I Had a Relationship with a Married Man—Now Our Daughter is 7

It’s hard to fathom that back in 2013, I was consumed by despair. It all began when I connected with a married man online—a so-called spiritual blogger who reached out to me on Facebook. Thus started a reckless and tumultuous romance. From the outside, it’s easy to judge and think, “What a foolish decision.” And indeed, it was.

The affair was undeniably foolish, but when you’re caught up in it, the reality is far more complicated. I didn’t ignore the glaring red flags on purpose; I likely dismissed them because I desperately wanted things to work out. My life was void of joy or purpose. I merely went to work, returned home, spent weekends with friends, and… just existed. After ending a toxic five-year engagement, I found myself open to the attention of a captivating stranger.

He was married, had three kids, and was incredibly self-centered. Yet, many women, I believe, are conditioned to fall for selfish men. Their selfishness seemingly offers endless opportunities to demonstrate our worth in our quest for love.

Of course, I was selfish too, believing that the affair was “worth it.” I thought my happiness justified the deceit, although any happiness I felt was illusory. I was naïve and longing for love. Like many others who feel broken, my self-worth hinged on whether someone loved me. Without that, I felt insignificant.

Many people grapple with similar feelings, yet few admit it. Society often stigmatizes single women while simultaneously suggesting we shouldn’t overly pursue romantic love. Still, the prevailing message remains: a romantic partnership is essential, and without it, we are deemed worthless or deeply flawed.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t tie my self-worth to romance, I did just that, unable to resist the allure of potential love. The craving for love can often morph into an addiction to unhealthy relationships. When discussing affairs, this aspect is frequently overlooked. At the time, I didn’t recognize it, and even years later, I struggled to understand my addiction to the highs and lows of our dysfunctional connection.

When he left me just six months after we began living together, I was pregnant and felt utterly hopeless. The thought of raising a child alone terrified me; I feared I would be a terrible parent, not only due to my struggles with everyday tasks but also because I worried I might harbor resentment towards our child.

The end of a relationship often signifies the collapse of dreams for the future. For me, the loss felt unbearable. I worried that I would see her father in our daughter every day and that such a life would be a constant reminder of my heartbreak. I feared turning into someone like Miss Havisham—perpetually mourning a lost love, unable to move on.

There’s a stigma attached to women who face abandonment, especially during pregnancy. Society often expects us to manage the challenges of parenting alone while facilitating relationships with often irresponsible fathers. If we don’t, we’re labeled bitter, jaded, and spiteful.

Entering motherhood, I carried those feelings, believing my best days were behind me. It quickly became apparent how society perceived me as a single mom. When my daughter was a baby, people frequently asked about her father or suggested ways I might find a new partner.

In the eyes of society, a single mother without a partner is often seen as incomplete—not as a person working on themselves but as someone with a flaw that led to abandonment. Thankfully, I never resented my daughter and soon realized that she wouldn’t constantly remind me of her father. However, I harbored resentment towards him for a long time, especially since he moved on with his life while mine was turned upside down.

Yesterday, our daughter turned seven. For some reason, seven feels monumental, hitting me more profoundly than any of her previous birthdays. I’ve been a mother for seven years now, and it feels strange because the journey still feels fresh. Perhaps that’s simply the reality of having one child or maybe it’s tied to the unconventional circumstances surrounding her conception.

I likely wouldn’t have become a mother had I not been involved with that married man. If I hadn’t had her, how different would my life be? A few nights ago, I realized that I’ve been a mom for seven years, and I feel incredibly fortunate. My daughter was having trouble sleeping due to the excitement about her birthday, and we chatted about our plans for the day. She was so joyful about turning seven, and I reminded her that her birthday also marks seven years of motherhood for me.

Reflecting on those years, I recognize how challenging it’s been. Her father has never truly participated in her life; he acts more like an extended family member than a dad. He stopped by briefly yesterday to wish her a happy birthday. They exchanged a few words outside while I stayed inside to give them space. Beyond sending about $200 a month, he hasn’t made much effort. He lives just 30 minutes away but has only visited her once since the pandemic began.

In the past, I often thought I could change him or that if I just tried harder, he would become more involved. It took time for me to grow up and accept that I can’t control his actions. Ultimately, I realized I don’t even want to.

My daughter and I share a wonderful bond. Sometimes, it feels surreal to have such a great connection, especially considering the challenges we’ve faced. I often feel like one of those parents who gushes too much, but I truly believe I have an amazing kid.

Her teachers consistently praise her for being smart, creative, and kind. She’s the type of child who strives to uplift others when they’re feeling down. She’s never received a “frowny face” report from school; each day, she brings home a “smiley face” report, which makes me realize she’s one of those kids who rarely has a bad day.

Of course, she’s human and has her moments, but they’re few and far between. Looking back on the challenges of being a single mom, none of it revolves around her. Yes, she had colic as a baby and has faced some anxiety and sensory processing issues, but she has never caused me distress or left me in tears.

My “worst days” as a mother have never been due to her behavior. Kids naturally test boundaries, and parents may feel frustrated at times. However, I haven’t experienced that with her. I’ve been waiting for the “brattiness” that many parents talk about—the rudeness, the tantrums. Yet, even in moments of conflict, we communicate and move on.

Seven years in, and I’m still waiting for those typical challenges. Recently, I had to tell my daughter “no” about attending a birthday party she was eager to join. I felt terrible but explained my reasons for not being comfortable with a gathering at an indoor gym without masks. She was disappointed but understood, redirecting her focus to our family celebration at home.

Honestly, I’m amazed at how I ended up with such a wonderful child. It would have been completely valid for her to react negatively to the situation—I even told her so. But my goodness, I feel fortunate. Given my emotional struggles throughout life, it seems miraculous to have such a strong connection with my child.

Seven years ago, envisioning my life as a single mom felt impossible. Back then, I was so entrenched in my toxic relationship with her father that the idea of a happy outcome seemed absurd. Coupled with the baggage from my own challenging childhood, her seventh birthday feels like a miracle.

How could I be this fortunate? During my pregnancy and in the wake of her father’s departure, people often offered unsolicited advice, suggesting that I couldn’t understand love until I had a child. Those who were aware of my profound loneliness insisted this was simply God’s way of granting me the family I had always desired.

Honestly, I resented those comments. I wanted to scream at them to stop talking. It felt as though they were oblivious to my pain, and I couldn’t comprehend how they could think of a child as a solution to my longing for happiness. I have strong feelings about the unrealistic expectations placed on children to fulfill their parents’ needs, and the notion that motherhood would automatically bring joy only irritated me.

I always believed parenting should be more about the child than the parent and focused on breaking toxic family cycles. Is that how my daughter and I reached this place? Where love and understanding come easily, without the weight of frustration or self-doubt? If that’s a crucial aspect, I’d equate it to choosing happiness. I know I’m not a perfect parent or person, but I understand that the journey of growth applies to everyone.

This realization still feels strange. Seven years ago, I couldn’t have imagined the life I have now—a life filled with love, connection, and the joy of motherhood.

For further insights, check out:

this post on navigating single motherhood
this resource for at-home insemination kits
this article for understanding pregnancy and home insemination

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Summary:

The author reflects on her journey since having a child with a married man, revealing the struggles of single motherhood and her evolution over the past seven years. Despite the challenges, she celebrates the strong bond with her daughter and acknowledges the growth she’s experienced as a mother. The story highlights how love and understanding can flourish even in unconventional circumstances and emphasizes the importance of focusing on the well-being of the child over societal judgments.

Keyphrase: single motherhood journey

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