Comments received on an article I write for The Guardian in which I mention briefly that I am no longer with Bill, the father of my children:
“You might also consider giving the father custody or putting the children up for adoption with a home that is able to be more child oriented. Just a suggestion”.
“I wonder, for what whimsical and self-indulgent reason you chose ( these days it’s always the women who chose ), to split up with your children’s father”.
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The grief is long and deep. A good part of the grief involves worrying about one another’s grief. One evening my eight year old daughter, Lauca, is worn out and sad.. and I am too. We lie down on my bed together in tears. Cormac comes in, and while only four years old he none the less performs some kind of quintessential male ritual of discomfort with emotion for us.
Cheer up, cheer up you two, cheer up, he says.
Oh for godsake, I say, cuddling him up to me, it is ok to cry.
I am amused that I have to reassure him so. This is Cormac, he has a crying jag virtually every day of his life and he is quite happy to use them for something as routine as being required to take his plate back to the kitchen or to find his shoes.
When we are all quiet again together on my bed I tell them the fun of crying is over and everyone into the shower with me so I can supervise hair-washing.
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Me: Please don’t feed the kids chocolate at your house for breakfast. That’s real divorced not-even-trying dad behaviour.
Bill: Worried you can’t compete?
(We both laugh).
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A friend tells me that she lies in bed awake at night frightened for my future. I know she means it kindly but I am hurt by her sense of hopelessness for me. I am alright, I say, I really am. I decide I shouldn’t tell her about the nights when the children are staying with their father and I sometimes sigh with pleasure in my empty house. And then there are the nights when I do not even stay home in my empty house.
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Everything becomes adventurous and untested. I have a strange energy. One day I see a government policy announcement in the paper and I have mixed feelings about it. As I am leaving work that evening I write a quick pitch to the editor at The Guardian. On the way home I stop at the supermarket for dinner ingredients and then I go to a friend’s house to pick up my two children. As well as collecting my children from school and kindergarten she has bathed them with her own children. I am grateful to her for trimming half an hour from my evening’s tasks for me. At home I check my emails and see that the editor has accepted the pitch but that they want the piece tomorrow by start of business.
I decide I can do this. So, I cook dinner, exchange accounts with the kids about the day, read bedtime stories, cuddle them to sleep, clean up the kitchen and then, begin writing. I give myself until midnight to finish it. In the morning I proofread my piece while we are all cleaning our teeth. I email it to the editor and then hurry up hurry up hurry up us out the front door to our various places – kindergarten, school and the train station for the commute to work. The article is published by the time I reach the office.
The piece happens to mention briefly that I am no longer with Bill, the father of my children. I receive some of the most hostile comments I have seen on an article of mine.
I’m glad you’re ok, despite the ridiculous and revolting comments. Change can be fabulous and hard all at the same time.
(so chocolate for breakfast is bad?)
Oh, I am so sorry to hear about the hostile comments. *virtual hug* I know things are tough now, but it’ll get better. It’s ok to cry, and it’s definitely ok to feel relief when it’s Bill’s turn for the kids! Just remember, two happy parents who are divorced are WAY better for kids than two miserable parents who are married. Hang in there.
Thank goodness you weren’t married! Sorry. Cold comfort I’m sure…I am SO sorry to hear about this hard time and so glad to hear you’re making the most of your alone time. I must say I’m reeling a bit from the news — I’m sure other longtime readers will feel the same. Wow. Big warm hugs to you. You’re amazing. Those commenters are truly despicable.
Ah, being a single parent is hard at times, but wonderful at others. Sorry you had negative comments, but daring to be a single mother is not to be borne by certain people – far too dangerous for the patriarchal system we live within. Re having your own space – I was talking to a young mother today who is struggling to find it within her marriage, what with the kids and hubby etc., which she contrasted with the acceptance that she needed it when she was a single parent a couple of years ago. Anyway, good luck to you, you and Bill seem like the kind of parents that will support your children whether you are together or not, and that – in the end – is all that matters. xxxx
People say such awful things – I’m sorry you copped that. You strike me as such a capable human being and your kids as very adaptable – good luck navigating a big shift in your lives and of course sending much empathy your way for the difficult bits.
