Surviving a Breakup as a Single Parent

I remember lying in bed after my breakup, barely able to move. I wanted to hide under the covers, cry until I couldn’t cry anymore, and disappear from the world for a while. But I had a child who still needed breakfast. Who still needed to go to school. Who still needed a mom who would get up, show up, and create some kind of normal.

That’s the thing about breakups when you’re a single mom—it’s not just your heart that breaks. It’s your routine, your identity, your sense of partnership, your future plans—and it all shatters while little eyes are watching.

The hardest part for me? Trying not to cry in front of my child. I didn’t want to burden them with my sadness. I thought I needed to be strong, to keep everything together, to show them I was okay even when I wasn’t. I thought if I just kept busy enough—trips to the park, coloring at the table, baking banana bread—I could protect them from my grief.

But over time, I realized something: pretending to be okay wasn’t strength. Denying sadness wasn’t resilience. What was actually powerful was allowing both of us to feel. Because loss, whether it’s a breakup, a friendship ending, or a disappointment at school, is part of life. And the only way out of grief is through it.

And I had to be really mindful of the stories I was telling myself in the middle of it all. The quiet thoughts like,
“I should’ve known better.”
“I brought someone into my child’s life, and now they’re just gone.”
“What kind of mom lets this happen?”

If you’ve had those thoughts too, let me be the one to tell you: they’re not true. You’re not a bad mom for loving someone. You’re not a bad mom for hoping. You’re not a bad mom for letting your child experience a connection that, while temporary, may have brought joy. Relationships end, but that doesn’t make them mistakes.

It was especially hard when the relationship had been a good one—when my child had a bond with the person I was no longer with. Watching them process that loss in their own way added another layer of grief. So, I found a book to help us talk about it—about what happens when someone you care about is no longer in your life. That simple tool gave us both language to talk about big feelings in a safe, age-appropriate way.

When Your Child Asks the Hard Questions

One of the toughest parts for me as a mom was facing the questions I didn’t know how to answer. Questions like:
“Is [so-and-so] coming over today?”
“Why doesn’t [so-and-so] come anymore?”
“Can we invite them to my birthday?”

Hearing those questions felt like a knife to the heart—and often sent me right back into my own spiral of grief and guilt. But I learned that children don’t need perfect answers; they need honest, loving ones.

Here are a few responses that helped me navigate those conversations:

• “I know you miss them. I miss them too.”
  (Start with connection. You’re both grieving in different ways.)

• “Sometimes adults stop being in a relationship, and that means they don’t come around anymore. It’s not your fault, and it doesn’t mean they didn’t care about you.”

• “It’s okay to feel sad. We can talk about your favorite memory with them if you want.”

These moments are painful, but they also open the door to teaching your child that relationships—while sometimes temporary—can still be meaningful. You’re helping them build resilience, empathy, and emotional literacy just by showing up with presence.

What I Want You to Remember

You’re allowed to cry.
You don’t have to hide your tears in the shower or wait until bedtime. It’s okay for your child to see that you’re sad. In fact, it teaches them that emotions are normal, that heartbreak is part of being human, and that you don’t always have to “tough it out.”

You don’t have to do it all alone.
I leaned hard on my friends. Whether it was a phone call after bedtime, someone coming over to sit with me, or a walk to get out of the house—I let myself be held. It’s not weak to ask for help; it’s essential.

You can grieve and parent at the same time.
I gave myself permission to feel the heaviness while still making space for moments of connection. A movie night on the couch. A slow walk outside. Even when my heart felt numb, those small moments of showing up were acts of love—for both me and my child.

You don’t have to be the “strong mom” all the time.
Strength doesn’t mean never breaking. It means honoring your pain while still choosing to heal. It means showing your child what it looks like to feel deeply, to care deeply, and to eventually grow through the hard things.

If you’re in the thick of it right now—feeling like your world is upside down and you don’t know how you’ll get through—know this: you will. Not overnight. Not without some messy days. But with time, support, and self-compassion, you’ll start to feel like yourself again.

And your child? They’ll remember that their mom loved hard, hurt honestly, and modeled what it means to be a whole, feeling human.

You’re not alone. You’re doing better than you think. And it’s okay to not be okay for a while.

Hi! I’m Nicole, Licensed Therapist.

I specialize in relationship issues, breakups, and trauma. I use a unique blend of modern therapy approaches such as EMDR, IFS, and Attachment Theory to help client’s heal attachment wounds so they can have the stress free loving relationships they deserve.