After a miserable December week in 1983 in Jacksonville which included napping in a moving truck, washing my toddler in the sink of a McDonald’s restroom, and being refused shelter at a YWCA, the stress and exhaustion left me trembling inside.
Having fled an unsafe domestic situation, I faced homelessness with my two children, ages one-and-a-half and nine. I was 28 in an unfamiliar city, and had few resources. My initial struggle was to get a roof over our heads. That terribly uncertain beginning marked the lowest point of my young adult life.
Back then, I desperately needed all the help I could get but didn’t know where to turn. In the long run, that didn’t matter—my helpers seemed to find me. And we helped each other. My unexpected support primarily came from a long line of caring single mothers, an unintended network that began forming in 1983 and continues to this day. Now, as a senior woman living a modest lifestyle, I want to be even more helpful in return.
The women I met along my life’s path were more than just friends—we formed an impromptu community. Each of us single parents played an important role in the other’s survival and success. From consoling to carpooling, to cheerleading to caregiving, our experiences together as single mothers highlight an essential, yet often overlooked, segment of the care economy.
According to 2022 estimates from the U.S. Census Bureau’s report, “America’s Families and Living Arrangements,” there are 10.9 million single-parent family groups with children under 18 in the United States, with mothers maintaining 80% of these groups. This statistic underscores the pivotal role single mothers play within the care economy—an area of our society that, if bolstered, holds the potential for significant and widespread benefits.
By working collaboratively and fostering a culture of mutual support, today’s single moms can form a powerful network that amplifies their collective strength. Imagine the impact if single mothers, united by their shared experiences, collectively advocated for policies that would ease their burdens—like affordable childcare, guaranteed income, and affordable housing.
Together, they could rise up to pressure Congress to pass the legislation that single-mom families desperately need, ensuring that the responsibility of the care economy doesn’t rest solely on their shoulders, but is supported by our government as well.
My Early Struggles
In desperation to get my children off the streets, I had accepted the only housing option that was available. Leaving behind the cozy middle-class lifestyle I’d previously enjoyed in Savannah wasn’t much of a choice either. In the early ‘80s, I had shared a wonderful Victorian home with the love of my life, Watson.
However, before we met, Watson had served in Vietnam and returned to the U.S. with a personality disorder, now recognized as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The illness sometimes caused him to completely withdraw from us, his family; other times, it triggered in him violent rages, posing a threat to me and the boys. For our safety, while Watson was at work one Saturday morning, I fled to Jacksonville—but without any plans.
Having run away to a city I’d only visited twice, engulfed by an array of emotions, and faced with only one housing choice, I moved us into a tiny, dilapidated unit of a cement tenement with no appliances, heat, or air conditioning.
She Showed Me the Way: Punkin
The first neighbor in the tenement I met was Punkin, a young, black single mother close to my age, also with two boys, who lived two units down from mine. We crossed each other’s path along the front sidewalk one day, and quickly became friends, bonding over how hard it was raising our children alone. Offering one another words of encouragement, sometimes we shared our dreams of a better future. She anticipated getting married. I intended to get a job and rent a house. Eventually, I revealed to her the story of why I’d moved from Savannah.
Punkin and her family had been in “the system” for a while, meaning they were enrolled in various forms of government assistance programs, like welfare and food stamps. She seemed to know all its ins-and-outs. When she visited my place on a brisk winter day and saw that my children and I were relying on a small, borrowed kerosene heater for warmth and cooking, she told me about Section 8 housing. She described it as an income-based rental program subsidized by the government that required all housing units to meet certain standards, including central heat and air conditioning. And because I had no income at the time, she said, the cost for me would be nothing.
She warned me that the waiting list for Section 8 apartments was about a year-and-a-half long and urged me to apply as soon as possible—which I did within a few days. During our conversation, I mentioned to her that a church’s food bank had delivered food to my kids and I. I explained how I’d frittered away much of the $900 I had when I left Savannah, having spent it on fast food, gas for the moving truck, two nights in a seedy hotel, and our first month’s rent and security deposit.
Punkin suggested I could apply for emergency food stamps, and then go back later to put in an application to receive them monthly if I wanted to. I quickly did both. Several times, she invited me and my kids to come over for dinner, but I just couldn’t, guessing that she, too, was probably stretching out limited food to feed her own children.
