Written by Liz Hill, a single mother living in London.
As a single mother working within the creative arts, nothing fills me with more dread than the words ‘possible school closure’ (except perhaps “I can only get you panto darling”).
But, to be honest, although we knew it was coming, Boris’ announcement that “schools will close for the foreseeable future” caused shockwaves of unprecedented panic among single parents like myself.
How will we cope? We don’t know, because we have never had to deal with a situation like this.
As an actress, I’m used to juggling motherhood and working life.
Bringing up a child on your own, albeit with family support, is demanding, mentally draining, and financially challenging.
I currently have three ‘resting’ jobs: teaching, being a carer and invigilating. They’re not my actual career but they enable me to survive whilst pursuing the job I trained for (for 6 years).
To continue is selfish; we struggle and my son goes without when I’m not working. But the rewards surpass any guilt I feel and, hey, he doesn’t know any different.
Not many kids get to hang backstage at ‘Cursed Child’ for a year whilst Mummy berates Harry Potter – so come on, he’ll take the sausage rolls from Greggs for dinner when times are hard!
Well, they’re hard now. And I’m on my own.
Why Single Parents Are Struggling During Isolation:
It Impacts Your Children
Coronavirus, AKA COVID-19 has the starring role and we are mere players. Phrases like ‘self-isolate’ and ‘lock-down’ now roll off my son’s tongue as easily as Minecraft and FIFA 20.
For weeks, we have stood at the school gates, like extras in ‘Motherland’, saying “It’s rumoured they might shut the school one week early for Easter” or “If I have to self-isolate, how will Emilia have her aprés-ski fancy dress party?” Our WhatsApp groups sent memes of idiots with loo rolls, and politicians washing their hands (for at least 20 seconds).
But now, the planes stop, the borders shut, and our scoffing has turned to dread as we realise the gravity of the situation.
It Stops You Working
My world – the arts – imploded. Overnight the artistic world has been buried. Friends have sent messages saying their productions have been halted and they are being sent home, without pay. Plays, operas, musicals and ballets have shut, and won’t start up again for months. National and international tours have been scrapped and new commissions abandoned. The acting community is at a loss; we are grieving and scared.
What does all this mean for me? I’m a single mother who cannot teach, as school is shut; who cannot care, as the elderly are confined; and who cannot invigilate, as there are no exams.
It’s not just me – social media is fit to burst with theatrical and film glitterati now desperate to make connections even with the ‘D listers’! (I can’t help but have a sense of schadenfreude. “Ha! Now you know what it’s like to be me.”) But I get their desperation. Filming has been abandoned, production has halted on dramas, and don’t get me started on Eurovision...
Of course, I’m not a nurse, a doctor, a teacher, or a frontline worker. They are real heroes, working impossibly hard.
But everyone is facing a struggle to keep things together. Some European artistic bodies have offered financial support (if only I’d got that Irish passport!), but not everyone can access financial aid.
Work is equally uncertain. Today was my last day of caring for Roger, my lovely gentleman with a broken hip, and I am now an unemployed statistic.
I am not alone, I am one of thousands, and this number will likely rise. Do you think Lidl will now finally read my application?
My son, my gorgeous, funny, bright and capable boy, will now have to be homeschooled.
Visions of whimsical chats and glorious sticky artwork have been brutally shattered and replaced by arguments and tears, culminating in my banshee-like chorus of “If that coronavirus doesn’t kill you, I will!”
And if we have to watch CATS the movie one more time, I’ll section myself.
You Have To Remember The Good Things
But it’s not all bad. Apparently there are fish in the waters of Venice and the air is breathable for the first time in years.
In isolation we can stay in our PJs and watch cheerleaders rhythmically flip to Daytona and strangers get married for two hours.
I finally have the time to clean my house, defrost the freezer, and fill in the 25 page Universal Credit form.
I’m frightened, yet hopeful.
I’ve seen the kindness of strangers uplift and unite, and as Gloria Gaynor said “we will survive”. (But seriously, does anyone actually have any spare loo roll?)
And finally, if all else fails, I can always put on my dating profile ‘Single mother, jobless, looking to meet someone to self isolate with …’
Liz is a displaced Northerner having lived in London for over 25 years.
Alongside her acting career she has mentored vulnerable children, run away from a circus, and sanded her living room floor single handedly. Currently writing her first play whilst trying to rewire her son’s bedroom.