Ten years ago, I became a full-time single mom.

At the time, my kids were just 3 and 7. If you've read my earlier blogs, you know the story - I left an unhealthy marriage and stepped into the unknown with nothing but fierce determination, an empty bank account, and two little people who depended entirely on me. What followed was a whirlwind of survival - emotionally, financially, and mentally. I became the sole breadwinner, the only adult in the house, the final say on every decision from where to live to what to eat for dinner. It was both freeing and terrifying.

There were a couple years when money was so tight I had to count every penny. I was scared. Not just of paying bills or getting through the week, but scared of getting it wrong. Scared I’d mess up my kids. Scared I’d never feel safe again.

Dating felt impossible. I didn’t have the time or energy for it. And truthfully, I was still healing. I did have two short relationships during that decade, but I always kept one foot out the door. Deep down, I knew they weren’t forever. They were more like reminders that I was still capable of connection, but not yet ready to let someone into the sacred space I’d fought so hard to build.

Then Bo came into our lives - our dog. Yes, she’s a girl, and the softest, wisest, most grounding presence we didn’t know we needed. After the kids begged me for almost a decade to get a dog, she came along and made our little family feel whole. The three of us (four, including Bo) had something solid. We laughed more. We came together and grew stronger. And I finally stopped waiting. I no longer felt that finding love was something that would “complete” us, we were already complete, already whole. So I got on with life on my own, with no more waiting or expectations. And then, just when I wasn’t looking for it anymore, love found me.

One quiet morning, he showed up. D. was calm, kind, and patient in a way I hadn’t experienced before. There was no pushing, no pretending, no playing roles or games. Just ease. Something in me recognized the difference. I didn’t feel the need to keep my guard up, not because I was naive, but because I was strong enough to walk away if things didn’t feel right.

But they did feel right. For the first time in my life, I felt truly at home with someone and unapologetically myself. It was liberating. 

From the very beginning, D. and I took our time. Both of us came with wounds and scars from past relationships that ran deep. The kids had been through a lot too. They had seen and felt the ripple effects of choices made in earlier chapters. We were both still healing, still navigating our own fears and regrets. There was definite trepidation.

But at the same time, there was something unshakably familiar about him and about us. When I looked into his eyes, when I rested in his arms, it felt like I’d been there before, like I’d known him forever.

Still, we moved slowly. D. needed time before introducing me to his kids. He carried the weight of past mistakes and wanted to protect their space, just as I had protected mine. We had each learned, through trial and error, that you can’t rush what matters. That when children are involved, love isn’t just between two people, it touches everything and everyone.

We’re now starting the process of blending our families. D. has two kids, a boy and a girl, the same ages as mine. It's wild, beautiful, chaotic and full of promise. We’re getting to know each other’s rhythms and quirks, learning how to navigate this new terrain with care. We’re now on the lookout for the perfect family home to build this next chapter together under one roof.

Blending families is not just a sweet montage of game nights and shared dinners. It’s layered. It's complicated. It means navigating different parenting styles, different routines, different unspoken rules and emotional landscapes. It means giving space for each child to feel safe and seen, without forcing bonds that aren’t ready to form.

It means patience. So much patience.

Some days feel seamless, everyone laughing in the kitchen, things clicking into place. And other days, it can feel like we’re speaking different languages, but we show up, we talk, we try again. We choose repair over resentment. We choose softness even when it would be easier to retreat, and most importantly, we give the kids permission to feel however they feel. This isn’t easy for them either, but they are excited at what the future holds for our soon-to-be family of six (seven, including Bo).

The truth is, love doesn’t erase history, but it can help write a new chapter with more compassion, more stability, and more grace. We’re not trying to be a perfect family, we’re just becoming our family.

I don’t take this season for granted. I know what it took to get here. I know the strength it took to rebuild a life, the courage it took to trust again, and the open-heartedness it takes every day to imagine a future with someone new, especially when they're a package deal.

We’re still learning. Still adjusting. Still growing. It feels real, it feels good, and most importantly, it feels like home… even as we search for the house that will hold us all.'

If you or someone you know is ready to take that next step and begin building a new life together, feel free to reach out to Renée as someone who can offer heartfelt, pragmatic real estate advice and guidance. She can be reached at 514-613-2988 or by email at info@teambroady.ca.