next two afternoons! I was so grateful, I could have cried all over again. Over the next two days I cleaned, hoovered, stuck things up, put things down, rearranged the furniture, got some food in and generally wore myself out. But I was much, much happier and the child to his credit settled in without much trouble. Since those terrible days I have constantly appreciated living there. I like that house and I have felt more at ease, content and liberated than ever before. I dread another move!

One of those nights

It’s one of those nights
I want to go out
There’s no-one here to take over
The walls seem to be closing in
Crushing my spirit, weighing heavy
My skull is aching
Trying to escape the confines of my scalp.

The children sleep
This time is usually a freedom,
But tonight is one of those nights.
I stand outside in the space of my garden
I want to go out for a walk,
To see the sea, feel the breeze
Sadness washes over me…restraint
I ought to go to bed
But its one of those nights.

Sleep will be elusive, like my freedom
A walk would clear the cobwebs
“You’re going nowhere”
So says the inner voice.
It’s only a state of mind,
But its claws dig, permeating all
I do not want to be here!
I try desperately to do something
Housework, hobby, prepare for tomorrow,
But its one of those nights.

I can’t find the energy or the inclination.
It all seems a mockery –
Taunting and teasing
I just want to escape – to be alone,
In the open air, beneath an open sky
Uncluttered by responsibility
Oh well, another day, but not now
Because tonight is one of those nights.

Sharon

Alone and in Control

Total responsibility for our children is just one side of a many sided coin. Raising children unfettered by other adult demands and needs can be at times liberating, fun and very satisfying. We have sole responsibility for the difficulties we encounter – we also have the pleasure and the pride that comes from the smallest to largest achievements- and above all we have our children.

Shirley

What is good about our one parent, one child situation is a sense of simplicity and ‘freedom’. We’re very lightweight. We’ve done a lot of travelling together already even though he’s only three. The whole package of being single, poor and just the two of us makes planning uncomplicated.

My sister has a husband and three children of school age. She has a part-time, which often works out to be a full-time, job. As well as her job, she cooks all the meals except for the occasional curry which her husband cooks; she does all the housework except for washing the dishes – they have a dishwasher which her husband is in charge of; and she ferries the children around to all their after – school activities – he’s got a full-time job so he’s not around.

One week last year her husband and two elder children were away for one reason or another, and there was only her and her five-year-old left at home. She had expected to feel lonely and dejected without her family around her, rushing around doing things, all the zappiness, etc. But in fact she was amazed at the freedom she felt and had. It took her by surprise. She discovered how nice it was to spontaneously visit friends or go to the beach, how little planning and preparation it took. She never felt so sorry for me in my single parent state after that!

Karen

Since having Elliot I have not lived with anyone else for more than ten years. I have to admit I would find it quite scary. I have been used to doing things by myself and only having to worry about Elliot for so long that I think living with someone else is going to be hard to get used to.

Personally I would like to settle down with someone, not because I don’t feel I can cope on my own. After all this time I know I can. In fact I’ve helped to take care of my mum for the past five years, and for the last eighteen months of my brother’s life I had also helped to take care of him. So there’s no doubt in my mind that I can still cope alone.

Sometimes I feel it would be nice to have a partner around to be able to share some of my worries and fears.

I also realise that just because you do have a partner it doesn’t always follow that t hey are supportive. I have learned over these past few years that a lot of men are unable to cope with too much responsibility. As soon as something doesn’t go their way they retreat. That’s not to say that I think all men are like this, but there certainly seem to be quite a lot who are still like overgrown children, who for one mason or another can’t quite grow up. It seems to me that a lot of these men like the idea of settling down and maybe even being a father, but when it boils down to the practical responsibilities of it all, they don’t seem to be able to hack it.

Dawn

Most of the situations in which I find being alone a freeing experience are the simple day to day things.

