Happy Father’s Day!
In My Jerry Springer Voice: You Are NOT the Father
First, Happy Father’s Day to all of the fathers who support this page and may be reading this today.
Today is your day, and I hope you feel seen, appreciated, and celebrated for the love, guidance, protection, and care you provide to your children.
Now, with that said, I’d like to have a gentle conversation with my single moms.
Yesterday, I overheard two women wishing a Happy Father’s Day to all the single mothers holding down both roles.
I smiled because I understood exactly what they meant.
There was a time when I said the same thing.
There was a time when I wore that badge proudly.
Right alongside my Superwoman cape.
And to be honest, I understand why.
Single motherhood is hard.
I still feel like I carry some PTSD from the years when things were tight and tough for my family. The constant calculations. The weight of responsibility. The pressure of knowing that so much depended on me.
So when I hear women say they are both the mother and the father, I get it.
I’ve walked those streets.
But I understand it differently now.
No matter how much responsibility I carried, I was never two people.
I was one woman carrying a tremendous amount of responsibility.
There is a difference.
When we tell ourselves we are both the mother and the father, it sounds empowering on the surface. But over time, I believe our nervous systems begin to hear something else.
Carry more.
Work harder.
Need less.
Don’t ask for help.
Do the work of two people.
And that is an impossible assignment.
The truth is that many of us adopted that identity during a season when we were simply trying to survive. We needed something that helped us get up every morning and keep going.
But survival strategies are not always healing strategies.
When we’re in survival mode, we develop coping skills, beliefs, and identities that help us endure. They serve a purpose. They help us make it through difficult seasons.
What once helped us survive can eventually make it harder to heal.
The statement, “I’m both the mom and the dad,” sounds powerful. It sounds resilient. It sounds like a badge of honor.
But I wonder if, for many of us, it is actually armor.
Armor protects us when life demands more than we ever imagined carrying.
Armor helps us endure.
Armor helps us keep moving.
But armor is heavy.
And after a while, we forget we’re wearing it.
Every time we repeat the story that we are two people, we reinforce the expectation that we should be able to do the work of two people.
We normalize impossible expectations.
We celebrate overextension.
We make exhaustion sound noble.
And beneath it all, there is often grief.
Grief for what was missing.
Grief for support that never came.
Grief for responsibilities that should have been shared.
Grief for the woman who had to become stronger than she ever wanted to be.
Sometimes what looks like strength on the outside is pain that never had a chance to soften.
Changing this mindset will not make single motherhood easier.
The responsibilities will still be there tomorrow.
The sacrifices will still be real.
The challenges will still exist.
But perhaps it allows for a little more ease.
A little more grace.
A little more truth.
I am not two people.
I do not have to become two people.
I am one woman doing the very best I can.
I will take care of myself.
I will take care of my children.
And I will release the pressure of carrying roles that were never mine to carry.
That feels like a more rested way forward.
Word of Wisdom
One of the greatest acts of self-love is releasing yourself from impossible expectations.
Somatic Cue
Notice where your body braces when you think about all that you carry.
Your shoulders.
Your jaw.
Your chest.
Take a slow breath in.
As you exhale, gently soften that place.
Then place one hand on your heart and whisper:
“I am one person doing the very best I can.”
Take another breath and allow your body to receive that truth.
Blessing
May you be released from every expectation that asks you to be more than human.
May you stop measuring your worth by how much you can carry.
May you find grace for the woman who did what she had to do to survive.
May you find compassion for the woman who is still carrying more than she should.
May your armor become lighter.
May your body remember that it is safe to soften.
And may you know, deep in your bones, that one woman doing her best has always been enough.
With love,
Tecca Thompson
The Rested Black Woman®
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My Mom raised us by herself after my Dad died and I watched her be everything. People who uphold social constructs love to tell single moms how they aren't doing enough because their family doesn't look like others, but the truth is fathers are optional. The many men who create children and walk away out of their own volition prove that. The old saying is that it tales a VILLAGE to raise children. It never specifies that a father is required because matriarchal societies rarely had fathers raise children. Women did it in community. I still believe in that. Children grow up beautifully with the right support systems and safe people. We did, and now that my Mom is remarried we have a wonderful man in our lives who loves and respects us. But we were happy and healthy before him, too. Also, the image is Maury, not Jerry Springer. Different talk show white man. 😁 I'd like to respectfully add my own blessing: May every single mother find peace and wholeness within herself before seeking validation elsewhere. I'm including the married, single mothers, as well.
This is such a powerful reminder of the familiar proverb: It takes a village to raise a child. This is especially true for single parents. Your words encourage us all to constantly cultivate the villages we can rely on to help us choose self first as we step up to be there for others.