Single Mamas Seen: Meet Erica Robertson

BY CHRISTINA MCGAIRK

After nearly 10 years of marriage, Erica Robertson became a single mother to two children, one of whom has complex medical and developmental needs. But the truth is, she had been carrying the weight of motherhood long before the divorce.

In this candid Q&A, she opens up about the realities of solo parenting, navigating life after a difficult co-parenting split, and the daily challenges of raising a neurodivergent child. Through it all, she shares what keeps her going: faith, community and the unwavering love she has for her kids.

Q: Can you tell us a bit about your journey into single motherhood and what life looks like now with your two children?

Wow, where do I even start? Technically, I became a single mom in 2021 when I got divorced after nearly ten years of marriage. But truthfully, I felt like a single mother long before the papers were signed. Their dad was physically there, but emotionally and practically, I carried everything. He’d sleep all the time, and when I needed help, like being short on childcare or asking for support, I’d get a response like, “Okay, well I’ll need it back.” Everything always fell on me.

I found out I was pregnant with my youngest, David, in 2020. When I told his dad, he barely reacted. He said, “Oh, okay. What do you want me to do about it?” That moment told me everything. David’s pregnancy was difficult, and once he was born, it became clear he had unique needs. He’s since been diagnosed with autism, ADHD, a chromosome deletion, two holes in his heart, and a few other medical concerns. I believe my daughter may also be neurodivergent, and I plan to have her assessed soon.

Being a single mom of two, especially with one child who needs constant redirection and supervision, is incredibly hard. David requires so much emotionally, physically, and mentally, that I sometimes feel guilty for not being able to give my daughter the same level of attention. I love both of them deeply, and I try to double up on the love just to make up for what they’re missing from the other parent.

Co-parenting hasn’t really worked for us. Their father doesn’t believe anything is “wrong” with David, and his parenting style hasn’t changed, with yelling, screaming, and even hitting. That’s part of why I left. Now I try to create a safe and nurturing environment at home, but it’s a lot. Some days I battle with depression. It’s hard when you can’t go out unless it’s to a sensory-friendly event or a space where your child is accepted as they are. The isolation is real.

Even dating feels impossible. Babysitters are hard to find. People don’t always understand David’s behaviors. Today, for example, he was screeching loudly, and people stared or asked, “Why is he doing that?” Sometimes I just want to say, “He’s autistic. He’s expressing something. He’s not hurting anyone.”

I’ve even been told to stop praying for patience because “God already gave you what you asked for.” I don’t know what to pray for anymore—peace? Strength? Clarity?

It’s not an easy life. But even with all the hard, I wouldn’t trade my kids for the world. I do wish there were easier paths, just one magic switch to make things smoother for him. Sometimes I second-guess every decision: Am I doing the right thing as a mom? Am I helping him grow into who he’s meant to be?

It’s not an easy life. But even with all the hard, I wouldn’t trade my kids for the world. I do wish there were easier paths, just one magic switch to make things smoother for him. Sometimes I second-guess every decision: Am I doing the right thing as a mom? Am I helping him grow into who he’s meant to be?

The financial burden is heavy. Everything falls on me. But at least I don’t have anyone telling me what I can or can’t do. There’s a kind of freedom in that. If I want to take them to the circus tomorrow or the zoo next week, I can. Sure, I may worry later that the money should’ve gone to bills, but seeing that joy on their faces? It’s worth it. It reminds me why I do this.

There’s a lot of love in our home. There’s also exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness. But I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the freedom to raise them my way. And I’m proud of us, even on the hard days.

Q: How did your divorce impact your parenting—especially with one child being autistic?

Oh boy... where do I even begin? Honestly, the divorce made parenting much harder, mostly because of the kind of person their dad is. He’s manipulative, emotionally abusive, and has narcissistic tendencies. A lot of my parenting, especially with my daughter who’s older, has involved unlearning the harmful things he’s tried to plant in her mind.

He creates a negative narrative about me in her head. For example, we’ll go out and do something fun, like visit the aquarium, and afterward he’ll tell her, “Your mom is a manipulator. You don’t have any freedom with her.” So now I’m not just parenting, I’m having to rebuild her trust, her mindset, and how she sees the world and me.

