Be The Bitch

It takes a village, they told us. So where are they? Where are the grandparents who swoop in when we’re dangling from our last nerve? Where’s the father who was supposed to carry half of the load? Where are the aunts and uncles, the neighbors? Not here. There is no village here. Everyone who was supposed to be around left. They took the easy right turn out. They exited stage left. They told you to find someone else to do it. To do it yourself. They took the titles of Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt, Uncle, and friend - but left you with the work. They glorified the roles they refused to play and villianized you when you cut them off. So now you're the bitter single mother.

This one’s for you, darling, because you are the village. You’re the whole world to your child or children, and guess what - no one else gets to take credit for the work you put in day in and day out. The people who cling to their titles stand around and watch you kill yourself to be everything, so let them think you're the monster. Let them criticize your abilities while they sit on the sidelines.

The father who became the fantasy football champion you knew he always was. He drafts his team of illusions while you're the player putting in the work. You claim the victory of actually being involved in every part of your child's beautiful little life while he checks his notifications for updates. He’ll drop his critical comments like he drops injured players on his fantasy team. Just know, the quarterback isn’t playing for fantasy players. She’s running plays for the team, even with all the screaming in the stands. Play on, Mama.

The grandparents who show up on their time. Who call on a random night when your schedule is already packed full. The ones who criticize how you do it, even though you’re still in therapy for how they did it. The ones that demand, “take the picture,” even though your hands are full and you haven't had a picture taken with your child in months. The grandparent who never had to support children alone, pay off debt, or drown in the economy they blew to smithereens. So they dwell in their house, which they barely paid for, while you drown in the student loans they convinced you to get at 17 years old. March on, mama

The friends who said, I'm here if you need me, but then never showed up. Those who bailed right when you needed them and then vanished into thin air. The ones that came on strong and made your children fall in love with them, only to run when they realized single motherhood isn't a fantasy, it isn't a fun little duo, and it’s not a walk in the park. Friends that are only friends for “drinks” and “brunch” but draw the line at “reciprocation.” Friends that you would have gone to war for, but left you stranded. Fight on, Mama.

The village comes and it goes. If we’re lucky, there are a few who climb into the hole with us and never leave until we’re both out. The ones we have gone to war for and have shown up again and again to return the favor.

When it goes, we’re left fighting the battles on our own. When we decide to remove people from our child's life, or when people remove themselves. When we’re left fighting storms on our own, we become the whole army, the whole Empire, keeping track of schedules, meals, events, health, supplies, and disasters. We’re juggling everything with just two arms. So let them criticize, let them make judgmental remarks, and let them underestimate your situation. Doing it all is hard. It’s not something just anyone can do, regardless of how much they claim they would do it better. They’re not doing it at all, are they? No! You are! You’re the player, you’re the stakeholder, you’re the soldier. The ones who criticize the loudest are usually the ones who tap out first.

In these moments, I know it's tough to slow down the memories. Our time to enjoy our children slips from our fingers. Even when we finally get to do something fun, our head is congested with what needs to be taken care of. We look back at pictures of our babies and cry because we remember the chaos that swirled around those images. Our gentle motherhood stolen from us as our kids zoom through their childhood. The financial responsibilities, the health crisis, the busy schedules, the educational expectations, and just trying to raise them into decent human beings. It’s ok to be angry, mama. Let them call you bitter or even a bitch. You are what they made you. They can call you whatever they want from the outside. As difficult as it may be, you still get to be the one on the inside. You get to be the one who has most definitely earned the best title of all, Mama.