I had my first child, Finn, in 2012. There's another photo that I almost selected for this excerpt, because it so perfectly captures the energy of that period in my life, only I did not take the picture. The photo was taken the day my then-husband and I took Finn home from the hospital. The three of us are just relaxing on the couch, my eyes are shut, there's a hazy glow from the sun. I'm wearing these XL lounge pants from Old Navy that were extremely unflattering, but stubbornly my favourite article of clothing. It all looks so comfortable. It looks like a peaceful family portrait, caught in an intimate moment shared.

The reality is that I was utterly exhausted, felt lonely, and had been bawling for the better part of an hour before that photo was taken. When we were getting discharged from the hospital, I hadn't even make it to the elevator before collapsing in the hallway to cry. I was so overwhelmed. I wanted an instruction manual for this kid. How would I know what he wanted, and when? Other mothers seemed to know what they were doing. I constantly compared myself to other mothers, and Finn to other newborns. I consistently felt we were somehow lesser.

There is a saying that comparison is the thief of joy. I believe it. Those comparisons that I was making weren't helpful for me to accept my reality, whatever that may be, and appreciate the journey I was on and its pace. My daughter, Nova, arrived 20 months later, and on a very superficial level our family looked Facebook perfect. Husband-and-wife, two kids, house in the suburbs with a nicely manicured lawn. I remember looking at other people and their families a lot during that time. I was looking for signs of cracks. Were they feeling unhappy like I was feeling? Were they questioning whether this was the life they signed up for? Did anyone else want to just run the hell away from those perfect lawns and yell and scream and maybe not sit around with the other wives discussing preschool wait lists and healthy snack options?

In 2015, our marriage ended and my self-identity changed. I wasn't a suburban housewife anymore. That house that had never quite felt like a home to me, in that neighbourhood that was too cookie-cutter for me anyway, was put on the market and sold quickly. I was relieved. But I also felt awkward and ashamed. At that time, I didn't know any other couples that were divorcing. I remember running into an acquaintance at the grocery store that asked me how my husband was doing, and I had to tell her we split. "So soon?" she commented. "Didn't you just get married?" She was sort-of right; we had been married less than five years. I felt like her question implied we - or rather, I - hadn't tried very hard to make it work. I felt like my "single mother" status must be glaringly obvious to everyone, and that they would think less of me.

I know now that I wasn't treating myself with love and compassion. Thank goodness for my own parents, who never wavered in their support of me, and helped me to realize that I was only ostracizing myself. I grew stronger and more confident with each passing month, and found that I became less and less preoccupied with comparing myself. As I met more single parents, I realized that my construct of family needed to change. I did it easily for others - accepting all varieties of what family might mean or look like - but it took me a while to do it for myself. By expanding my vision, I felt like that nuclear family I had once helped to build was smashed open to create space for so many other great and supportive people - both extended family, and chosen family.

Being a single mother has been empowering for me. Yes, it can be exhausting, just like that day we brought Finn home from the hospital. But I intentionally chose this path, and am happy for it - letting go of the shame and judgement that I imagined others passing on me, when realistically it was likely all placed there by myself. The photo that I included above is a Polaroid that Nova took of me and Finn. I like it because it shows us, comfortable in an imperfect house that I've made into a home with them. Although you can't see Nova in the picture, she is still there. And it's not perfectly posed, like the professional photos that my former nuclear family used to get done for Christmas cards or significant events. It is us. Just us.

If evolution is inevitable, I know change is coming. I have gone from feeling ashamed of saying I'm a single mother, to feeling scared of it, to ultimately accepting and even embracing it. Sometimes I wonder what my evolution might look like if my status changes again, and find myself re-married someday. I suppose that is part of the journey and the evolution. Being a parent has been a huge blessing in my life and has added love and joy and learning - about not just these two tiny humans, but about myself as well.