I read a story here about a single mum who said she didnt know what to do and couldnt see a way out. It made me want to share my own. Not to judge anyone, but because when youve got children and you need to keep them fed, you cant just sit waiting for money to fall out of the sky. No one handed me anything on a silver platterI went out and got it myself.
I left home at sixteenmostly out of stubbornness and, lets be honest, a touch of teenage stupidity. I thought I was all grown up and, with my boyfriend, thought life would be a doddle. We rented a little bedsit in Sheffieldthe kitchen backed onto the living room, the bedroom was only a thin wall away, and the bathroom? Out in the chilly shared garden. It was hardly Buckingham Palace, but it was ours.
Two years later, having just turned eighteen, I ended up pregnant with my first child. At first, things were OK. He drove a cab, brought home just enough for a Tesco shop, and we kept the rent paid. There wasnt a penny to spare, but we werent going hungry either.
Just as my son turned one, I started noticing that he brought home less and less. There was always an excusethe fares were down, too many drivers on the road, the car was playing up. I believed him. Then I got pregnant againthis time with a little girl. Four months in, he just left. No warning. One afternoon he grabbed a few jumpers and vanished off to another woman.
The worst part wasnt just being abandoned. It was the whispering that followedneighbours, distant relatives, everyone in the area. Theyd spotted him with her for months apparently, waiting for him on street corners, staying over at hers. Not a peep from any of them while we were together. I found out everything after I was already alone, pregnant, and with a toddler clinging to me.
He disappeared completely. Never asked after the kids, didnt send a single pound. Not even for nappies. I spent a day on the living room floor crying my eyes out. The fridge was almost empty, the milk was running low, another baby on the way, rent due, no baby clothes, no cot. I sobbed my heart out. But the next morning, I got up and told myself I had to do something.
I started right there in that little flat. I asked for groceries on trust at the local shop. I made jelly pots, puddings in mugs, fairy cakes. I snapped pictures on my phone and stuck them on my WhatsApp status and Instagram story. No fibs, just honest: Selling homemade puds to buy nappies and milk. People did start buying. Some out of sympathy, others because their sweet tooth got the better of them. With the bit I made, I could get bybuy food, squirrel away a bit for rent, keep the lights on.
Then I upped my game: started doing lunches to orderrice, lentil stew, chicken casserole, shepherds pie. A local lad did deliveries on his scooter. I paid him per trip. I was up at 5am, cooking with a big pregnant belly and my little lad toddling around. Some days I was so shattered all I could do was sit and have a good cry. But the next day, I was back at the cooker, apron tied.
I saved every pound coin I could. When my due date loomed, my mum phoned and told me to come homesaid I shouldnt be on my own. My daughter was born there, and since then my parents have been my anchor. They dont bankroll me, but they keep me standinghelp out with the kids while I juggle orders.
Now my son is six, my daughters shooting up like a beanpole. Mum and I have put together a little cake business. Its no massive company, but we rent a tiny shop, make birthday cakes, sweet tables, custom bakes for parties. Were not rolling in it, but I dont go to bed hungry, and I never lie awake fretting about what Ill feed my kids tomorrow.
I know how much it stings when a bloke leaves a woman with childrenits just not right. But Ive learned something else too: you cant wait for rescue. No one came charging in to save me. When youre a mum, not showing up simply isnt an option.