She and I gradually began lending each other a hand when we needed someone to watch our boys. My children were always glad for the company. I enjoyed Punkin’s young ones because they were remarkably polite and well-behaved, as she kept them in line like a drill sergeant. Whenever she was scolding them for something I could hear her all the way down to my place.
Punkin and I remained friends until July 1985, when my name came up on the Section 8 list and I moved out. She had chosen to stay put until she and her boyfriend were married. By willingly sharing her knowledge of “the system,” Punkin made it possible for me to tap into the food and housing resources my children and I needed. While I would eventually have learned about food stamps (now known as SNAP) when I applied for public assistance, I would otherwise not have known about Section 8 housing. The program was never even mentioned to me by any of the several welfare caseworkers I met with during that time.
From those early days as a single mother, it became clear that our survival wasn’t just dependent on the system, but on the lifeline of support from other moms who understood my struggle.
We Toasted to Better Days: Debra
I met Debra in early 1984, while still in the tenement, and we clicked immediately because she was a spirited young woman in her 20s with a delightful Texas accent. Her eight-year-old son’s dad had passed away and they were receiving Social Security. Since Punkin was often preoccupied with her boyfriend, Debra became my closest friend and fellow single mom in the complex. It was nothing for one of us to occasionally stroll along the common backyard and down to each other’s kitchen door to share a glass of wine.
As with Punkin, Debra and I swapped babysitting duties. A real go-getter, she worked part-time as a security guard during the day. At times, she invited me and my boys over simply for company, and every now and then she would watch them so I could have time out with friends. Sometimes, I brought her son to my place to give her a parental break. Debra was also the person who supported my welfare application by writing a verification letter stating that only my children and I lived in our apartment. Likewise, I was always there to assist her with essential paperwork related to the death of her son’s father.
Filled with gratitude, I almost cried when Debra offered to babysit for me so I could work a temporary job, through which I earned much-needed money to improve our humble apartment. In return, I paid her for her help and for the times she did my hair, which always gave my self-esteem a boost.
While I was thrilled about moving into better living conditions with Section 8 housing, I was sad to leave Debra and her son behind. Debra had been an oasis for me. She was the one I turned to when my emotions overwhelmed me. Similarly, she reached out to me whenever she needed a pep talk. We shared many feelings about single motherhood, but it was our mutual pride in our commitment to being the best moms possible, despite our often-trying circumstances, that had kept us linked.
Debra’s acts of kindness taught me the power of mutual support. Our friendship underscored the value of solidarity in facing life’s challenges, a lesson that has profoundly shaped my approach to community and caregiving ever since. Just realizing I wasn’t alone, and that it was okay for single moms like us to take a moment to breathe, eased the trembling that had taken hold when I first wandered into this situation of uncertainty.
We Shared Almost Everything: Jackie
In August 1984, I began attending Florida Community College at Jacksonville and enrolled in a Fundamentals of Speech Communications class, where I met Jackie, who would later become a single mom. We increasingly began to support each other in a number of ways.
During our first conversation, as we waited for the classroom to fill, we discovered an uncanny number of similarities. Both Virgos, we shared a family name and each had two children—she had two girls aged two and ten, and I had two boys with the same ages. It was the first class for both of us. Days later, as our conversations deepened, we realized that we were both receiving welfare.
As we grew closer, Jackie confided in me that her roommate was actually her lover. Over time, Jackie and I came to rely on each other for transportation, food, babysitting, and information about resources. We even shared my typewriter.
To attend college, I enrolled in a government-subsidized child care program that was free as long as I provided a registration receipt each semester showing full-time student status. Jackie’s youngest had been staying home with her girlfriend, so I told her about the child care program, to give her daughter the chance to learn and play with other children. Our preschoolers were also fed at the center, which helped Jackie and me stretch the food we had at home.
For a while, I helped Jackie by arranging with the childcare director to have me listed as an authorized person to pick up and drop off her daughter, since initially Jackie had no transportation. Once she got a car, we started taking turns transporting our children. And since we received our food stamps at different times of the month, we helped each other put food on the table when one another’s supplies ran low. Naturally, we also took turns watching each other’s children.