I just couldn’t help myself and went and read all those comments. I’m sorry that such people exist in this world and feel it their place to comment on your personal life.
I look forward to your blog entries and articles every week, you say my thoughts far more eloquently than I could, all whole balancing motherhood and work and life. I have such respect and admiration for you. Don’t let those bastards get you down.
Those comments stink. Decoded, they are “woman, know your place” – how dare you be a feminist single mother working outside the home commenting on policy in a public space? How dare you question the status quo or ask for something more than you are currently being offered or step outside the box of traditional motherhood?
Keep up the good work.
I felt sick when I read those comments. I punched all of those people with my thoughts.
Haha. I very much like that expression.
Ms. Milk, your insights and your willingness to share your vulnerable moments as a parent are invaluable to me and many others. Don’t listen to these people. In their way, they are also sharing their vulnerabilities. By, y’know…being jerks.
Thank you lovely people, thank you. X
I’ve read the comments too and don’t have much to say other than while I am sure that it is not nice to read it, these people are not worthy of your time and energy. Internet cowardice and meanness at its finest.
I’ve followed your blog for a while now, rarely comment but appreciate so much what you write on here. I can find comfort and understanding (as a professional shell-shocked by motherhood still trying to find myself, 6 years down the road), clever feminist arguments (often giving my thoughts words) and so much more. Thank you for all that and I wish you courage and strength as you navigate the new chapter in your life.
So sorry you’re having to deal with internet bullies, know-it-alls, and jerks. You don’t deserve that. Wishing you and your kids the strength to continue navigating this transition with grace.
*HUGS*
Internet commenters – esp on those big sites – can be so horrifying.
Sending lots of virtual support, for you and your whole family.
When I made the mistake of reading those comments, I was quite shocked at the vitriol. (Not to mention the failure of any of the commenters to actually respond to your nuanced and well-written policy argument). I would like to say (echoing Liz and others above), that I really appreciate your writing here and elsewhere, and want to thank you for continuing to publish your work despite the kind of personal cost that must come from having to push aside this kind of sexist drivel. Please take these comments as a thank-you from feminists and mothers who benefit from your insights.
These comments are not only disgusting, they are also highly pathetic. You are a woman that is a mother. You have to live your roles as they work for you. Nobody has the right to judge you.
Plus, from own experience I know the pressure and utter exhaustion that cones from working-single-motherhood. And the pride, if it all works out.
Wish you streghth, humour, and pride! Welcome to the club!
*hugs*
I honestly cannot imagine what goes through a person’s mind when they write comments like that. It’s so small minded and nasty. Why would you do that?
Anyway, I’ll add my support and encouragement to that already given. You do a great job teasing out and articulating these complex and fraught issues. And all the best negotiating your new circumstances.
Best wishes from a longtime reader.
And I want to point out that “consider giving the father custody” is an example of the extremely high standards that are applied to mothers but not fathers. A mother is expected to do all child care herself, and is considered negligent if she hires babysitters or nursery school ever. But a father is not expected to do any child care himself; if he hires babysitters and sends his children to nursery school, that counts as *doing a good job.* So there’s this very high demand placed on the mother, and represented as the minimum necessary for good child development, that suddenly evaporates if the mother is not present.
Yep, it fails the good old Caitlin Moran test: would you say this about a man?
It’s always shocking how horrible people can be. I’m appalled at some of those comments you received. Thank you for putting yourself out there and writing so thoughtfully and eloquently about issues that are hugely important to so many of us. Please keep writing, I feel represented by your voice.
Strength to you also for all the changes that your family are experiencing. Really, truly, strength to you. xxx
I’ve been reading here since Lauca (and my first daughter, Lu) were small. I don’t know you at all, of course, but all the small glimpses into your life add up over the years to something more than being a stranger, and I felt a jolt of sadness and shock when I read the Guardian article that mentioned your separation. I am sorry, but from reading all these years, I am so sure that everyone in your family will come through the change with grace and kindness and love.
