Nobody sees…

It’s funny, you know. So many people have said to me how strong I am and how amazing I am for doing what I am doing. How I am coping so well. And I appreciate those comments. I really do. But those comments come from a place of observation. A lot of people get the ‘best of me’. The ‘me’ that is on show, so to speak.
Nobody knows that I wish I could turn back time and that I regularly wish I wasn’t in this situation. And why would they? Us single mums seem to keep a big part of this process hidden. Hidden away. And who knows why we do it? Are we trying to fake it until we make it? Or are we trying to protect our family and friends from the pain we feel? Or are we trying to squash that pain down because if we do that, then maybe just maybe it won’t hurt one day.
And I talk to other single mums and I realised that we are all dealing with our pain in our own way. Not every single mum is going to understand what the other is going through because everyone’s situation is different. The people are different. The places are different. The words are different. Our reactions are different. Our past experiences are different.
Each situation is truly unique.
And I know that nobody sees, hears, feels or knows what I do about my life and where I am.
And this isn’t a cry for help by any means. This is a raw observation of what it is like on this side of a separation. The good moments are outweighing the bad moments (for the first few weeks it was the opposite) but there are still bad moments.
Some friends and family are wanting me to move through those a little quicker than I am ready to. Some are the opposite and encouraging me to sit in my sadness.
And it comes back to….Nobody sees, hears, feels, knows what it is really like. For YOU. 
So I wrote this… This is what we do when no one is looking. 


Nobody sees you put your wedding ring back on for five minutes a day

Nobody hears you sigh when you take it back off  and put it away

Nobody feels the empty part of you where your heart used to be

Nobody knows the fear of losing your future

Nobody sees you cry in the car

Nobody hears you sob in your bed late at night

Nobody feels the pang of loneliness that moves like a wave over you every second minute 

Nobody knows you are terrified of doing it on your own

Nobody sees you put the cereal in the trolley then place it back because he’s not here anymore and he was the only one who ate it

Nobody hears the fear in your voice when you tell them you are okay

Nobody feels broken and lost 

Nobody knows shock and overwhelm keeps you awake at night

Nobody sees you watch other families from behind your sunglasses

Nobody hears the sob that gets caught in your throat 

Nobody feels as though a part of their soul is missing 

Nobody knows your every single thought starts with what if

Nobody sees you wake up with a smile on your face every morning

Nobody hears you sigh as you remember your new reality and your smile runs away

Nobody feels the pain in your gut as you curl up in a ball and will the morning light away

Nobody knows the first three seconds of the morning and that smile is the best part of the day

Nobody sees you wipe your own tears away behind the backs of your children as they cling to you

Nobody hears you bargain with the universe

Nobody feels the emotional and physical paralysis of rejection

Nobody knows you 

Because now you don’t know yourself 

4 Comments on Nobody sees…

  1. Alison Bowman
    April 6, 2017 at 9:51 pm (3 years ago)

    Both yourself and the previous owner/editor define single mum as someone separated. I am single following the death of my husband. Much of the thoughts you mention in the article apply to those of us recovering from a partner’s death. People are always telling me I’m strong, but they have no idea of my grief and the helplessness I feel.
    My own story is complicated, having experienced both separation and death of a partner. The complexity of my situation means people think I grieve less, or am somehow less sad, because my husband and I were not together when he died. But his death is the end of a long and devastating journey for me.
    My children are teenagers; this is something I have also noticed Lift overlooks – there’s a lot of focus on single parenting of young children, but not with the difficulty of dealing with teenage problems on your own.
    I hope as the new Editir of Lift, you can expand your publications to incorporate single mum’s if older children, and those who have lost their partner and experienced grief (and had to deal with their children’s grief at the same time).
    If you are interested, I may consider providing a reader story.

  2. nwabisa
    April 12, 2017 at 9:43 pm (3 years ago)

    Wow this is so true thanks for sharing

  3. Mel
    April 16, 2017 at 8:39 pm (3 years ago)

    This is exactly my life. You wrote it more eloquently than I ever could.
    But I have one to add, When you have that one last shirt hanging in the wardrobe that you just can’t move. Not yet. It still smells like his cologne.

    Sending you love and light and strength to move forward every day. Xo

  4. Bianca
    April 20, 2017 at 11:34 am (3 years ago)

    Love this and can relate, thank you ?


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