In June 1986, I graduated from college and secured a full-time job, which meant I had to start paying 100 percent of my apartment’s housing cost. Rather than stay in a place with someone living over our heads, I prepared to move out and rent a single-family home. Jackie, however, didn’t join me in the ceremonial walk across the stage. To my complete shock, she hadn’t finished school because she and her girlfriend had fallen into a crack addiction.
Although I kept a safe distance, I couldn’t abandon Jackie or the girls. Our lives were intertwined and we impacted each other deeply. I begged her to get help, sometimes breaking down in tears. One night, I even cussed her out as I cried. Every Friday, I took her girls home after school so they could relax and just be kids. The first thing we always did at my place was lie across my bed and purge our tears over the situation. Then, we made the best of our time together, until we all wept again when I returned them home on Sunday nights.
Some months later, Jackie did it. She made a comeback, and the girls and I were relieved. Before I moved out, I convinced her to apply for a vacant Section 8 apartment above mine and leave the girlfriend behind. Although we slowly grew out of touch after I moved to the other side of town, I was grateful to see Jackie reclaim her life.
My relationship with Jackie taught me how two families in tough circumstances can pull through by coming together, sharing resources, and caring for one another. The bond we built as two single mothers determined to help each other became a powerful force in our lives, even when Jackie’s addiction transpired. I recognized that our friendship was more than just support—it was a commitment to not give upon each other, even when resources were scarce and the path seemed bleak.
“Miss Lilly” Saved My Workday Everyday: Lillian
At 35, I got married, and in 1991 gave birth to a baby girl. In 1993, I relocated to Virginia Beach with my military husband. That same year, I worked part-time until I accepted a well-paying full-time job that required me to report to work at 6:00 a.m. However, I faced a major obstacle: my daughter’s child care center, like all the others, didn’t open that early.
That’s when Lillian, a pleasant 30-something single mother and childcare worker at the center, stepped in. For a reasonable fee, she offered to let me drop my daughter off at her house in the mornings before the center opened, and then take her to work with her when she went in. It was the ideal solution.
Each morning, as I drove up at the same time, Lillian would be at the front door, waiting for us. I’d lay my sleeping toddler on Lillian’s blanket-covered sofa, plant a gentle kiss on my little doll’s cheek, thank the kindly young woman, and then get back behind the wheel. The arrangement worked perfectly: Lillian appreciated the extra cash, and I had peace of mind knowing my daughter was safe and resting until it was time to go to work with Miss Lilly and start her busy day.
I continued this routine until the temporary assignment ended several months later. Lillian had fulfilled a need that, under any other circumstance, might have been impossible to meet. By teaming up and working together to benefit us both, I was able to gain valuable job experience in my new city. That experience not only boosted my resume but also led to me landing an even better full-time job.
My experience with this childcare provider echoes so many across the country today who are shouldering the burden of supporting our country’s workforce, even as their own workforce is in crisis.
She Smiled and Took One More On: Shar’ron
In 2000, after a divorce from my daughter’s father, I moved from Virginia Beach to Hampton, Virginia, to be nearer to my job. I had been commuting 32 miles each way, and with an uncooperative ex-husband not involved in caring for the children, it was clear our single-mother household needed to live nearer to our bread and butter. What if my youngest son or my daughter had an emergency? How could I support their participation in extracurricular activities? Relocating closer to my job was the only solution.
Shortly after relocating, I met Shar’ron, a high-energy, 30-year-old single mom, at my daughter’s elementary school. We hit it off during a casual conversation, and I soon recognized her as she frequently drove past my house. We’d exchange greetings, and I couldn’t help but be amazed by her energy. I wondered how one woman could be so constantly on the go—and why. Then I started noticing that every time I saw her, she was in a different work uniform. One afternoon, my curiosity led me to ask her about it.
“Didn’t I just see you the other day in a sheriff’s office uniform?” I said.
She looked at me, smiled proudly, and said, “Yes, you did.”
“But today you’re in a different uniform. What’s this one?” I asked.
“Oh, this? This is the Navy Reserve,” she replied with an even bigger grin. “And I have another uniform, too!”
