A Bolt From The Blue
I chickened out the first time I was asked to write this - my account of getting pregnant, single and alone, an expat in New York City, without health insurance, without a plan.
Going back to the start is like reliving it; all-consuming and dark. But it’s time to get it out, these words have been drumming at the inside of my skull for months.
Moving to New York felt like free-falling, brave and bold - I have been told - and I guess it is. I had a single suitcase, an internship, a friend I hadn’t seen in years, her sofa to sleep on, and enough money to last a few months without pay. I leapt into the city and hit the ground running. Living in the States had become a dream of distracting intensity - impossible to ignore. So, I researched and reached out to friends who had contacts there, and I was soon connected with Phil Duff who - with his generous and selfless spirit - sent me a screenshot of a Facebook post: “Intern wanted at new hospitality PR firm in NYC.” I immediately emailed the contact, Rachel Harrison.
I had my interview for the position over Skype while helping LCC’s JJ Goodman host the world’s biggest cocktail masterclass in a circus tent at Wilderness Festival, naturally. It was probably the hottest day of the year and I was wearing a swimming costume. I had scrambled to find the WiFi and tried not to look like I was taking the interview in a makeshift dressing room, but nonetheless Rachel offered me the internship shortly after pointing out the semi naked aerialists rehearsing in the background. “Come to New York,” she said with nonchalance, the magical air of possibility from the land of opportunity travelled on these words and reached me, like star dust. I was buzzed… the masterclass finished with Espresso Martinis, and just like that, I was moving to America! I landed in the city on September 12th 2015, and after a couple of months interning, the agency sponsored my visa and took me on.
Living in New York was gritty and gruelling, heartbreaking, enchanting, and eye-opening. The first year was one of the toughest of my life, but I gradually fell in love with the city - its sense of community, its pace, and the calibre…of everything. I felt free. I was laser-focused on work and life revolved around that. My job was tough, but I was learning from the best, in the most exhilarating industry, at the centre of the universe. The months flew by, the agency was skyrocketing, and life was a rotation of client events, tastings, meetings, and boozy brunches on weekends. It was hard and crazy and fun. It was life in the fast lane.
On May 17th 2017, I emergency-stopped. I was pregnant. Shit.
I felt sheer terror seeing the positive result on that plastic stick. Sheer terror mixed with panic, shock, confusion… “Fuck”. It was a while before I could speak… “I can’t possibly do this, can I? Is it my decision to make?” I actually said those words out loud to my housemate. She held my face and said “Yes, yes it is, and yes you can”. Her certainty gripped me. When I eventually calmed down, I thought about it. I lived paycheck to paycheck, I had opted out of company health insurance, I was single, I had no family nearby, I lived in a tiny shared apartment. I had a job some people would kill for. I didn’t want to give that up, should I have to? There were so many questions, but really there was just one to answer: can I do a fucking good job of this on my own? The answer was yes. I didn’t know how, but I just knew I could.
It was never really a decision; it was never an option to terminate the pregnancy. It was just a question of how I was going to pull it off brilliantly when the only person I could depend on was myself. I was told that I was irresponsible, stupid, reckless, incapable. I was told it would ruin my life and that it was never, ever, going to be ok. I was scared, and most of the time, the belief that I could give this child a good life was so fragile and faint, I could barely grasp onto it, but it never went away completely. The protection I felt towards my growing baby was fearless and fierce. I shut the negative statements out, I went inwards, I built a fort, and I focused on moving forward.
I was apprehensive about work because I didn’t know if my role would be doable in the future if I wasn’t able to be there to host events and attend media meetings. I wasn’t able to provide a plan or even confirm which country I was going to be in once the baby arrived. I told Rachel the news a few weeks before Tales of the Cocktail that July and her reaction was wonderful. We agreed we would keep going, I would keep her updated, and we would take things as they come.
The relentless continuity of public relations was a calming anchor when everything else felt uncertain. I still attended tastings and events, I still went to Tales, I just didn’t drink. I started to adapt, and my colleagues were literally by my side every day. They felt the baby kick, they asked me about appointments, and they helped me brainstorm names. That November, they threw me a baby shower with presents and a beautiful blue cake (I was having a boy). They showed me I was allowed to celebrate, and for the first time, I did.
