I felt your gaze piercing the back of my head throughout the evening. From the moment my kids and I were seated next to you at the restaurant, I could sense the disapproving looks you and your partner directed at us. Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the stares, the comments, and the judgment. I hear phrases like, “You’ve certainly got your hands full,” several times a day, and “Are they all yours?” at least once daily—twice at the airport just last week. I often receive glares with questions like, “How are they so close in age?” and hear inquiries such as, “Isn’t anyone else joining you?” regularly.
I can only imagine your husband’s irritation when my five-year-old accidentally bumped him while trying to leave the booth for the restroom. Frankly, I was relieved she made it before our meal arrived. I know you probably disapproved of my letting them play on their iPads at the table, or how they got a bit loud and started arguing over turtle versus pirate stickers the waitress brought.
You likely thought I could have handled their behavior better, that perhaps I raised my voice too often—unfortunately, I don’t have what you’d call a “quiet” demeanor. You’re not the first person to notice that.
As we were leaving, your muttered words reached my ears while I stood just inches from you. You turned to your husband, shaking your head in disapproval as you remarked, “And she has four kids—four!” Your husband’s attempt at subtlety was lost when he craned his neck to stare at us as we passed. It was painful to see your stone-faced expressions directed at my children.
You certainly noticed the lack of a wedding ring on my finger. From your perspective, I must have appeared to be an unmarried, overwhelmed woman with four rambunctious kids. I can relate to being quick to judge—I’m not proud of it, but it gives me a keen sense when others scrutinize me. Trust me when I say you were entirely mistaken about my situation.
Your disapproving looks and obvious disdain as we walked away made me furious. My throat tightened, and my cheeks flushed with heat. I felt so small and inadequate because of you, and in that moment, all I wanted was to lash out and make you understand how wrong you were. I’ve never felt as helpless as I did last night, especially during this holiday season when I wanted to scream at you and remind you that kindness goes a long way. People who know me would appreciate how difficult it was to hold back—just ask anyone about the confrontation I had with a neighbor recently.
But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I took hold of my youngest’s hand and led all four of them out, trying to keep my composure as they skipped out the door, innocently asking me about the crescent moon and the alligators they spotted in the nearby pond.
If only you had looked beyond your judgment, you would have seen a woman holding on by a thread each day. You might have understood why I took my kids on a brief vacation to Florida this week, seeking a break from the painful reminders at home of their father, who passed away last month. I took them to that seafood restaurant to enjoy a much-needed glass of wine and a decent meal—anything other than the mac and cheese and Cincinnati chili we’ve been surviving on for weeks.
You didn’t see that by 6:30 PM, I was completely out of patience at that table. I probably hadn’t showered or brushed my hair, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I was wearing a proper bra—just a tank top that provided some coverage. We rushed out the door to catch the sunset before dinner, and I simply didn’t have the energy to worry about appearances. You also didn’t see the smiles and good behavior captured in that sunset beach photo.
You see, I’m just trying to keep it together while looking at a father across the room who is helping his child with their meal. I’m hiding my grief behind the dark circles under my eyes from a month of sleepless nights. I don’t want anyone to notice the redness in my eyes from crying when I saw a man playing football with his son on the beach earlier.
I’m working to hold myself together in front of my children, resisting the urge to lament the fact that I will never again walk hand in hand with my partner during a sunset. You weren’t aware that just days ago, I reluctantly removed my beautiful engagement ring and wedding band, inscribed with “Home to You,” and locked them away to avoid crying every time I looked at my left hand.
I’m simply trying to get through each day, navigating the challenges of being a widow and a single mother. I don’t know how to discuss their father or whether to cry in front of them. I’m uncertain about shielding them from other children playing with their dads or how to explain the father-daughter dance at school in January—on what would have been his birthday. I struggle with my kindergartner’s heartbreaking wish to be punched and kicked until she can see her daddy again. These worries consume me, and I know my kids can sense my anxiety too.
So, please, cut me some slack. Extend that grace to my children as well. It’s not their fault their father was dealt a terrible hand and can’t be here to help. I apologize if you witnessed them misbehaving. I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations as a mother last night. I regret looking like a disheveled sea creature that crawled out of the Sarasota Bay.
But what I truly regret is not expressing any of this to your face.
If you’re interested in reading more about topics like this, check out our other blog posts, including one on the importance of understanding the home insemination process. It’s essential to educate ourselves, especially when navigating difficult times. For more information, you can visit excellent resources like what the IVF process is really like and artificial insemination kits for further insights.
In summary, we often lack awareness of the struggles others face. It’s crucial to approach every situation with empathy and understanding.