These are the stories, thoughts and advice from five single mothers living in Nova Scotia. They were gathered through interviews, home visits, email and a self-recorded tape. The diversity of methods explains the different form each one has. One mother wishes to remain anonymous and another’s name has been changed. This was a new chapter added in the last update because it was hoped to be a place for other single mothers to share their stories. There is something comforting and powerful about reading others’ stories. It is empowering to realize that there are other people who have similar experiences. Keep in touch with NSPIRG and send your stories to future editors of the guide or visit the messageboard at http://survivalguide.nspirg.org to share with others.
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I forget now where I got hold of the Single Mothers’ Survival Guide (1991 ed). But I remember reading it from cover to cover to make sure I did not miss anything. I was so glad there was this book written just for us.
Being a single mother is difficult and hard work. Being an immigrant woman on top of that makes it more difficult because of the racial and cultural issues involved.
If there is anything that determines the quality of my life here in Canada, it would be gender (my being a woman), my race (who I am and where I come from), my class (which reflects how much money I have) and of course, the level of education and culture I have, and my grasp of the English language. And I would add a fifth factor, that of being a single mother. All of these continue to determine which doors let me in, the new friends I make, the services and facilities I can access here in Canada, and the kind of parenting I have learned.
A single mom once wrote that parenting is like crossing a bridge. You never know how successful you are till you reach the other side. Perhaps. But, I would like to think that you can stop, while you are traveling on that bridge, to strategize on how to continue to cross that bridge surely and triumphantly.
My daughter and I came to Halifax in 1991. As an immigrant mother, I am caught between two culture, my own and a dominant mainstream culture. My daughter lives it too. My daughter does not have my advantage of a memory warehouse of songs and stories, experiences, lessons and friendship and other things that serve as a buffer, a filter, a shield with which to handle this new culture.
My turning point as an immigrant parent was when my daughter, age 4, declared that she wanted her hair to be yellow. My daughter had long, black hair then. I was horrified! It offended me and my nationalist sentiments to hear that my daughter wished to be other than who she was! Too busy studying, I had neglected my ‘nationalist’ responsibility. I didn’t want to lose my daughter into the dominant culture. Like most immigrant mothers, I want my daughter to grow up confident in who she is, proud of the shape of her eyes, nose , and mouth, and the colour of her hair. I want her to know the history of her people and not forget the first language she first spoke and used to understand the world. I want her to be proud that she is Filipina. That is my “nationalist” parenting – feeding her stories about the Philippines, its heroic men and women, and teaching her about the Filipino language. If I failed in this, there would be no one to blame but myself.
To be an immigrant parent also means to do anti-racist parenting. My daughter and I have been subjected to racism – name calling, ridicule, and teasing. We have seen how certain people can hate us just because we look different. Racism is one more thing my child has to recognize and learn how to fight, every day and everywhere. As immigrant parents, we have no choice. At the same time, to parent well is also to teach compassion and respect for differences.
My child is now 13 years-old. In the drama of our lives, I find that as an immigrant mother, I do not have the monopoly of knowledge but I do have the final say on decisions. My daughter has sometimes been my teacher, without her knowing it. Both of us have learned to compromise. Living in two cultures demands that we do so.
Single parenting is crossing that bridge alone. And knowing that when you reach the other side, you did it the best way you could, on your own. And triumph will be so much sweeter.
It was just before Christmas and he told my son to go upstairs and clean his room. It wasn’t to his satisfaction. He went upstairs, ransacked the whole bedroom…he beat my son and I thought: “That’s it. I tried to leave twice before, I’m still here, what went wrong”? I realized…my mouth. Don’t tell him you’re leaving, just leave. So I called a good friend of mine up and she knew there were problems and she knew to what degree because she had seen the violence.
This man knew how many underwear we all had, how many bras I owned, what I had in my closet, what the boys had. So she says, “let’s rig up your washing machine,” and that’s what we did. She rigged it so that the belt went through halfway and then it broke. It looked like it was a normal wear and tear thing to the naked eye. So now I have to take my clothes somewhere to get washed right? So you go with twelve pairs of underwear, you come back with eleven. Things happen. So every time I’d go over, I’d always make sure I did two loads of laundry at her place and this was my excuse to take out so many pairs of underwear for me and my son, so many tops…By the time we finished we had enough clothes to the two of us for at least two weeks.
