This is a love letter to all single mothers who have sustained families and lives throughout the global pandemic.
It's a day late, because I am one of them.
Why does that matter?
Because I am tired. I tried so hard to write this blog and publish it yesterday... I really did. But after rising at 6.30 to get all my children up and dressed and in to school for the first time in almost 4 months, flying through the house work, some essential life admin, speaking to a client and a doctor, feeding us all and finally falling into bed at 11pm, exhausted, it didn't happen.
Many things haven't happened this year that I am passionate about, that represent my career, my interests, my friendships, my relationships - it's hard not to feel like the pandemic has swallowed my personality a little bit. Outside of mothering and working when I can, there's not seemed to be much of me left.
If you read this and relate, Mama, I want you to know that I see you.
I see you.
You with the exhausted smile, the messy house, the tired eyes. I know it's been a whole year since your world was turned upside down, and you're here, still standing (almost). I want you to know I'm standing with you - even when (like you) I could really do with a sit down, a cuppa or let's face it, a bloody long holiday in the sun.
This year women everywhere have struggled with the reality that gender roles are still nowhere near equal. We've picked up our children emotionally, physically and spiritually during a global pandemic, left the workplace at rates that far outstrip our male partners, colleagues and friends. There's no point engaging with the #notallmen debate or soothing the fragile egos of men who feel they've pulled their weight and done their share. The data is in. We've been screwed. Single mothers, more than most.
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