I took on a second job as a single parent to make ends meet. Somehow, it became a lifelong habit

These years, it’s called the face roll. But bingle parents the likes of me have known it as survival. Taking a second job isn’t always about saving for a vacation or some other pleasure. For many, it’s about ensuring there’s food at home. In fact, it’s an all-too-familiar way of life in a country where cost of living increases have dogged citizens for generations. 

My family history gives evidence that side hustles have been around for a while. 

When my great-grandfather Michael Sheehan died in 1899, his wife, Annie Sheehan, needed to augment her income as a dressmaker. She crowded her three youngsters into her own bedroom and rented the free space to boarders. I drew upon Annie’s example years later when I found myself alone with two kids and no child support. Bidding farewell to leisure, I began looking for extra work.

Is it fanciful to believe that side hustlers are warriors in a tenacious tribe? Although starting work after a day of work might sound repellent, I found my self-imposed lack of work-life balance had lasting positive effects. 

True, at times I was so tired that months dissolved into memories with less definition than a finger painting. Yet my children assure me that I was an active parent who cleaned, helped with homework, scolded and attended school functions. And since they knew no differently, they didn’t complain that our quality time together often took place during excursions to a laundromat or grocery store. 

The result? Through example, my children developed the knack of managing time with the precision of knife jugglers performing on unicycles. By necessity, they developed impressive cooking skills — undoubtedly cultivated to protest the homemade microwave dinners I left them in the fridge. 

When I started side hustling, internet-based remote work was still a sci-fi whisper. My jobs had to fit my babysitter’s schedule. That’s why I accepted work at a veterinarian’s office after hours. Despite my fear of dogs at that time, being hungry or without a roof scared me more. In desperation, I agreed to monitor drooling patients post-surgery.

The job bestowed on me an admiration for dogs, which are generally affectionate, even when humiliated by cones of shame. The job also made me cautious around cats. As perennially dissatisfied customers of the animal kingdom, cats use their claws and teeth to register complaints.

Another side hustle involved developing horoscopes for newborns. I’d dabbled in astrology as a hobby and only turned to it for income when a rent increase forced me to look to the stars for financial help. 

Occasionally, the horoscopes hinted that a baby could mature into a wild or criminal adult. In these cases, I resorted to a glossary of vague descriptors, telling the babies’ parents things such as: “Your son might not always choose the best friends.” I believe this taught me diplomacy, which wasn’t one of my natural gifts.

Perhaps my most unusual side hustle was with a romance publisher. Every week, a backbreaking box of manuscripts was dumped at my door. And every week, I’d write reports with recommendations to reject or publish. Although I appreciated working from home — a rarity back in the day — the job turned me into a pragmatist when it came to men. 

A fixed diet of love stories destroyed my starry-eyed faith in matters of the heart. I began to feel sickened, like someone living on a diet of chocolate. I craved the meat and potatoes of a steady, predictable relationship. The result was a knee-jerk reaction to anything sentimental, including rom-coms and Valentine’s Day. When I re-entered the world of dating, it was with a cloak of prudence worn over my little black dress.

After my children matured and left home, I was free to drop down to one job. I considered the idea for about 30 seconds. Nope. Not for me. After the first scary years of being the sole breadwinner for my family, I’d developed the resourcefulness of a mama bear in the wild. And the thrill of hunting for work, I’ve discovered, doesn’t go into hibernation once the children are gone. It becomes a lifelong hunger.

As noted in a 2021 study, side hustlers report a sense of empowerment and a positive mindset. I could serve as the venerable poster child for this phenomenon. Back when I had a full-time job in social services, co-workers often remarked on my upbeat attitude. I put it down to my daily outsize Thermos of coffee. But it could have more to do with my outsize workload from side hustles. It felt — and still feels — like a superpower.

Over the years, I picked up a new side hustle: teaching night courses. The work is finicky, labour-intensive and stressful — a job description that most would wisely shun. For me, it was love at first lecture. In fact, I liked teaching so much that I persevered until it became my full-time job.

Nowadays, well into what a more sensible woman would do in her retirement, I continue to pick up teaching gigs. The extra money’s a perk, but no longer my incentive. For me, deadlines are an elixir. They make me feel alert, vital and future-oriented — marvellous assets at any age, but harder to come by later in life. 

So go ahead and call me a “workaholic.” I’ve heard this often — usually from those who have enjoyed more comfortable circumstances. Like Annie Sheehan and legions before me who had to parent alone, I’m used to unflattering labels. Besides, we have a smug secret: Not all superheroes wear capes. Some of us wear an assortment of uniforms and name badges as we hustle between jobs.

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Freelance contributor

Lynn A. Farquhar retired from Wilfrid Laurier University in 2022. Since then, she has worked as a sessional instructor at Brock University, Sheridan College and Conestoga College.

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