I’m going to say something mildly controversial. About parenting. And dating. Oh boy. Here we go.
I have no problem introducing my daughter to the people I’m dating.
Now I know parents have all sorts of rules about this. They want to wait for a certain amount of time (say, six months) before introducing a romantic partner to their child. They want to wait until the relationship is ‘serious’, however they might define that. Or they may keep their romantic partners entirely separate from their children indefinitely.
In some ways this makes sense, especially for parents in open marriages and divorced parents with shared custody who have to negotiate boundaries with their child’s other parent(s). If your partner or ex-partner isn’t okay with your child meeting your new person, it’s going to create a whole lot of conflict within the family unit. But even that, I would like to question. How much autonomy do we afford single, divorced, and ethically non-monogamous parents? And why is introducing your child to a new partner any different that any other activities that might occur on any given weekend?
I’m not naive. I know that it can be different. Mainly because there are feelings involved. Often big feelings. Sometimes when we’re crushing on a new person, our sense of logic temporarily goes out the window. And if that’s the case for you, ideally you know yourself well enough to play it safe during the honeymoon period and communicate your feelings clearly with the key people involved.
But even that traditional dating methodology doesn’t apply to all situations: What if you start dating someone you’ve had as a friend or acquaintance or colleague, and that person has already connected with your child? Couldn’t you still go for brunch as trio, even though the dynamic has changed?
I think the question is, do we trust parents (and especially single mothers, as they often seem to be the focus of these debates) to date with the safety of their children in mind? There are some folks who work in the foster care system who would argue, no, absolutely not, because they’re faced with horror stories, day after day, of situations having gone wrong. I understand that fear. I’ve also witnessed parents making all kinds of questionable decisions that affect the lives of their children. Heck, I’ve been one of those parents. But unless it veers into the territory of child abuse or neglect, how does our judgement and reproach help the children or support the parents involved?
Are we expecting parents to refrain from seeking love, passion, and affection in their lives, or to keep the person who offers those very human needs completely separate from their children?
As a solo parent, I bring my daughter most places with me – by choice and also, sometimes, for lack of better options – and she has met many many people. She attends life drawing classes with me, where I – and sometimes other models – are posing nude; she draws pictures of us with crayons, or plays DuoLingo for kids on my phone. I take her to live performances, and she insists on meeting all the artists afterwards. I take her to parties with my adult friends where no other kids are present, and she usually has a swell time; or she doesn’t, and we go home early.
And yes, sometimes she joins me on dates. What does that look like? Pretty much the same as any other activities we do with other people: we go for dinner, we go to the park, we go to a festival, we go to a show, we play board games at home, we build an obstacle course, we have a dance party… You get the idea.
Trust me, I have my own boundaries. My daughter and I share a bed, so you can bet no one else is sleeping over when she’s home with me. I also don’t leave her alone with any person I don’t know extremely well. Have I made mistakes? Definitely. But I would argue that my errors in judgement have less to do with my romantic relationships specifically, and more to do with how I welcome people into my life generally.
Last year, for example, a friendly acquaintance of mine was looking for place to stay, and I thought she would make a great roommate, so I invited her to live with me and my child in our two-bedroom home. Everyone I knew had great things to say about her. I befriended her whole family. I was optimistic. Less than a month after she moved in, when my child and I were out of town, my new roommate trashed our house. I mean, TRASHED it. There were hundreds of cigarette butts and spilled beer cans inside the house, some random bike in the kitchen, and empty packets of MDMA under the sofa. It took me six months to even consider having another roommate again.
Another example: I recently had a close friend, also a solo parent with a child around the same age as my daughter, and the four of us spent tons of time together, often meeting up several times a week to do kid-friendly activities around town. In the face of many personal challenges, we created our own little community and there was a lot of comfort in that. Unfortunately, this person, arguably due to her own traumas, behaved violently and aggressively towards me and my child, in one instance trying (unsuccessfully) to take my child away from me in my own car and later hiding my keys out of spite, and in another instance yelling obscenities and throwing things at me and my child in a public place. I have zero tolerance for physical violence around my child, so that friendship could not continue – but it tore me up inside to have my child separated from yet another person she had grown close to. Especially after we lost my girlfriend to suicide, and several more close friends distanced themselves subsequently.
Here’s the thing: I am an exceedingly trusting person, and I value community. I tend to look for the good in most people and often take into consideration the injustices they may have suffered, and how those injustices may account for their actions at times. In other words, I make excuses for people. However, I will say that, since becoming a parent, I have gotten a lot better at identifying problematic situations more quickly and taking necessary action more efficiently. I wish I had been able to do that for myself as a younger person, but at least I’m able to do that for my child now.
What does this have to do with queerness?
For me, part of queerness is about questioning the norms in all aspects of our identities and interpersonal relationships. As a solo parent, I’m constantly seeking to expand and refine the community I’m building around my child, like a gardener planting and pruning as the seasons change. Our community is robust and diverse and full of interesting and inspiring people.
I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt recently about having introduced my child to people who are no longer present in our lives. In the past four and a half years, we’ve lost several people to suicide and other illnesses. Some people have chosen to stop spending time with us, or I’ve had to set strong boundaries in situations like the ones mentioned above. We’ve also moved houses twice (only once by choice) and lost that community we created with our neighbours. My losses are often my child’s losses, too.
We talk about the importance of consistency in a child’s life. I do wish I could have provided my daughter with more consistency in her early years – but I also feel that I’ve been able to teach her some key lessons about boundaries and about letting go, which is an important part of growing up. More and more, I feel that as long as I am a consistent parent to my child and that I model healthy ways of dealing with separation and grief, then I’m doing alright by her.
In the end, I really love people, and I want my daughter to meet all the incredible people I feel blessed to have in my life. Even if those relationships don’t last forever. I don’t want to shut myself off from forming close connections with people for fear of losing them. I don’t want to teach my daughter to do that either. There’s always a risk in making a new friend or dating a new person or welcoming someone into your home. And oftentimes that risk results in something beautiful. So I’m going to keep my door open.
Jessica Ruano 