He’s not involved consistently. He’ll pop up online or call for two minutes, say a few things to stir things up, and disappear again. He still tries to parent like it’s 1995, telling them what to do, yelling when they don’t, expecting instant obedience, with zero understanding of autism, ADHD, or sensory needs.

He doesn’t know how to meet our son where he is. When David doesn’t follow directions right away because he literally can’t process them, his dad will just yell or even lash out. That is not discipline; that is harm. One time I noticed a knot on top of David’s head and asked what happened. He said his dad hit him because he was “disrespectful.” That was the last time they saw him, on Mother’s Day weekend.

I’ve had to draw boundaries to protect my children, especially David. Co-parenting is nearly impossible when the other parent doesn’t believe there’s anything different about your child and refuses to change how they interact with them. At this point, my support system has gotten really small. My circle has shrunk down to almost nothing, and I’m doing most of it on my own. It’s lonely. It’s painful. And it’s exhausting. But at the end of the day, I know I’m making the right choices to keep my children safe, especially my son, who can’t advocate for himself yet.

Q: What has been the most unexpected challenge of solo parenting, and what’s helped you through it?

Honestly, the biggest challenge for me has been not having a solid support system. There’s no real “escape” from our dayto-day, it’s constant. When you’re parenting alone, especially kids with high needs, you don’t get breaks. My kids are often in fight-or-flight mode, and over time, I’ve realized my own brain has started to live in that mode too. It’s like I’m always bracing for the next meltdown, the next struggle, the next hard thing. It’s isolating. And after a while, it made me question myself. Like, do I have undiagnosed ADHD? Autism? Anxiety? Should I get tested too? But then there’s also that stigma in the Black community, where people will say, “Don’t let them label your child,” or “They’ll grow out of it.” It’s confusing, and there’s a lot to untangle, not just for your kids, but for yourself too.

What’s helped me most has been connecting with other moms who get it. I was part of the first cohort of the MentorMentee program with Mom Mentors Indy, and honestly, it changed everything. My mentor has been incredible. Just being able to call someone and say, “Hey, did your child go through this too?” or “This just happened, what would you do?” makes such a difference. Her child is a little older than mine, so she’s already walked part of this road.

And then there are the friendships I’ve built with other moms in similar situations. Women like Pam, my neighbor, and some of the local moms I’ve bonded with. We have safe spaces now, places where the kids can just run and be themselves, and we don’t have to apologize for every noise or meltdown. We don’t have to say “Oops, sorry!” over and over again. That alone is healing.

Being surrounded by people who don’t judge you or your child, who aren’t constantly trying to “fix” your kid or question your parenting, is a game-changer. It clears your mind. It gives you space to breathe. And in a life where almost everything feels heavy, that kind of space is everything.

Q: How do you balance the needs of both your children while still showing up for yourself?

Can I be honest and just say, I don’t. I haven’t figured it out yet. It’s really hard, and I often feel like I’m just surviving from one moment to the next.

Most of my day revolves around David. He only sleeps in my room even though he has his own bed. So I try to bring my daughter, Tamar, into the room with us after he’s finally asleep, just to have some one-on-one time with her. But by then, it’s already late. She usually stays for maybe an hour or two, then heads to bed herself.

Tamar has gotten used to not having much of my attention, which breaks my heart. She’s in her room most of the time, watching TV or on her phone. I know she needs me, too, but she’s so used to not getting it that she doesn’t even ask anymore. That’s what hurts the most.

Everything in our world is structured around keeping David safe and calm. We can’t leave him unattended for long because his needs can quickly turn into situations that are unsafe for him or the rest of us. So I’m constantly alert, constantly on edge.

And showing up for myself? I honestly don’t know what that looks like right now. My life is centered around meeting both of their needs, but David’s needs are so intense that they take up almost everything I have to give.

I try to create small moments, just a few minutes here and there, with Tamar when I can. I’m still learning how to balance things, but most days, it feels like I’m just doing the best I can with what I have.

Q: What do you wish people understood better about divorced moms raising children with special needs?

I wish people understood that we’re still human. We still have needs, dreams, and emotions just like anyone else. But the world doesn’t always make room for us. Being a divorced mom raising a child with special needs feels like you’re stuck in a constant game of catch-up—emotionally, financially, spiritually. And people often judge us without understanding the weight we carry.

