As A Single Mum, Here’s The Best Thing No One Tells You About Christmas
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, picture-perfect families of four wearing matching pyjamas by a tree on Instagram: at this time of year it can be easy to get preoccupied with what the romance of Christmas looks like, and forget to focus on what it feels like. Like the joy of seeing the wonder on your child's face when they first glimpse a stocking stuffed with presents on Christmas morning. Or witnessing your mum’s cheeks growing rosey as she sips on her annual glass of Buck's Fizz and fusses over the roast potatoes with Cliff Richard playing on the radio.
On my first Christmas as a single parent, I remember fixating on the ‘looks like’ of Christmas, and all the ways my little family unit of two was less-than; both for me and for my son. For him, the lack of extravagant gifts, and no cosy Christmas Eve with two parents and a sibling or two, snuggled in front of a fire playing board games. How could I ever be enough for him, on my own? And for me, the lack of actual romance, the loneliness of being the sole magic-of-Christmas provider. In truth I worried: how could this ever be enough for me? The idea of putting my son to bed on Christmas Eve and then going downstairs to a quiet home while the houses up and down the street around me were filled with ‘happy families’ recreating those aforementioned Instagram pictures, made me feel incredibly lonely.
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But they make those pictures square for a reason: the ideals they contain are a box. They represent the life you should be living, not the one you could be. Single parenting is, by definition, outside the box. Happy single parenting is about realising that life outside the lines of a ‘normal’ family set-up can be just as wonderful as the happy family promise we're sold, more wonderful, even, as long as you take the time to design a life you love, to live in it and think about what works for you and your children.
What if I went downstairs on Christmas Eve after putting Jack to bed, sat down on the sofa with the glass of cherry liquor he'd just left by the fireplace for Santa and didn't feel lonely? What if I felt content and calm? What if I actually felt glad that I could go to bed early? What if I called my best mate and chatted nonsense and laughed with her until Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day?
These ‘what ifs’ were the small first ‘what ifs’ of a bigger one: what if Christmas could look completely different to the one I always thought I wanted, but still be magical? What if it was even better? What if being a single mum to a beautiful boy at Christmas was more than enough for me.
One of the biggest gifts of single parenthood is the freedom it comes with. Being the sole head of the household comes with a lot of responsibilities, but it comes with autonomy to make choices alone, too. I spent my first couple of single parent Christmas’ like I'd spent the first 30 years of my life before: making other people happy. ‘Of course we can come to you! Of course we'll be able to travel round all the family, there's only two of us after all! Of course I'll host all the ex in-laws at mine, the more the merrier!’ But as I grew in confidence in my new family CEO role, I started to think about what worked best for me. Not just Jack, but me. Covid was a circuit-breaker; we spent a year in lockdown on our own, I drank a bottle of Veuve through the course of the day, we ditched the roast and had salmon and mac’n'cheese and crisps and Lucky Charms and all our favourite treats. It was one of my best Christmas’ ever. Since then, we've vered further and further off-script. We've had chaotic Christmas Eves with a tiny house full of a complete mis-match of school friends, ex-in-laws and neighbours, standing room only and late to bed. We've ditched family early and had a cosy Christmas evening at home, just me, Jack and my best mate.
This will be my eighth Christmas as a single mum. I've realised that while there's something wonderful and comforting about the traditions of Christmas, there's something even better about giving yourself space to tweak them. While some co-parents or solo parents enjoy the structure of knowing exactly who will be where each year, a little give and take can go a long way, too. For us, that means my ex-husband arriving at mine first thing in the morning on 25 December every year to watch Jack unwrap his presents, hanging around for a bit so they get some time together, and then Jack and I heading off to see my family before he goes to his Dad's on Boxing Day.
For now, we both get to see Jack (and he us) every Christmas and there's enough room for growth that the magic of Christmas now feels expansive, not limiting. Single parent festive magic is saying ‘yes’ when they ask if they can stay in your bed on Christmas evening for ‘ultimate movie night’. It's finding your local single mum crew and banding together for (frequent) impromptu coffee mornings or wine nights across the school holidays, various kids present or absent depending on co-parenting schedules. It's having precious moments of your child's Christmas experience all to yourself. It's not feeling the need to spend the day cooking or cleaning or making other people comfortable, but prioritising you and your children and building a festive period that works for your perfectly imperfect family. I can't wait to see what this year's, and all the messy, non-conformist, somewhat-traditional-but-mostly-off-script Christmas’ ahead look like for me and Jack. Sorry, not look like. Feel like.
Rebecca Cox is the co-author of How To Be A Happy Single Parent.
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