If I don’t have the time/don’t want to do the housework it’s ok with both of us. There’s no-one else’s potential criticism to consider. We can eat when I feel like cooking, whether it be early or late.

The best times are after school on a sunny day. We can go wherever we want: the park, the beach or visiting friends and can take as much time about it as we like.

If I decide that we can afford to go away to visit family or friends for a few days then that’s ok. The only worries are about who’s going to feed the animals. There’s no asking or negotiating involved. We don’t need anyone’s permission.

On the bigger choices in Bethan’s life, I have made considered decisions about how I am bringing her up. I have tried to give her an anti-racist, non-sexist bias in her toys, books, language, and environment. Although being with children who are from more traditional i.e. sexist families has diffused this and probably confused Bethan as well, she has a strong sense of her gender and understanding of the stereotypes society places on her. We often have discussions about why “men ” as in postmen and firemen do actually mean women as well, and the unfairness of language. We also talk about the silly aggressive and other negative qualities of many boys. All this would be very different if there was a man around. Her loyalties to him would suppress her sense of unfairness and give her a confused and less clear picture of the way men treat women is seen in this society.

Although many would say that what I am doing is extreme and giving Bethan a prejudice, I believe that I am widening her understanding of society and the children she comes into contact with. I hope I have helped her to develop an expectation of behaviour in her friends and to accept people for the qualities they possess regardless of gender. I really cannot see how I could have achieved this had there been a male presence in her life.

Lorna

There are many things about being a single parent which I would find very difficult to give up. Will and I are a family, and in many ways it seems easier to keep family life happy and stable with only one relationship to maintain. Quite early on in Will’s life I had the sparkling realisation that my happiness actually matters just as much as Will’s does. I took on motherhood wholeheartedly, putting in hitherto unknown effort into thinking about how to fulfill this responsibility in the best possible way. I am at the centre of Will’s life, therefore if I am unhappy, unhealthy or unfulfilled, that will have a bad effect on him. So I don’t just think about taking care of Will’s needs regardless of my own; I think about looking after both of us so that we can be good for each other.

In a way, Will’s dependency on me alone gives me a sense of security and control.

This works in the realm of financial and domestic affairs as well as emotional and personal life. Although for the first four years money was very tight, at least I was able to organise what little we had, choosing priorities carefully, and making our money work for us, even paying off debts.

There are many freedoms in our two person family which I’m sure some “coupled” mothers would envy: the freedom to be spontaneous, to scrap routines, to accept a last minute offer of a meal at a friend’s, to jump on a train and get away l or a weekend, to welcome friends into our home whenever we like; all without anyone else to consider.

When it comes to day to day matters, the fact that I have sole responsibility for W ill’s health, safety, social development and moral input, means that I can always choose what I think is best for him – I never have to compromise. Of course I value other peoples’ opinions, and invariably discuss the choices I make (everything from schools to haircuts), but at the end of the day it’s up to me.

IT TAKES A WHOLE VILLAGE TO RAISE A CHILD (AFRICAN PROVERB)

A child’s development is shaped by many influences and factors. Children need adults – not just to care for them – but to guide them, provide role models, and offer a glimpse of alternative perspectives and lifestyles. Children of one – parent families particularly benefit from the input of others, as of course does their one parent.

Children can be hard work, children can be fun, children are our future. We are all responsible for shaping that future, for helping the next generation. Children offer all of us the chance to enrich our lives and experiences, and an opportunity to exert a positive influence on the future. We welcome your input. Please welcome our children.

How to support…

Asking for help can be so difficult. The first helpful thing that you can do is to make it known before help is needed that you can be asked. Perhaps if you have a washing machine and your single parent friend hasn’t, you can really make her day by offering to take a load of washing. If you own a car then think about a day out with mother and child, and the joy of being able to hand the child back after the fun and games! A lift to the shops would also provide relief from pushing a heavy pram home. Keep your ears open for an evening out which your friend may enjoy, and try to give as much notice as possible so that she can organise a sitter. Alternatively you could go round and cook a meal at her house. You can help a lot just by lending an ear, and being prepared to talk about things that a woman might discuss with a partner if she had one.

