I’m a Single Mom—But I’ve Never Raised My Child Alone

Wikipedia defines a single parent as an uncoupled individual who shoulders most or all of the daily responsibilities of raising a child—whether that child comes from an unplanned pregnancy or a divorce. That definition captures logistics, but it misses the bigger picture. Single motherhood often comes with community support.

When I first started calling myself a single mom, strangers often responded with the same expression—sympathy mixed with concern. The I feel so sorry for you look. At the time, I accepted it. I had been dumped during my second trimester, after all. My life hadn’t unfolded the way I planned, and their pity felt understandable. In some ways, it even felt validating.

Others reacted differently. They offered admiration instead of sympathy, calling me strong. People praised how I balanced work, parenting, cooking, cleaning, and everything in between. Those words landed softly and felt earned. Through their reactions, people acknowledged how demanding motherhood truly is.

Over time, comparisons between single moms began to bother me. People treated us like competitors in a struggle story Olympics. The label itself started to feel heavy—not because my life was easy, but because the word single implied isolation. It suggested that I carried the weight of motherhood entirely on my own. That assumption didn’t reflect my reality.

Yes, I am unmarried. I live independently and make most daily decisions on my own. Still, I don’t raise my daughter in a vacuum. I co-parent with my ex. We communicate, coordinate schedules, and show up for our child in different ways. I also made a deliberate choice to move back to my hometown so I could raise my daughter surrounded by family. That decision changed everything.

I don’t do this alone. I never have. Single motherhood and community support, for me, go hand in hand.

My village shows up loudly, lovingly, and consistently. It includes grandparents, siblings, cousins, close friends, and chosen family. No one keeps score. No one asks for credit. People simply step in.

When snow closes my daughter’s school, my parents step in without hesitation. On nights when I need a break or time to reset, my daughter happily packs an overnight bag for her grandparents’ house. During weeks when money feels tight, my dad bridges the gap without judgment. If I forget to stock the medicine cabinet and my child wakes up sick in the middle of the night, a friend runs to the pharmacy so I don’t have to bundle up a feverish toddler and head out into the cold.

These moments may seem small on their own, but together they create a powerful safety net. Beyond logistics, an abundance of love surrounds us. That love shows up at school events, birthday parties, dance recitals, and random Tuesday dinners. It shows up when I need prayer, when I need to vent, and when I need reassurance that I’m doing a good job.

I don’t wear a ring, but I don’t walk the road of motherhood alone.

That realization reshaped how I view the label single mom. The term highlights what I lack instead of what I have. It centers absence rather than presence. It reduces a communal experience into a one-word identifier.

Words matter. Labels shape perception. When society hears “single mom,” it often fills in the blanks with assumptions—struggle, scarcity, instability, loneliness. While some single mothers face those challenges, many also experience strength, support, and joy. The label leaves little room for nuance.

It also ignores a basic truth: parenting was never meant to happen in isolation. Historically, communities raised children together. Extended families shared responsibility. Neighbors helped neighbors. Somewhere along the way, society began measuring motherhood by marital status instead of by care, consistency, and love.

I am deeply connected, which means I am not alone. Support surrounds me, so I am not lacking. And although my family structure looks different, it does not make me broken.

Together, my family and friends form my village. They help ensure my daughter grows up safe, confident, and loved. They also remind me to laugh, rest, and enjoy the journey. Motherhood is heavy—no matter your relationship status—and no one should have to carry it without help.

So maybe the real question isn’t whether society should eliminate the term single mom, but whether we should expand our understanding of it. Or perhaps we need new language altogether—language that honors community, shared responsibility, and resilience.

What if we stopped defining mothers by what they don’t have and started recognizing what they do? What if we acknowledged villages?

I’m curious what you think.