Single motherhood was not the plan.
It wasn’t the dream I carried around when I was younger, soft and hopeful, imagining what my life would look like. I pictured two hands helping with dinner, two voices saying goodnight, two people laughing in the kitchen after the kids went to bed.
Instead, some nights it’s just me.
Me, standing under the yellow kitchen light with mascara I never got to wipe off, work clothes still clinging to me, a sink full of dishes, tired flowers leaning in a vase, and kids calling my name from different rooms like I am the answer to every question in the world.
And maybe I am.
All day, I play dress up. I smile when I’m tired. I show up polished, present, capable. I answer emails, make decisions, hold myself together with coffee and quiet prayers. I become the version of me the office expects to see.
Then I come home, and the costume comes off.
There are backpacks by the door, crumbs on the counter, socks hiding under the couch. Towels waiting to be folded, lunches waiting to be packed, tears waiting to be dried, stories waiting to be heard.
And then their arms wrap around my neck at the exact moment I think I have nothing left to give.
Some nights, I sit at the kitchen table after everyone is asleep, staring at the silence. My body aches. My mind races. I wonder how I carried so much and still managed not to drop the most important pieces.
But then I hear them down the hall.
My kids.
The life I made, even if it did not arrive the way I thought it would.
And there it is. The peace.
Not the kind that comes from everything being easy. Not the kind that comes from having all the answers. It’s the kind of peace that settles deep in your bones when you know you are exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if the road here broke your heart a little.
There is love in this home. Messy, loud, warm love. The kind that spills over bedtime and breakfast. The kind that lives in forehead kisses, sleepy hands reaching for mine, and their voices saying, “Mama, I love you.”
Single motherhood was not the dream I had in mind.
But this bond? This love? This little family built from strength, sacrifice, and second chances?
I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
-Christine Brazeau
Shaping the Crazy 