One of my main struggles was accepting that you can’t speed up time and know what is going to happen in a future that isn’t here yet. At times I was paralysed by the uncertainty of I all, but to move forward I had to let go and accept that I couldn’t figure it all out at once - I would have to take the necessary steps and wait. I was free-falling again, but I embraced it, and as the weeks passed, the plan did come together.
Healthcare was a pragmatic hurdle to assess. My status as a single, pregnant “alien” meant I was eligible for Medicare (America’s government-funded healthcare service). This meant longer wait times for appointments, a variety of obstetricians (instead of a designated one), and a limited choice of hospitals, but no additional fees. I researched and found that the training given to Medicare’s doctors is no different to those working in privately funded hospitals. Plus, my baby would be protected under Medicare’s plan for up to a year after his birth if there were any complications. I opted for Medicare, knowing I could switch to my company’s plan at any time. I saved the money to spend on the things my baby would need.
As my bump grew, the logistics of my circumstances became a reality. Once the baby arrived, I would need to focus on being a new parent. The most sensible place I could imagine doing this was in my hometown - the Lake District in the UK with my family close by. But I didn’t want to leave work prematurely to fly back to the UK and give birth there. I wanted to work up until my due date, and I wanted to give my son the option of dual citizenship. I asked Rachel if I could potentially work remotely, and she was open to it. So, a long-term plan started to form. I would give birth in New York then retreat, find my feet, and trial a working model of remote publicity.
My baby boy was born safely at Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan at 1:19am on January 22nd 2018. We flew back to the UK a few weeks later.
I spent the next three months watching my little boy grow and adapting to parenthood. I was incredibly lucky to find a local childminder named Dawn - a real-life fairy Godmother to whom I owe so much of my success as a working parent. Dawn had cared for children all of her life, she lived nearby and was flexible and understanding of my circumstances. Over the following months, the peace of mind she provided was crucial for my ability to thrive. I started working fifteen hours a week initially and this gradually increased at a comfortable pace. That October I hosted a press trip in London during Cocktail Week, and I was able to focus on work knowing my son was safe and happy at home with his grandparents and Dawn. By the time he was one year old, I was working thirty hours a week. For trips back to New York, I enrolled him into a great daycare in Manhattan so he could come with me. The flexibility of my job and the support networks I had created made it possible for me to attend work trips in London and the US and travel regularly while maintaining the secure attachment a baby needs. The fact I breastfed him for two and a half years is testament to this.
In 2019 we made a big step towards our future and moved to Manchester in the UK. I am writing this from our home in Altrincham, a leafy green suburb full of other families. Here, we are half-way between London and the Lake District, close to friends, and minutes from the airport. I now work full time and my son attends nursery at one of the country’s best schools. He is full of personality, always smiling and receives progress reports that make me cry with pride. We live with my one of my oldest girlfriends - another career-driven young woman. Acquaintances are perplexed by this unusual arrangement, but I am proud to be raising my son in a stable and happy environment with two ambitious, independent people as his immediate role models.
Until recently I felt ashamed by my status as a single parent, and how this status came about; the hurtful statements stuck, and there is a stigma. But now the term “single parent” doesn’t resonate with me in the same way anymore. I view myself as a parenting body - with the resources available to me, and the people I am surrounded by, I can provide everything my child needs and more. I didn’t plan the way I became a parent, but I have been able to turn it into a success and not a failure. As my son turns three, I am so grateful that I trusted myself. I am grateful I believed in the magical possibilities that danced across the airwaves from the States that defining day.
The people who told me I couldn’t do this referred to the way a family should look, and the way things should be done. They didn’t think outside the box. It saddens me that our lives as parents can be limited and dictated to by conventions that needlessly suppress our potential. I was told by many people that I would have to sacrifice my career for bringing a child into the world singlehandedly, but I refused to accept that. My job, and my role as a publicist in this industry has been a guiding light through the chaos, and also my saving grace. It has flowered beautifully in parallel with my growth as a parent. I owe so much of that to Rachel, who gave me the room to figure it all out without pressure, and the flexibility and trust to adapt the job in tandem with being a solo parent. I hope this story demonstrates the possibilities of what can be done, and inspires other families who, too, boldly choose to go against the norm.