Those comments are a reminder of lots of horrible things about our society, but for me, most especially, they are a reminder that a woman needs to be brave to have her say say in public. You were being punished for being a single, articulate and public mother. Those comments are hateful but your role is pretty amazing and a real support and inspiration for many women. Like Megan, I feel represented by your voice.
I used to get that when I was single too – ‘You’re so brave, I couldn’t do that’ – well meaning randoms and friends who couldn’t believe that I would travel alone overseas or in the country, that I would move interstate on my own, that I would do online dating! It hurt my feelings too. What is the alternative to living your life in a way that makes you happy, even if part of it are scary or outside your experience?
I felt that jolt of sadness and shock that Kris felt too. You’ve written about this part of your life well here and I’d like to send lots of hugs for the grief. I have to say though… it was very sly the way you slipped in the bit about the nights you don’t spend at home and left us all to draw our own conclusions, you cheeky thing…
I think the “I could never do that” reaction is common, and insensitive, and really says, “I would not want to do that, or I would not choose to do that.”
I was talking about this recently with a friend who has a child with a disability. Someone else had said, “I could not do that,” and it angered my friend. After all, what choice does she have? She would not have chosen her circumstances either but she is making the best of it, with bravery, dignity and energy. I just said to the person who had said this, “you wouldn’t know until you were there yourself.” (Read – don’t say this shit, it’s not helping).
I just wanted to echo what everyone here is saying. I have appreciated your open and honest approach to writing and have found it so thought provoking and valuable (especially now I’m muddling along the motherhood path.) Some people are just so crappy.
Long time reader, rare commenter – just wanted to express, as everyone else has, how much I appreciate your writing here and elsewhere, and how helpful it has been to me in my own experience of motherhood. And adding my best wishes/support for you and your family.
I didn’t read the comments because I knew they would be worse than I could expect. I wish you all the best in finding the new normal through a hard time; and I hope that normal includes the intelligent critiques, articles and links I have enjoyed so much for the last few years.
I’m sorry to hear that you’ve broken up and I hope your sadness passes soon. It’s a change of life, and changes are always difficult to begin with.
You might like to follow the first rule of internetting for a while: Don’t read the comments. Surround yourself with supportive, positive people (ie, your faithful blog readers) while you adjust to the change.
And I second what everyone else has said about being grateful for your blog over the years. Best wishes.
Thinking of you – as one smart/capable/vulnerable human being to another.
Louise Curtis
You cooked dinner, read bedtimes stories, got the kids to sleep then wrote one of the best articles I have ever read and had it published almost before breakfast. You are simply astounding.
I am also glad that you can laugh about chocolate for breakfast. (((hugs)))
I’m sorry to hear of your separation – though in the long run hopefully it is better for you, in the mean time grief is grief and it sux to go through.
Plus everything everyone else said. Thank you for being a voice for us. And such an articulate one. And, at the same time, always provoking more reflection.
As for those commenters, they are tossers. Seriously, what is wrong with people? No, don’t answer that. Just try to ignore them – or use them as inspiration – and carry on.
bluemilk, I’ve read your blog for years and rarely commented, but just wanted to offer a big ‘fuck you’ to those commenters and wish you and your family the best.
I’ve never wanted children myself, but when I found your site in my early twenties I realised that motherhood was the crucial element missing from my feminism. Thanks for that – it made me much less of a dick!
Oh bm I had no idea – I am so sorry to hear that. I hope you’re doing ok – the grief you talk about hit me right in the gut. And you are amazing xxx I would have you over again but my devil child cannot be trusted…!
God I just went and read the comments. Appalled, not only for obvious reasons, but also that so many people just didn’t get the point of your article anyway. This whole Internet thingy is a mixed blessing, I really think i preferred not knowing what people are really thinking… And I totally agree, as a planner, we need to rethink our cities to make life easier for everyone. Just read a great article on ‘gender mainstreaming’ in urban planning in Vienna- very cool. Will find the link.
http://m.theatlanticcities.com/commute/2013/09/how-design-city-women/6739/
People suck. I’m sorry.
