Being a working single mom is, I’m just gonna say it, kinda for the birds. I assume that being a working caregiver of any kind is pretty much for the birds these days, and I’m focusing here on working single moms only because that’s my personal experience. Obligatory disclaimer: of course, I love my child and wouldn’t give up being a parent for anything, I’m grateful to have income, and I know that I am incredibly privileged in the education and kinds of jobs I have had.
That said, being a working single mom is still kinda for the birds. I’ve been doing it for 10 years now, and all the cliches are true. We are exhausted. I mean, exhausted. The level of exhaustion from years of doing (at least) one paying job and another unpaid job is staggering. We are under immense pressure, to “succeed” professionally and to live up to even a fraction of what is expected of parents (especially moms) in this era of intensive parenting. On most days, we are just barely holding it together, hoping no one notices in meetings that we’re either trying to stay awake or doing literally seven things at one time because there simply is not enough time to mono-task. The mental and emotional load sometimes feels like it could flatten you.
We’re also lonely. Despite being on the go for 15-18 hours every day and in constant contact with any number of people – coworkers, bosses, teachers, coaches, doctors, nurses, babysitters, plumbers, pharmacists, therapists, co-parents (yes, you can have a co-parent and still have the experience of being a single parent) – being a working single mom is isolating. We often don’t feel seen, or that we belong anywhere really.
But here’s a counterintuitive secret: some workplaces can actually shore up that sense of belonging for working single moms.
The concept of “belonging” gets thrown around with abandon these days, so much so that it is at risk of becoming meaningless. Which would be a shame because true belonging provides a whole lotta meaning.
We see headline after headline about the loneliness epidemic, exacerbated by the Covid years and political divisiveness. Add that to a form of capitalism and national identity that encourages individualistic mindsets and looking out for your own above all else, and it’s no wonder we’re all literally sick with loneliness and searching for belonging. We live far from our extended families and often lack the social structures of community; people are even apparently going to church less.
In the absence of a society that values and prioritizes community and connection, many companies have stepped in to fill that void, either in a genuine attempt to help their employees feel more connected, or in a bald effort to keep those worker bees humming and the machine cogs cogging. Probably a bit of both, in the best case scenario.
Tech companies, in particular, are fond of touting their “values” and “mission,” and leaders (and recruiters!) speak passionately about “belonging” and “community.” After 10 years of working in tech, coincidentally the same amount of time I’ve been a single mom, I can say for certain that some companies are simply paying lip service to these ideas, and some are earnestly trying to figure it out.
But it really doesn’t matter what the company’s official line is. It’s all about the people who work at that company with you.
The night before my first day at Etsy a little more than 10 years ago, I was anxious about leaving my eight-month-old son whom I’d been at home with since he’d been born. I was also very newly separated from my then-husband and beginning the process of a divorce.
I barely remember my first day (first few months, really) at Etsy. I was in shock – at my divorce, at being apart from my son, at working in a tech company culture for the first time after years of working in stodgy law firms and boutique PR agencies. In my late-ish mid-30s, I felt like the oldest person in the dorm, er, office. I was already hesitant to age myself by telling coworkers that I had a baby, let alone that I was getting divorced. Just the word “divorced” conjured up some dated 1980s sad sitcom that seemed so … pathetic. I walked around filled with so much secret shame that I’m surprised I didn’t spontaneously burst into flames.
My family didn’t live near me. Most of my close girlfriends were neither married nor parents. I had made a few new mom friends in the neighborhood, but we weren’t that tight yet. I didn’t know anyone at my new job. And I had no idea what I was doing as a new mom.
I didn’t tell any coworkers for six weeks that I was in the middle of a divorce, and even then it was only one or two people on my team. To my surprise, they didn’t gasp in horror or run away. (I mean, I exaggerate, obviously. I don’t know what I expected these good people to do, but I was scared!) In fact, they embraced me, literally and figuratively.
In the midst of personal crisis, I found a sanctuary. I made friends (real friends, not just work friends), and I slowly began to, if not embrace, own my new identity as a single mom. I brought my son into the office regularly to be doted on. I got to know some of the other moms there, as few as there were at that time. Some of the members of my team even babysat a few times when I went out on dates.
But just as importantly as feeling free and supported as a single mom, I was able to go to work and forget about being a single mom. At work, I was doing a job, one I was good at. I was part of a team. I regained the confidence that both a divorce and new motherhood can sap from any person. I sat around talking about TV shows and concerts and new restaurants. I felt normal again. I laughed. I belonged.
Flash forward seven+ years, and I was starting a new job at Airbnb. The eve of this first day wasn’t a personal crisis, but a global and national one. It was January 2021, almost a year into Covid, no vaccines for the general public yet, all of us still largely at home in our bubbles. It’s an understatement to say that the early Covid years weren’t exactly a piece of cake for single parents (or for anyone, I know that), but that’s a different essay. Suffice it to say, I was, um, tired. Five days before my first day at Airbnb, insurgents stormed the Capitol.
This time around, I had zero shame about being divorced and being a mom. But like so many of us during that time, I felt incredibly isolated, anxious and exhausted. My family still lived far away, and many of my good friends had slipped away into their own bubbles. My son’s school was (thankfully) in person by that time, but it was constantly switching to Zoom on random days depending on the levels of Covid in the community or to figure out testing or because too many teachers were out sick. Or just because it was 2021 and certainty didn’t exist then (if it ever did). Like everyone else, I was just trying to get through each day in one piece. I was so tired of trying to hold it all together.
I was nervous that I’d be constantly juggling Zoom work meetings and a cranky kid who positively despised Zoom school, and well, that turned out to be true, many many many times. I was nervous that I was adding another stressor to my already full quiver of them, and that also turned out to be true. I worried that I didn’t have it in me, after the previous year we’d all been through, to show up every day as my professional self, poised and in control.
While I was still definitely one of the older people on the team, I wasn’t the only parent, and not even the only single mom! The job was stressful, and hopping from one Zoom meeting to another took its toll on me. But the people I worked with provided a sanctuary in a time of crisis, yet again. In brief Zoom catchups or furtive Slack conversations during meetings, we would unload all of our stresses – school (or lack thereof), a sick babysitter, getting Covid again, the Dobbs ruling, not sleeping because our kid isn’t sleeping, the futility of a particular project, the nonstop meetings, the workload so intense that it almost felt oppressive at times, feeling like it was all simply too much for any one person to manage. I felt seen. I laughed. I cried. I belonged.
Ten years ago I found a much needed workplace where I could go to forget being a single mom, and that was bookended with a much needed workplace where I could show up in all my messy single mom glory. Both Etsy and Airbnb take pride in being values-driven companies that prioritize belonging, and both companies, at least during my time there, took many official actions to show to one and all that they prioritize belonging. But it ultimately comes down to the people they hired. Because of those beautiful beautiful people, this working single mom found belonging in just the right ways at just the right time, at work of all places.
There are innumerable systemic problems for policymakers and corporations to address if we actually do care about working single moms, or working caregivers, at all. Finding some damn good people to work with doesn’t even remotely fix those issues. For that, we continue to wait.
But it sure makes showing up to work every day better in the meantime.
helllllo Nikki! Beautifully written and captured. So glad you are writing We're A Lot. Keep moving as Maggie Smith says. miss you!
Well said.