I called all these places and they would explain to me what I had to do. I said “well, I’m not ready yet. I’m getting there but not quite ready yet. I know when it will be the right day and the right time.” So from November to December I got all the information and I left it over at my girlfriend’s house.
January 8th, 1998, was D-Day. He went to work. On this day, got my stuff together, ran over to my girlfriend’s house. She said “ok, call Social Services and wile you’re doing that I’ll go get your son”… I called my older son who was at work. Because of my husband’s abuse, my older son left home when he was 14. We almost ended a mother and son relationship. I’m surprised we’re even talking now because of the abuse, but luckily we managed to repair something. So the day I called him I said “look today’s the day, you’re either coming with us..he says what are you talking about? I say I’m leaving him, he says no you’re not, you’ve said that before. I said I might have said it but we’re doing it.”
Calgary ‘welfare’ gave me a cheque for $1300, which paid for three one-way bus tickets and a little bit of food.
I didn’t want to stay in the same city because I knew what was going to happen. He was just going to find me like he did the other two times, sweet talk me into going back with him and then the cycle would go round again. As I said before, I tried counseling. Finally, I said enough – I want out of the province.
Women feel they have to protect the image…what will the neighbours think, what will the neighbours say? To hell with neighbours, what is best for you? If the man is beating the hell outta you, you get out of there. Don’t say I can’t do it, you can do it. Yes, it’s scary, trust me it’s scary. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.
My parents paid for my children and I to go down to the States for Christmas and I was so sad and desperate and unhappy, because of my divorce but we went down there and we went to the airport when it was time to go back to Canada and the plane was supposed to leave about 8 and get in around 11pm. Well the plane didn’t leave until 11. The kids were 6, 8 and 10 at the time.
When we got into Halifax, it was a snowstorm and it was 3 o’clock in the morning and I had just assumed that there would be taxis there, but all the taxis were gone. Everybody on the plane had arranged transportation. It’s three c’clock in the morning and it’s just me and my three kids. I had left my car in town parked where I work. So I was calling the cab companies…nobody was answering and I didn’t know how I was going to get home. Finally, I got somebody out of bed and I said I need to go to downtown Halifax. I’m at the airport and I have three kids here and he said he’d find somebody. He found this woman and he said she would come out and get us. So I waited and waited and no one came. So I called him back and he said her car wasn’t going so her boyfriend had to come over and get her car started, got her on the road and she came and got us.
We were on our way back into Halifax and I just couldn’t thank her enough. I never forgot this woman.
The way I survived was to trust that everyone was going to be ok. Although I’m not a church going person, to pray and pray and pray and then it was very interesting when I started doing that…I found that I frequently got answers to my prayers and that was the most amazing thing. I was so desperate and it was such a blessing to get an answer either in the middle of the night or through dreams or through something happening. It really very much struck me that I was not alone, that things would work out, that there was somebody helping me and I trusted that with that help, I would make the right decisions, if I was just very careful and thoughtful and had the right motivation, to basically do good, to protect my children and have a peaceful life.
Our life now is quite quiet and content and creative for the most part, I’m fairly happy, which is something that I didn’t think I’d be able to accomplish when I headed into this four years ago.
The following are some accounts and insights on what it is like to be a single mom.
There are the predators – usually men, but sometimes women, who think they can do things to you and your family that they would normally not do if a man was present. There are several types of predators. I have listed and described 6 in the following, along with some advice on how to deal with them.
The neighbours who steal your children’s toys, bikes, and even clothing off the line because they pay taxes and if you’re on ‘welfare’ “it’s their stuff anyway.”
Advice: Try to relocate to a place where people are more educated and less judgmental. You may also try calling the police. You have a right to protection and safety.
The doctor that tells you to give up your babies for adoption to a “good family” and threatens or harasses you if you do not sign the forms.
Advice: Find another doctor or call the Human Rights Commision. If they do not let you leave their office, call the police.
The guy who fakes that he cares about you and the children so that he can live off you – he preys upon any insecurity that you may have about being a single mom, and goes to great lengths when making you feel it is your fault when he points out your “misgivings.” He is essentially the “good guy,” who is soo good that he is willing to be with you, the lowly single mom so you should be grateful and put up with him. He is full of himself.
Advice: You do not need him or any of his kind. You have the power to do what you need to and more. Your children have the right to be loved and not used as pawns by a pig in Knight clothing. Just look into your children’s eyes and you will find all that you need. You can find a way and be that great person that you are. Just keep loving and being loyal to your family.
