Fruit of Your Loins

Before you call me a bitter single mama, hear me out.

I got married young and I didn’t plan to be a single mum. I had dreams of a solid partnership, of children growing up with a father they’d admire, and a home where responsibilities were shared, love was present, and peace was the background music of our lives.

But one day, everything changed. I left and I never looked back. Maybe it was naïve of me, but I honestly thought life would be a straight line. That we’d equally divide responsibilities, nurture our kids with intention, and give them the best of both worlds. Little did I know how wrong I was.

Because when I walked away, I didn’t just lose a marriage, I gained a weight that never fully shifts. The mental load. The planning. The disciplining. The comforting. The bills. The birthdays. The broken hearts. All of it.

And this is not about bitterness. This is about truth. About calling on men, fathers, to show up for the fruit of their loins. You see, a child doesn’t care much for the excuses adults carry. They care about who was there. Who showed up. Who helped with homework? Who came to their school events? Who listened when they were scared. Who knew their favorite snack, or how they liked their bedtime stories?

It’s easy to post the perfect picture when the lighting is right and the caption is cute. But fatherhood is not a photo-op. It’s a daily decision. It’s being present even when it’s inconvenient. It’s choosing your child over your ego. It’s taking the high road when co-parenting gets hard. It’s realizing that your children are watching, and learning, what love looks like, what protection feels like, and what responsibility means.

If you brought a life into this world, you owe that life consistency. Not just cash. Not just drop-by calls. Not just new sneakers on birthdays. But your presence. Your attention. Your investment.

You cannot outsource fatherhood. You cannot disappear and expect your child to blossom. Because, as much as I will always do my best, I’m still just one half of what they were promised.

So no, I’m not bitter. I’m a mother who’s tired of sugarcoating abandonment. I’m a woman raising boys who will one day be men, and I refuse to raise another generation that thinks emotional distance is masculinity.

To the men raising their children: I see you. I salute you. You are breaking cycles and rewriting stories. To the men still running: your children will remember your absence more than your silence.

The fruit of your loins deserves more than memories of you; they deserve moments with you.