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Open letter: I never wanted to be a single mother

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As part of an ongoing series, Yahoo Canada is profiling personal experiences in open letters. For more from the series, click here.

To my beautiful child,

At two-and-a-half, everything about you is amazing: your smile, laugh and kisses. You aren’t one of those kids who’s been jaded by the world or life yet and I’m so sad knowing that will change for you much sooner than it should. You have no clue how grateful I am that you exist and keep me breathing.

As I lay here in bed on a Saturday morning I realize I’m alone, I mean totally, utterly alone. What it should be is a bed filled with morning cartoons and the three of us cuddled together. A strong familiar hardworking hand holding mine as we look past you and into each other, smiling and discussing what adventure or new experience we could let you discover today. That’s what it was for way too short of a time. You won’t even remember that safe, secure life where everything was as it should be. You won’t get to witness what an amazing love your father and I had for each other and how badly we wanted you, and wanted to show you the world together. We wanted a strong, loving family base – or so I thought.

I struggle to find purpose to get out of bed and start my day, especially when I’m hit with empty closets and an eerily quiet house.

The past six months has been the most insane time of my life. It should of been filled with play dates, swim lessons, family days of tobogganing and skiing. Now, it’s half empty. I was just starting to adjust to the fact that I’m a mom, and now I have to accept that I’m a single mom at 30. And now, I’m only legally able to spend half your life with you.

When you were born I went back to work immediately so that we could still manage to keep up our lifestyle and home, and to be able to do this new age mom thing where everything seems to fall onto the woman. I would work managing a staff of three while breastfeeding you and taking diaper breaks, all while demands from clients were constantly coming in. I’d run the household too. It wasn’t enough for him I guess. It was tough and many times I wished I could just take you and run away from all of the responsibility, all the while not knowing that he was actually planning to run.

Your dad and I travelled the world together, we hit all our life milestones together - college, university, buying a home, starting our own businesses, death, divorces, and of course, you. When you were born I had never felt more love for your father. The whole time I was pregnant I couldn’t get enough of his smell. When giving birth, it was his eyes that got me through the labour. Once you arrived I couldn’t stop looking at you and telling you how we would give you the best life, how I loved you because you were a product of our love and a bit of both of us. I now look at you with a different kind of love.

We planned and wanted you so badly, he was all about creating our family. I wanted you as well, but wasn’t one of those girls with a life plan; having kids (one, two, or none) was not my goal, it was about the love I had for him and anything that came along was just a wonderful bonus.

We were together for more than a decade. This was that love that holds no bar, walls broken down, young, un-jaded, no baggage, hold hands unknowingly in our sleep kind of love. A love that truly only comes once in a lifetime: you can’t get that innocent and naive again.

He would never make love to me without telling that he wanted to love me forever, right up until the end, even when he knew otherwise. He would say he was excited to spend the rest of our lives together, taking you on family trips, having more children, getting married one day. Then, he’d talk about being able to sit back together and hold hands watching our grandchildren play and know that we created the lives around us.

Something changed.

Something changed so fast and suddenly that I couldn’t even breathe before he was gone and already set up in his own place. It started with small comments about my weight, my hair colour or the fact that it was curly, I should be taller, put on more makeup, our house was messy. Then it got really mean and hurtful. “If I had loved you I would have married you, I never did so I never loved you.” He stopped trying.

I called him out, knowing work was stressful, thinking he’s just taking it out on the one he loves most. I never expected him to say he was done. He didn’t want to try and he let me know he was leaving for good. Not a second question, not a tear in his eye. It was easy for him.

I was completely broken. I was so mad at him for doing this to me, to us. All the time with him and the time I missed out on moments growing up. He was my best friend and I trusted him completely, and he did this. How could he of all people do this to the mother of his own child? How could he say things that made me feel so worthless, ugly and small? How does 14 years completely shatter in four months? Verbal and emotional abuse is hard to process, it stays within your skin and haunts you.

They say you have to fight for love and to never fall out of love at the same time. If you do that, you will make it. Well, I tried. I tried for you, and I’m sorry I failed you.

I begged him to work on our family, but he was unwavering. Done. Mental slip? Brain tumour? Hated me? Someone else? Probably. We will never know and he won’t tell me. Plus, his words and truth are not exactly the most trustworthy.

I want you to know I’m strong, independent, pretty (including my imperfections), and you can’t force someone to see your worth. Don’t grow up feeling bad for me, trust me, I will be better off. You can decipher his character on your own without any influence from me.

You, son, are worthy. You are strong. I will teach you not only a woman’s worth but that of other humans. I will teach you gratitude, respect, compassion, kindness, and how not to be selfish yet not lose your self worth. None of this was because of you, it’s not your fault. Only he can take the blame of not stepping up and not communicating, choosing not to try for his family.

He may be half of you, but you won’t be defined by him, and neither will I. You are not him.