The sexual king who think the same way as predator 1, but also about your body. They think that you have no power to do anything about them. But you do. They can be dealt with.
Advice Call the police. Also, the sexual assault hotline can help. Remember that you are not alone – there is help out there.
The employer who thinks they have you over a barrel and tries to make you do more work or high level work without paying you for it. For me one out of many life experiences involved a business lunch. Halfway through the lunch the creep told me that he had no work for me and that he invited me to lunch just to because he wanted to spend time with me. So I thanked him for lunch, left and billed him for my time.
Advice: Call the Department of Labour and Human Rights Commission. Just tell on them and keep telling on them. Sometimes it is better to eat macaroni for a short while. Eventually, you can make it. Just be true to yourself. You’re worth as much as the next person and not every employer is like predator 5. By standing up for yourself, you show that you value yourself. If you value yourself then others will too.
The teachers or lunch monitors who look the other way when your child is being beaten for having a single mom for a parent and/or for not being white or rich, or automatically blames your child when something goes wrong. Or leaves them out of a certain event without sufficient reasons.
Advice: Confront them directly in a diplomatic or polite way. Sometimes it is better to mediate through a principal or teacher you trust. If they are abusive to you or persist with persecuting your children, call the school board, and the Human Rights Commission. They must be reported. They are a danger to all children when they provide care to children with exclusions based on race, class, status or wealth.
Although there may be others, these were among the worst predators that I encountered along my journeys as sole parent of three children.
All single moms everywhere should be treated like gold. Most have gone through unimaginable nightmares – yet manage to provide for children even in the toughest times. They are an inspiration to all of us, and should be recognized as such. Like heroes, they truly run the daily gauntlet and survive.
I give kids complete and utter reposted. My daughter deserves it. I’m out watching my kid playing cause I like my kid, cause I want to hang with my kid as often as I can. My priorities from the beginning were children and the future and not about making money. When I gave birth to my daughter, I made her and the children in my life priority.
Society doesn’t do that. They’re the next generation. The system does not make the next generation more important than we are and they are. They’re the ones who are going to be looking after us when we’re in diapers in our old age. Where do these political systems come from, that don’t incorporate any of that? We can sit and judge as many single parents as we want but then again it’s not about the parents and how they were irresponsible to get there and all that other stuff…It’s about these children growing up in poverty, growing up with hungry stomachs, growing up with parents who are too stressed out to eat. These are the children who are going to school without breakfast because their mother didn’t have enough energy to get up early enough to look after them because she didn’t eat the day before and she’s frustrated cause she hasn’t had somebody in such a long time pattin’ her on the back going “you know what, I see how hard you’re working. I know this is difficult for you, but you know you’re gonna be alright.” Nobody. They don’t want to support you. They want to sit around saying we can’t give you this and we can’t give you that and not one of them is going this is what we can do for you and this is how you can stay alive. They’re not gung ho about keeping people alive. They’re gung ho about keeping the system alive I guess.
The medical system isn’t there to keep people alive either. It’s there to keep the status quo. I was in a hospital for some time. The last time I went in I didn’t want their drugs. They didn’t like that. I don’t want to be medicated. I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m depressed. There’s a reason for it and as long as you medicate me I don’t get to those reasons. You know I don’t get to deal with those things. I’m ready to be angry now. I couldn’t do that for years because I had too many things to do.
People are judgmental as soon as they find out you’re on ‘welfare’. They don’t like you to look pretty. I start dressing up and looking pretty and I’ve made a point of it in the last little while because I can. For the first time in 12 years, my daughter’s old enough and I can breath and look in the mirror. Wow I have long hair. It grew long over those years. I never even had a haircut in the last 12 years. It grew really long in a neat kind of shape. Wow I can put braids in and pretty things and that’s a lot to me. Small pleasures are a lot to me. They want to see me looking dirty. The minute I start looking good, I’m arrogant and I must be cheating somebody. The fact is I have a lot of clothes. I didn’t buy any of them. I used to volunteer at Adsum House for a long time, so I’d go to Adsum House and get my clothes from the shelter. I’m a woman. I have a right to dress up nice.
The hardest part about being a single parent is the stereotypes…breaking through those, convincing people to help me out past the stereotypes.
I’m
trying to figure out what is the definition of success? And who am I really?
Well maybe according to some people, financially I’m not successful
but I have a lot of love in my life. I have a lot of life in my life.
I’m awake, I’m alive and I love my daughter. And my daughter
loves me and that’s all that matters.