I tip my proverbial hat, fist bump, dap up and bear hug the centuries of parents that have, and continue to, do this job alone. Most of the children I served and taught in East Harlem and the South Bronx were being raised by their mothers only, carrying the faces of the men that wounded and left them. So many women with villages burned to ashes.
I didn’t doubt my ability to mother, or question the health of my baby. It was the hardship associated with raising a child without a concerned partner, and the thought of my child not having a counterbalance to me was the meat of my worry at the pregnancy’s start, but the internal strength that continuously showed up across the three trimesters alchemized that fright into an ancient, feral power. In the end, I believed I had the steadfastness, community and resourcefulness to see this child through— no matter what transpired between his father and I.
Because I know so many women are doing this single-handedly, with two, three, four, and five Sedars, it unfortunately feels like a privilege to have S in the (frameless) picture. And though I have undeniably found a committed financial and emotional partner in him, the main drawback is that he is constantly on the move. I do my part to foster their connection while he is gone by lacing his days with pics & vids, voicing my internal struggles and exasperations, and updating him on Sedar’s latest antics. A new habit. A fresh sound. The first breath of a milestone. Input S offers exhibits how close in heart he is to us, lessening any actual and imagined distance.
He co-signs with my decision to raise Sedar full time, and hasn’t asked or demanded that I contribute financially—poised he is to work his butt off to finance our joint endeavor to usher our child through his mansions of his greatness. I told him thanks, but naw. My plan is to make ends to support us, too.
Some people that love me think I sabotaged my career by leaving New York. For reasons I won’t get into today, I think I saved my career by doing just that. And because I did sacrifice my financial independence momentarily without a concrete back up plan, it’s been highly uncomfortable to see funds only trickling out of my savings account’s revolving door.
When Sedar and I had to leave my mom’s nest (previous entry), my family expressed grave concern. Since 15, I’ve been making my own scratch, and so much of my identity was steeped in my own sense of independence. It must have spooked them to see me so financially vulnerable, in a space of such need, and not exactly beating the pavement for work.
What are YOU going to do?
When you have a child, you have to do things you don’t necessarily want to do. Millions of women do it.
My family assumed my obvious course of action should have been to look for teaching opportunities, which meant enrolling Sedar in daycare, or hiring a sitter. This speaks to the heartbreakingly pivotal fork in the road that so many new parents face; too many of us must leave our children in the hands of others in order to provide for them. I rallied against that path. For me, it felt like going against my own grain…much like walking into of moving traffic.
So, my plan? Live off less. Rely on my village. Throw myself into my writing like never before. Find ways to eat off my words. Reconfigure my business to make ends remotely. Offer online writing classes. Pump and freeze stashes of breast milk in case I need to leave Sedar for a day to perform at a university. Kiss my son. Thank God for him, my family, my choices.
Meanwhile, we’re laying low in the hills of my homeland, where I stay with a close cousin. My son stirs on the screen of the baby monitor as I write on the gallery, the hills pocked with light. The road feels uncertain, and bright.
November 17, 2015
Port of Spain, Trinidad