Raising my daughters without their father
Six years ago, with the death of Carlos when our daughters were only 7 years old, I suddenly became a 'single mother', without ever having imagined it.
BarcelonaNext Monday I have the back-to-school meeting for my twin daughters, who have started 3rd year of ESO (secondary school). I couldn't possibly split myself in two to attend both classes—they have simultaneous meetings—and meet each of their teachers. But it turns out that Fiona has a scheduled appointment at the primary care center (CAP) at the same time, a visit she arranged weeks ago for her recurring dust mite allergy shot, and I've spent all afternoon trying to figure out how I'll manage to be in three places at once. All three, each important.
This has been my daily routine since six years ago, when Carlos died when our daughters were only 7 years old, and I suddenly became, without ever having imagined it, single mother And I was faced with the challenge of raising two girls on my own. And I say on my own because, although I have an invaluable network of friends who are like family and who often get me out of trouble, our blood relatives live many miles away.
In fact, when Carlos and I first started considering having children, more than 14 years ago, it seemed like a huge challenge. And this was while in a relationship with a man who promised to be—and who far exceeded expectations—a father fully involved in raising them. However, I had always told Carlos that, if anything, we would have one, since having a child seemed like an enormous responsibility. But fate intervened, and two arrived suddenly, completely unexpectedly. And, a few years later, this already doubled challenge—we could say—quadrupled, without warning, without planning, and without having had much time to think about it.
The invisible burden
Raising children alone is far from easy, but ultimately it forces you to bring out the best in yourself every single day because, quite simply, you can't afford to do otherwise. There's a more visible side, the "logistical" side: getting up before the girls every day, making breakfast, managing doctor's appointments, grocery shopping, cooking, doing laundry, helping with homework, taking them to the dentist...
However, without a doubt, the hardest part is also the most invisible. The part that doesn't appear in photos or show up on the outside: the mental, emotional, and decisional burden. These are the moments when you have a doubt and don't know which way to turn. Or something happens, a health scare, for example, and you have no one to share your worries with. Everything happens on your shoulders. There's no one else to consult, share doubts with, or delegate a difficult decision to. You're the one who manages the obstacles, sets boundaries, answers difficult questions, offers reassurance when there are anxieties, plans every day of vacation, and handles every unexpected event and mishap. And you're the one who has to bear the weight of absence when you often need support yourself. In short, you're responsible for absolutely everything related to the day-to-day life of your little family.
Luckily, there are helping hands that appear when you least expect them. And with these hands, you get the feeling that maybe you're not doing so badly after all. Over the years you learn to accept and ask for help when you need it, and you no longer feel like it's a failure.
The gaze of others
Sometimes, people I'm close to, or not so close to me, say things like, "I can't take it anymore. My husband's away this week, and I'm alone with the kids," or, in the case of many divorced friends, they say things like, "It's my turn with the little one this week, and I'm swamped." Not to mention the typical summer one: "I've been with the kids for two whole weeks; I'm exhausted." I've gone from saying, "I totally understand," to offering a shy smile and hiding my often profound sense of being misunderstood.
But sometimes, when you complain or try to share your feeling of exhaustion or being overwhelmed, you get responses that throw you off balance. Many people tell you, "You're very strong," or "I couldn't do it." And I think it's not a matter of being strong or having been born with some kind of superhuman instinct: it's simply that there's no alternative. When you're faced with this challenge head-on, you throw yourself into it because there's no plan B. And, amidst the hardship, there are also many moments of happiness, camaraderie, and shared laughter that help you keep going.
Now a fun stage begins, with their teenage explosion, and all I ask is that I can do it well: help and guide them as best I can, with the challenge of surviving and, above all, with the hope that when they look back, they'll know that, despite everything, they've never lacked love. Perhaps I haven't been able to be in three places at once, but I juggle so it doesn't show too much.