It’s like we don’t get to exist as full people anymore. The focus is always on the child, or the diagnosis, or the fact that we’re not married. But we’re more than that. My marriage ended, yes, but that doesn’t make me less of a woman or less deserving of love or support. Sometimes, leaving was the only path toward peace. And while it’s not easy, it was necessary.

When you’re trying to rebuild your life, whether in your career, in church, or even socially, it’s hard not to feel invisible or misunderstood. Especially in faith spaces, divorce can still carry a stigma. But I believe some relationships are seasonal. Not everyone is meant to be in your life forever, and sometimes letting go is where healing starts.

As a single parent of a child with special needs, you’re carrying two or three lifetimes of responsibility. You’re not just mom—you’re therapist, advocate, teacher, and provider. You don’t have backup. You don’t have weekends off. I’ve had people ask, “Why can’t their dad do it?” or assume I have the same kind of help others do. But often, I don’t. It’s all on me. And that takes a toll. It’s easy to lose yourself, to become a shell of the person you once were. But somehow, you zip up your jacket, push through the fatigue, and do what needs to be done. Every single day.

Q: What supports—people, routines, or resources—have made the biggest difference for your family?

Honestly, it’s the people. That’s made all the difference. I still remember the very first person who looked me in the eye at a Mom’s Group event—you. We gravitated toward each other immediately. And then there was TiTi, whose like, ‘I don’t like people, and I laughed because I said, “I don’t like people either!” That moment stuck with me. It was small, but it made me feel seen.

You and TiTi have both made such a lasting impact on my life. Even when we don’t get to spend a lot of time together, just knowing I’m not alone means the world. And then there’s Pam and a few other moms I’ve connected with who’ve become part of my support circle. It’s not a big group, but it’s a meaningful one.

Mentorship has also been a huge blessing. Through the Mom Mentors program, I found someone I can text or call when something new happens—whether it’s a tough day, a weird behavior, or even a small win. Just having another mom who understands, who’s been there, and doesn’t judge—that kind of support is everything.

It’s also about having safe spaces. Places where our kids can just be themselves without all the constant apologies, no one staring, no one whispering. That kind of space lets us breathe. It gives us clarity. It gives us rest.

Even with all the chaos, I’ve found community—and in this journey, that’s been one of the biggest gifts.

Q: What would you say to another mom in the thick of it— feeling overwhelmed, unseen, or uncertain? I would say: hold on. Just hold on. If you don’t have a spiritual foundation, I encourage you to find one. And if you already have faith—lean into it. Because in those lonely, heavy moments, when it feels like no one sees you or understands what you’re carrying, that’s when your faith shines the brightest. That’s when God, or whatever higher power you believe in, shows up. That’s when the weight begins to lift, little by little.

Cry through it if you need to. Sit in your car, scream, lock yourself in the bathroom for ten minutes just to breathe. Whatever it takes. That release is necessary. Weeping may last for a night, but joy truly does come in the morning.

There were moments I thought, What would my life look like if I didn’t have these kids? And I want other moms to know: it’s okay to think those thoughts. It doesn’t make you a bad mom. It makes you human.

When you’re finally able to come up for air, even just for a few minutes, you’ll be stronger. You’ll be more grounded. And from that place, you can handle the next thing, and then the next. Because when you’re raising kids with high needs, you don’t get to live day-by-day. You live second-by-second. And that’s a pace only other moms like us truly understand.

I used to be a yelling mom. I was angry. I was overwhelmed. But over time, I realized yelling wasn’t helping anyone. It wasn’t changing behavior—it was just exhausting all of us. So I had to find a new way. I had to slow down, breathe deeper, and give myself grace.

Stick to your routines when you can. Stick to your values. And let go of the idea that you have to do it all perfectly. You don’t. You won’t.

Also, find your people—whether it’s another mom your kid connects with, a neighbor, a support group, a mentor, a friend. Blood doesn’t always make family. Sometimes it’s the people who show up, who listen, who stay, that matter most.

And whatever you believe—hold onto that. Let it carry you. You are not alone, even when it feels like it.

It took me a long time to get to this place. But I promise: there’s hope on the other side of the hard.

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