So here was a woman juggling multiple part-time jobs, and I later learned she had three daughters. Our girls instantly became close friends, forming a sisterhood that brought them together almost every day. Shar’ron and I grew just as close. We found ourselves leaning on each other more and more, as we recognized how our combined efforts made life easier.
Since my move to Hampton shortened my commute, I decided to use the extra time to take night classes for a master’s degree. When I mentioned my plans, Shar’ron immediately offered to watch my daughter while I went to school. In return, I did whatever I could to help: letting her children use my computer, offering money when I could, and occasionally babysitting her kids.
In 2009, the same year my daughter headed off to college, Shar’ron moved to Florida, but still we stayed in touch, regularly checking in as our lives progressed. Even today, we laugh about our daughters’ shenanigans and reminisce about the fun moments we shared. With our girls all grown and gone, they no longer serve as the connection between Shar’ron and me. What remains is the deep familiarity of our past shared struggles as single mothers—an understanding that continues to sustain our nearly 25-year friendship.
Thanks to Shar’ron’s generous care of my daughter, despite her own single-mom responsibilities, I earned a master’s degree in 2002 and returned for a second one awarded in 2005. Without her help, these achievements would have been unattainable. Even today, we stay in contact, and our relationship remains a cherished example of the power of camaraderie and mutual support. The connection we built reminds us both of the incredible impact of friendship and community. We continue to support each other however possible.
Every Single-Mom Deserves Caring Help Like This: United, it is Possible
In a recent conversation with Shar’ron, she said, “I wish we had more organizations to support single mothers. There need to be more that are about women helping women who are trying to get out of tough situations—to better themselves. When you’ve got some help it’s a wonderful thing.”
She’s right. Single moms juggle work, childcare, and household responsibilities on their own. But when we come together, we can lighten the load for everyone by creating a care economy where every single mom has the support she requires.
Here are several ways you can help bring that supportive community into being:
- Intentionally Build Support Networks: Single moms facing similar challenges can create or join online groups that foster solidarity and emotional support. Regular check-ins or meetings provide opportunities to share advice and experiences, making it easier to navigate the complexities of single parenthood together.
- Combine Resources to Overcome Major Obstacles: Strengthen your network by organizing child care swaps, carpooling, or pooling resources to tackle common challenges. By working together, you can solve logistical problems and ensure everyone gets the help they need.
- Transform ‘National Single Parent Day’ into a Day of Action: March 21, originally established in 1984, should be more than a recognition day—it should be a call to action. Let’s use this day to advocate for federal policies that support single moms, such as affordable housing and guaranteed income, and challenge the narratives that stigmatize their struggles.
- Promote Guaranteed Income as a Lifeline for Single Moms: We can use our networks to combine forces and advocate for Guaranteed Income policies that provide direct, no-strings-attached financial assistance to single mothers. These programs offer consistent support that can reduce financial stress, break the cycle of poverty, and provide the stability moms need to focus on raising their children, furthering their education, and building a secure future.
From day one in 1983, in that shabby, hollow concrete apartment, I vowed to get myself and my children out of there as soon as possible—and I did. But I couldn’t have pulled it off without the vital safety net programs I benefited from and the care and concern I received from other single-parent moms, let alone kept “movin’ on up.” My progress has only been possible with the help of these incredible women—my friends. And if our federal legislation and budget reflected the spirit of this caring economy, more of us would have an opportunity to realize our dreams.
Throughout my life’s journey, the care economy has been a pillar of my success. From shared childcare arrangements to emotional support, or simply knowing someone had my back, the assistance I received from other single moms was invaluable. These experiences reveal an undeniable truth: care work isn’t just a personal benefit, but a necessary element of a thriving economy and society. Without it, many like me would continue struggling to make ends meet and remain unable to realize their goals.
With 1 in 5 households including children under 18 in the United States headed by a single mother, it’s clear that now is the time to support the critical role these women play within the care economy—a sector that, when strengthened, can lead to significant positive societal outcomes.
Whether it’s building intentional communities, combining resources to overcome obstacles, reclaiming National Single Parent Day as a day of advocacy, or supporting Guaranteed Income legislation, we all have a role to play. Together, we can create a society where every single mom has the opportunity to flourish, supported by a community that values care work as the essential force it truly is.