artificial insemination syringe
When I came out to my ex-husband as gay, I realized it would likely lead to a “downgrade” in my lifestyle. Divorce meant shifting from a dual-income household to living on a single income, which required cutting back on everything from the size of my home to my hair care — no more salon visits for me. I knew I’d be shopping not just clearance racks but also thrift stores.
While I accepted these changes, what truly worried me was whether my kids would want to spend time at my new, considerably smaller and older home. Would they prefer their dad’s spacious, modern house with the pool and home theater? What could I offer them besides warmth and cleanliness? I feared they would choose to stay at his place, which felt like a luxury hotel compared to my modest dwelling.
When I shared these anxieties with my therapist, she dismissed my concerns. “That’s not how it works,” she reassured me. “Your kids will come to you because they love you, not because of the house.” My family echoed her sentiments, and a few friends shared similar thoughts. But the fear lingered. I had spent so long believing that improving your circumstances was the ultimate goal in life. I felt that if I couldn’t convince myself I was happy as a gay woman, I needed to showcase a beautiful life filled with nice things. I often thought, how could anyone living this picturesque existence not be happy?
The irony that I was deeply unhappy in that beautiful house slipped past me as I worried about my kids’ reactions to our new, less impressive home. If material possessions couldn’t bring me joy, why did I think they would matter to my children?
Still, I couldn’t shake that fear. I distinctly remember my heart racing as I drove my kids to our new house for the first time. The neighborhood was clearly not as upscale as their previous one, and every perceived shortcoming stood out as I navigated the narrow streets—no gates, no sidewalks, mismatched fences, and utility lines strung above ground. I worried they’d think, “Oh no, this is it?”
But they surprised me. Immediately, they started pointing out beautiful features in our neighborhood—the towering oak trees, a home with a wild garden, a charming house that looked like a fairytale cottage, and an adorable elderly couple waving at us as we drove past. A group of kids shooting hoops at the end of the street caught their attention too. I’m not sure if they sensed my anxiety, but they had only positive things to say.
The same was true for our actual home. While it may not have had the glitz and glamour of my previous house, it was still a beautiful space, even nicer than where I grew up. Its main charm lay in its coziness, which my kids immediately recognized. They ran through the rooms, excitedly highlighting features they loved—the thick carpet, which I planned to replace, and the old appliances they deemed “retro.” They adored the spacious backyard, perfect for playing with our dog. They even began to envision how to arrange their furniture and what colors to paint their walls.
Ultimately, they loved the house. But that’s not the crux of the matter; as sweet as my kids were in finding joy in our new home, it’s not the house that keeps them wanting to be with me. My therapist was right, as were my family and friends. It’s me. I could have moved into a tiny apartment and they still would have found reasons to love it.
What my children cherish is being here with me, knowing they are loved. I do my best to create special moments together—we take walks, enjoy music, and watch movies. But the real reason they want to be with me is simply that I am their mom.
I didn’t realize, while grappling with the fear of coming out and trying to fit a perfect suburban mold, that their home is not defined by the physical space. It always has been about us. I finally understand this now.
To read more about related topics, check out this blog post, as well as this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination.