Dating As a Single Mom Means Living a Double Life

Mid-March in Miami is a special kind of idyllic; the reason my fellow locals and I stick out the soggy and punishing summer months. On the evening in question, I enjoyed the backyard breeze on my bare shoulders and midriff. It was the perfect weather for a crop top and maxi skirt— no boob sweat and no jacket was required to show a suggestive little bit of skin.

I was celebrating a friend’s husband’s birthday, and I’d brought a new flame to the party—a cute, younger guy from my gym whom I was simultaneously hiding from my kids but excited to show off to my friend group. The party presented a unique challenge, though. Like many parent friend groups, mine overlapped almost entirely with those of my little ones, and the birthday boy’s kids were best friends with mine.

I wasn’t ready for those worlds to collide, but in theory, I was safe from any awkward cameos. The party was for adults only, and all the kiddos had been shuffled off to a playdate with another friend. This left me free to sidle up to my date, carefree, with a spicy margarita in my hand and his arm around my shoulders. These days, I was either “single” or a “mom” but not both at the same time, and on this occasion, I was intent on being the former.

It’s possible that I’d become overly confident in my abilities to juggle the dual roles. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” my date had asked as I dressed for the party. He didn’t have kids himself, but worried that I might be playing with fire with the zero degrees of separation. Our entanglement was new, casual, and definitely not appropriate for discussion with my children.

“Of course!” I assured him. “Everyone there knows the drill. Separation of church and state. It will be fine.”

I was wrong. An hour and a half and two cocktails into the night, with the background of a booming early aughts playlist and deep conversation, I spotted her. While my date loaded up a baked potato for me at the food station, the unmistakable bouncing ponytail of my ten-year-old daughter made its way into the crowd. The adults froze in unison, like kids getting caught misbehaving at a party, but in reverse.

Apparently, whoever had been watching the group of kids hadn’t received the secret lover memo and thought it would be fun to show up with them as a surprise. “It will be so cute!” they probably thought. And it was, but for me, the surprise was also slightly terrifying.

Within seconds, my body morphed from “single” to “mom” like some creature from a Transformers movie (Optimus Prime’s ex-wife, probably). The baked potato was abandoned, and my date was ignored for the rest of the night as I tried to justify my skimpy outfit to my daughter, offering her platitudes about the weather and how it’s nice to dress up for a friend’s birthday.

Though the run-in sent me into a mild panic attack, I ultimately got away with the duplicity. My date maintained a respectful distance while my daughter was at the party, and she was none the wiser about whose arm I’d been on before she arrived. If she had figured it out, I’m sure we could have had an age-appropriate conversation about what mommy was up to, but I was grateful that it hadn’t been necessary.

Motherhood, no matter what the relationship status, is a constant balancing act. Morning routines, pickups, drop-offs, career, housework, keeping the little ones alive, keeping yourself alive. The thing that no one talks about, though, is how divorce can actually relieve some of that pressure.

Shared custody and healthy co-parenting came with an unexpected benefit for me—time. Do I miss my kids when they’re with their father? Tremendously. But I’m also at ease knowing that they are spending quality time with a loving and responsible parent. It allows me to be more present on “my” days and to figure out who I am when I’m not being a mother on the other days.

I try to schedule girls’ nights, events, and dates exclusively when the kids are with their dad, so when they’re with me, I can focus on meals together, homework, and bedtime routines. This is definitely a luxury, and I feel for the full-time moms who need to rely on childcare for those activities.

On the days I don’t have the kids, I have more time to work, practice self-care, and —yes—let my hair down (and put on my crop top) to live a double life. The “single” part of my identity is exciting and fulfilling, even though the mom guilt about not being devoted to my children 24/7 still eats at me. Is it ever possible to truly be two different people in one body?

It’s a question that I’ve heard asked dozens of times from my fellow divorced moms and in online communities, so I asked Dr. Mindy DeSeta, PhD, a therapist and certified sexologist, for her clinical take on my personal duplicity.

“Let’s drop the outdated message that becoming a mom means you have to give up who you are and pour every ounce of yourself into your kids,” DeSeta told me. “Motherhood is a huge part of you, but it shouldn’t be the only part.”

She also says that guilt is not always a reliable compass, and that sometimes we feel guilty about things that can actually be good for us. 

“Kids do best when their moms are supported, cared for, and emotionally well. Taking care of yourself, staying connected to your identity, and rebuilding your confidence isn’t “extra”—it’s part of being a healthy parent,” DeSeta says.

The confidence part can be tricky for recently divorced women. For me, reentering the dating scene was almost as awkward as my first kiss as a teenager. I hadn’t touched a new man in 13 years and was worried that my hook-up skills were embarrassingly outdated. Also, I’d completely restructured how I saw myself, from once being a sexual being to now a nurturing mom. Those feelings, DeSeta says, are not unique.

“Emotionally, a lot of newly single moms are navigating confidence and body changes, plus the ‘Who am I now?’ identity shift. Many feel rusty socially or sexually, worry they’ll be judged for having a child, or feel pressure to ‘explain’ their situation quickly.”

The conversation can be tricky. Many of my single-mom friends choose not to reveal they have children until they’re mid-meal on a first date, and I understand why. They want to establish chemistry before throwing a potential wrench into a budding romance. I’ve always been the opposite, oversharing from the beginning to weed out anyone who wouldn’t be game for my balancing act.

Surprisingly, it’s never been a deal breaker, and if it was — good riddance. Yes, as women and mothers, we need balance and to feel in tune with both our sexual and our nurturing sides, but if forced to choose between roles, it should be a no-brainer.

Sometimes, while on dates, my kids call with emergencies (real or perceived). Once, it was a sprained pinky from my son; another time, my daughter needed to hash out a mean-girl situation at school. Just as when she showed up at the birthday party, they take priority. I always answer the phone, but I don’t always drop everything to solve their problems.

The same could be said about balancing work and motherhood or balancing a healthy marriage and motherhood.

“Dating as a single mom is a balancing act of personal fulfillment and protective parenting,” DeSeta says, adding, “Treat dating as a self-care act. A time to check into your sexy side. Logistically, you need to get creative with your time. Think dates on your lunch break or every other weekend if you have joint custody.”

I wasn’t expecting how quickly it would feel natural to be a single woman again, how easy it would become to shed my mom skin and rediscover a little bit of who I was before school schedules and playdates. Mostly, I didn’t realize how much I needed the second skin.

“It’s less about splitting roles and more about creating a holistic woman,” DeSeta says. “It helps to think in terms of a compounded identity. You’re a mother, and you’re still you: a woman with needs, interests, relationships, and a life that matters outside the household. The goal isn’t to choose one, it’s to make room for all of you.”