The truth about single motherhood

If you believed Hollywood, you’d think the world was madly in love with harried, struggling single mothers. I mean, who doesn’t love Erin Brockovich? Or Renée Zellweger’s character in Jerry Maguire? But in real life, that’s not how it works.

In recent months, I have unexpectedly found myself the sole-care single mother to two young sons. This has changed my life in unfathomable ways but the main thing it’s altered is my relationship to work. There’s just way more of it – the unpaid kind.

In October, I went from being a partner, wife and co-parent to the only responsible adult on deck. My parental responsibility doubled, and my resources were halved. This has resulted in a Catch-22 I am still trying to dig my way out of: my kids need me more than ever but I’ve never been so stretched.

Five months in, I am still struggling, but in some ways I’m getting the hang of it. The reality is stark: I’m time and money poor and responsibility superrich. As Marxist bargains go, it sucks. And I’ve discovered that for all our talk of progress and equality, single mums are held to higher account than single dads.

Just before Christmas, I was called into a meeting at my kids’ school to discuss the boys’ ‘care and appearance’. A pair of well-intentioned twentysomething female teachers sat me down on a teeny-tiny chair and for the better part of an hour relayed their concerns over food stains on jumpers, incorrect uniform and Frank’s unbrushed hair. They wanted to know why the boys had arrived at school late three times last month. (Because we’d moved further from the school and I’d misjudged the commute time.) They wanted to know why they sometimes hadn’t been wearing their school ties.