“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.
“I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash
I can see all obstacles in my way.
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind.
It’s gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.”
There are moments that, in their simplicity, reveal a greater truth. On a cold winter evening in November 1996, as the soft whimpers of my son trickled through the baby monitor, one of those truths became profoundly clear to me …
Cue dream sequence.
I couldn’t wait to build a family of my own. Armed with that classic ‘it won’t happen to me’ attitude—and equipped with everything from forks to a fridge—I set out to create a stable, happy, and ‘normal’ family, all while totally dismissing my mother’s particularly keen spidey senses.
As young adults often do.
I’d dated before and had a long-term relationship with a small-town boy who eventually found his way back to his small-town sweetheart.
As small-town boys often do.
But each relationship taught me something new about love, trust, and myself.
As young love often does.
While some prioritized personal independence, career, friendships, or self-discovery as the key to happiness, at the time I thought happiness would come from finding someone who completed me. (Trust me, Future Me cringed while writing this.) It was a common theme in popular culture, media, and traditional romantic narratives. I genuinely believed that an ideal partner would make up for my shortcomings by offering support, encouragement, and balance. I thought they would bolster my self-esteem, help me take risks I might otherwise avoid, and provide a sense of safety and stability in moments of doubt. So, when I met the man who would become my husband, I thought I’d finally found that happiness.
We’d met at Kipling’s—a notable bar and live music venue on the south side. Although it has long since closed, Kipling’s was renowned for hosting performances from acts like the Ramones, The Black Crowes, and Blue Öyster Cult. He was a bartender there, so we got to see some great shows together. I was really into Sass Jordan and Colin James back then, so seeing them perform was a thrill. He even got Colin to sign a poster for me and managed to snag a T-shirt as a keepsake. Later, we’d realize that we had actually worked together before, at Robert’s, the in-store restaurant at The Bay (formerly Simpson’s) in White Oaks Mall. I was the Salad Girl, and he was a waiter. Confident and outgoing, he was the kind of person who effortlessly brought me out of my shell.
Eager for independence, I had already secured a full-time job, enrolled in university (two birds, one stone), and bought myself a little red 1987 Nissan Pulsar sports car, complete with a T-top roof and, what I thought were, the coolest pop-up headlights. I married my Prince Charming, and eventually we moved into our dream home with our two beloved golden retrievers. Soon after, we welcomed the most precious, blue-eyed, towheaded baby boy into our lives.
Over the years, we shared the thrill of many ‘firsts’—our first home, first home projects (and first arguments), first holidays, meals, celebrations, vacations, our first shared pet, and our first major decisions side by side. I couldn’t wait to start our family traditions together.
Little did I know, the traditions I would go on to create would be far different from what I’d ever imagined.
Cue end of dream sequence.
As I sat nestled within the plush cushions of the couch that November night, I gazed blankly out the window into our backyard. Evenings came early, and it was too dark to see anything outside. The windows were like mirrors, so I just stared at my reflection. Reflecting. Reminiscing. Crying.
Instead of eagerly anticipating the season’s festivities, I found myself yearning for celebrations past—barbecues and birthday parties hosted with family and friends in our unusually large suburban backyard, complete with an inground pool and a horseshoe pit my dad loved. But just a few short months after our son was born, I discovered that my then-husband was having an affair with his business partner. There was no suspicion, no warning, no explanation—just the sudden reality of divorce, without any chance for closure.
“I just don’t love you” was all that I would be told.
Harsh.
Picking up the pieces.
Sitting alone, I found myself desperately piecing together the events of the past few months, sifting through heaps of advice from family, friends, and my therapist. I was struggling to reframe my family, my dreams, my thoughts, my fears—and to confront the shame of feeling I had failed, along with the reality of being a single mother.
The moment I will never forget.
As I watched the snow fall peacefully to the ground, an overwhelming sadness threatened to engulf me. Yet in that moment of despair, I was pulled back to reality by the familiar whimpers drifting tenderly through the baby monitor beside me. Like clockwork, after laying my infant son down with a belly full of warm milk, a soothing bubbly bath, songs, and stories, he began to stir, calling for me in the way only young infants can. It was my cue to go to his crib, where I let the strands of my long blonde hair fall over the side and waited patiently for his tiny hand to find it in the darkness. Once firmly in his outstretched grasp, it was all he needed to soothe himself back to sleep.
“I got you,” I promised.
(Spoiler alert: I always did.)
Journey towards wholeness.
My courage doesn’t always manifest loudly, but in that moment, I knew I had to take care of myself so I could take care of my son. I had to reframe my vision of family—reframe my thoughts, my fears, and my sense of failure. As cliché as it sounds now, I needed to focus on what I could control. The less I dwelled on the things I couldn’t, the more confidence, peace, and energy I had to focus on what truly mattered: my son.
As I found myself poised on the familiar threshold where my mother once stood, I proudly bought us a new house, a brand-spanking-new SUV, and started a fresh chapter. I put my university courses on hold—because, well, life (and maybe a touch of my own quiet hesitation). My priority became my son’s well-being and creating a stable, values-driven, family-focused foundation for him. Every decision, every action, every choice was guided by what was best for him. I chose not to engage in the typical conflicts or drama that can often accompany divorce. Still, my thoughtful approach to parenting sometimes ruffled the feathers of those who didn’t share or understand my perspective, as I firmly stood by my choices for my child’s sake.
The turning point.
And just like that, the cruel words of rejection that had once sent me into a downward emotional spiral were replaced by a transformative realization. I’d experienced defining moments before, but this November evening was the pivotal moment when my son became the catalyst for my well-being—and the inspiration behind this platform. It was the moment I stopped relying on others to complete me, gathered the broken pieces, and resolved to create a safe, stable, loving and happy home where my son and I, and eventually our new family, would thrive.
I was responsible for my happiness.