Just chiming in to add my support.
I’m surprised to hear you’ve split and sorry, but not in the “oh, life is going to be awful, poor you” kind of way. More the “I thought they were doing well and weren’t they a wonderful example of how it works even if it’s frustrating because I sure as hell couldn’t make it work” way.
I cherished my time without my kids. It also made finishing my BA possible. It made having a social life possible, as well as having some sanity. I also loved having them with me, but the time off to recharge my batteries was really lovely. I don’t have that anymore because I remarried and now have a 3-year-old, so we don’t have any entirely kid-free days anymore, and I’m never alone, which I miss, because, lets face it, husbands can be as demanding as 2-year-olds. (Or is it only my husband?)
So, enjoy your freedom and the new ways your life is arranging itself. I hope you and Bill are able to keep things decent and civil. I think that’s the worst part of splitting up when you have kids. You still have to have that contact with that person, no matter how much of a shit he becomes, and sometimes he becomes really shitty. (Or is that just my ex?)
Big hugs from over here.
I really liked that article.
Sorry people are such arseholes xx
Thank you for the terribly lovely and supportive comments. I feel concerned that I may be giving you all the impression that I am feeling defeated by Internet comments.. I should probably reassure you that after feeling startled for a moment by the comments on that article I burst out laughing. They were quite ridiculous, I agree, and very telling.
I feel sorry for the people that are so churned up with negativity that they feel compelled to attack (virtual) strangers online. But I was sad too to read about your separation. All the best.
Hugs. I’m a single mum, too. And I hated the “i’m worried for you”s almost as much as the “you’re so strong”s.
My littlie was only seven months when we split. And I think my identity as a mum will always be tied up with being a single mum, even if I’m not.
But life is good, now, in a way it could never have been before.
I have my days when I over commit, but somehow everything happens and everything gets done.
The grief does go. And the strangers get over themselves – or move on to other targets.
Sending you hugs, if they would fit through the interwebs
so sorry to hear about your separation, and glad you can laugh about the comments, they are truly ridiculous, but infuriating at the same time…
hugs from here
Can you imagine the crisis if all us single mums handed our kids over to The Systems to raise? Like others, long time reader, rare commenter. I do adore what Louis CK has to say about single parenting: http://youtu.be/J1eAfpekWgQ
I’ve been single parenting for 6+ years and leaving my kid’s dad was the best thing I ever did for myself. And for her as well, as he committed to a 50/50 residence split and is more active as a parent than he was when we all lived in one home.
You are the best and I amazed at your resilience and right on attitude, as ever.
A few years ago I wrote you to say thank you for writing things that were helping me get through at the time – I had just split up with my son’s father and my little boy was only two at the time. I was very tired and very sad and worn out. Over time we all settled into the new shape of our lives and today life is good and so is co-parenting as parents who are not together.
I know what you mean about feeling hurt by your friend saying she worries about your future – I heard things like this too and I liked it much better when I heard things like “I trust you are making the right decisions for you and your kid and would you like me to drive you to the grocery store.”
I’ve been slow to comment but the time hasn’t given me any clever way of saying what I was thinking…
You’ve been a feminist guide for me for quite a few years now. So, I’m incensed that there are fools who think they know better than you about your life. I’m like “You have no idea who you’re talking to. This is *BlueMilk*, fool! Pack it in!!”
I can’t believe the audacity of people who presume such ridiculous advice to someone they don’t know is actually a good idea. What dippy indulgence is prancing through their brains? Very glad your reaction was laughter.
Wishing you much more laughter – for better reasons – in the future.
I am very late to this! But I wanted to express, as I have not yet, my best wishes for this period of transition. I found that it takes a while, and that it can be exhilarating as well as exhausting and I see that you are finding that too. Love your writing.
I am very behind the times but just found out about your separation. I’m so sorry. I am inspired by your Feminism and your work. I hope for positive changes and great growth.