I felt your gaze boring into me all evening. From the moment my kids and I were seated next to you at the restaurant, it was clear that you and your partner were scrutinizing us. Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the stares, the unsolicited comments, and the judgment. “You’ve got your hands full!” is a phrase I hear multiple times a day. “Are they all yours?” has become a daily question, and I even faced it twice at the airport last week. I’m no stranger to the quizzical looks that come with, “How are they all so close in age?” or the frequent inquiries about whether anyone else is joining us.
I can imagine your husband’s irritation when my 5-year-old accidentally bumped into him while trying to navigate her way to the restroom. I was just relieved she needed to go before our food arrived. I’m sure you were judging the fact that I allowed them to use iPads at the table and that they were a bit rowdy, arguing about who got which stickers when the waitress brought them.
I could sense your disapproval as we prepared to leave. Standing just inches from you, I heard you whisper to your husband, shaking your head and saying, “And she has four kids — four!” Your husband’s not-so-subtle craning of his neck to get a better look at us didn’t escape my notice either. It stung deeply to see you both with your impassive expressions glaring at my kids as we walked past.
Yes, you definitely noticed my bare ring finger. From your perspective, I was just an unmarried woman struggling with four unruly children. I recognize that I can be a bit judgmental myself, and I’ve learned to pick up on when someone is sizing me up. So trust me when I say your assumptions about me were completely off base.
Your disdainful looks and apparent distaste hit hard. I felt my throat tighten and my face flush with anger. All I wanted was to lash out at you. I’ve never felt as inadequate or worthless as I did in that moment, and I wanted nothing more than to scream at you. But I held back, which, for someone like me who’s not afraid of confrontation, was a monumental achievement.
Instead, I took my youngest by the hand and led all four of them out of the restaurant, trying to keep my composure while they happily chattered about the crescent moon and alligators in the nearby pond.
If only you had taken a moment to see beyond your judgment, you might have understood that I am a woman barely holding it together each day. You might have grasped why I chose to take my kids on a mini vacation to Florida this week, seeking a respite from the constant reminders of their father, who passed away just last month. I brought them to this seafood place for a much-needed glass of wine and a decent meal—anything but the mac and cheese and Cincinnati chili that has been our diet for weeks.
By 6:30 p.m., I had exhausted my patience at that dinner table. I hadn’t even had a chance to shower or brush my hair. Truth be told, I wasn’t even sure if I was wearing a proper bra! We rushed out the door to catch the sunset before dinner, and I simply didn’t have the energy to do more. You missed the smiling faces in that sunset picture, too.
You wouldn’t know that I was trying to keep it together while watching another dad help his child cut up their meal. I was doing my best to conceal my grief behind the dark circles under my eyes from sleepless nights. I didn’t want you to see the redness from the tears I shed after watching a father play football on the beach with his son earlier that day.
I’m just trying to navigate this new reality of being a widow and a single mother. I don’t know how to balance talking about their dad or whether it’s okay to cry in front of them. I’m unsure how to shield them from seeing other children with their fathers or what to tell the twins about their school’s father-daughter dance in January, which would have been his birthday. I certainly don’t know how to respond when my kindergartener expresses a wish to be hurt so she can join her daddy. These thoughts plague me constantly, and I’m certain my children can sense my worries.
So please, give me some grace, and extend that to my kids as well. It’s not their fault their father was dealt a cruel hand and can’t be here to support us. I apologize if you saw them at their worst tonight. I’m sorry if I appeared to be a disheveled sea creature who crawled out of Sarasota Bay.
But what I regret most is not having the courage to tell you all of this face-to-face.
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Summary
This article recounts a mother’s experience of feeling judged by a stranger while dining out with her children. It highlights the struggles of parenting as a single mother after the death of her husband and the misunderstandings that arise from external perceptions. The piece encourages empathy and understanding towards those who may be facing challenges that aren’t immediately visible to others.
Keyphrase: single mother struggles
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