Children are great fun, and very relaxing to be with when it’s just for the odd hour or two every now and then. Coping with a child 24 hours a day is a different matter. All kinds of ordinary activities which other mortals take for granted can become impossible when you’re the lone mother of a baby or toddler. Half an hour can provide a much needed opportunity to make an important phone call, write a letter, or sort out bills and finances without constant distractions, and caring for her child may simply involve a quick trip to the park or out for a cup of tea. A morning or afternoon could be most rewarding and fulfilling by doing something that having a child gives you the excuse to do: visiting a museum or children’s library, going on a children’s fair ride, or visiting another parent friend during the day. This can give a mother the time to do things that she enjoys or wants to do for herself: take a long bath, read the newspaper, exercise, chat with a friend without interruption… luxury activities for many mothers! It may encourage you to know that to us as single parents, a compassionate, supportive friend is a diamond in our lives.

Why it’s difficult to ask for support…

I don’t want to be a burden
I don’t want to feel dependant
I can manage on my own
I don’t know who to ask
I should know what to do, without having to ask
No one can help me
I’ll upset other people’s partners/ families/ routines
It’s the middle of the night
They might say no and I couldn’t handle that
They might not say no when they mean no
I feel ashamed and inferior

Why it’s good to ask for support…

Some people are pleased to be asked

It may be better for your child if you get help: it’s good to let people see that we are not all Super Mum all the time

Our relationships with others may be enhanced by more openness

We may be giving our child the opportunity to develop a good relationship with another adult

If we’ve asked others for help, they may feel easier about asking us when I hey need help – asking for help breeds mutual support

When we need to ask for help…

When we’re ill – everyone gets ill, and our bodies tell us when we need rest and recuperation. Struggling on can cause the problem to grow.

When our children are ill – we may need to get to the doctors, or just a quick break from being stuck indoors with the worry of a sick child.

When we are locked into negative behaviour which needs the intervention of another person to dissolve.

In emergencies – such as accidents, power cuts, plumbing crises, etc.

If a voice in your head is screaming ‘HELP!’- you need to let someone hear.

When we’re depressed- this can be the most difficult time to ask and can also be when we need help the most.

Asking for support…

Be specific about what you’re asking for. Babysitting- how long for, will it actually involve childcare? A loan- how much? For how long?

Think…would I be prepared to give this help?

Ask the right person, taking into consideration their needs as well as your own.

Give people the chance to say no, then try not to resent refusals. Offer something in return if you can, like cooking a meal or doing some washing for a babysitter. Let people know that their help is appreciated.

Don’t feel bad about it- it’s natural to need support.

Spread your requests around different people and don’t sabotage yourself by turning to the wrong person at the wrong time.

Think about mutual help arrangements, formal and informal.

POSTSCRIPT

I have been aware of the creation of this book for a long time; from the beginning of the writing group, to the manuscript being accepted by QueenSpark Books, and I have been conscious of the long hours of hard work and commitment that have led to its actual publication.

I have compulsively read the accounts of all the mothers, and in a sense I have got to know them.

Many of their experiences strongly resonate with my own – being a mother, being on a low income, feeling inadequate. What this book offers is support and recognition that we all struggle to survive as best we can in a society that sometimes seems to thwart us.

Some of the feelings and occurrences discussed are not exclusive to single parents; they are things many of us can identify with. Other parts of the hook deal with issues very specific to lone parents, helping to show others that they are not alone.

I see this publication as a celebration of single parenting, which I believe is crucial at this time. “The Lone Rangers” must continue to fight for the acknowledgement and respect which they deserve from those whose attitudes and policies would “outlaw” them.

Jackie Blackwell,
chair of QueenSpark Books Manuscripts Group,
October 1995