In a high-rise flat somewhere in Nanjing, two divorced women and their three daughters have quietly rewritten the script of what “家” (jiā – home/family) means. They aren’t partners in the romantic sense; they aren’t married. Instead, they are two single mothers pooling their lives, resources, child-care, and hopes to co-create a household where the economic strain of solo parenting doesn’t have to be borne alone. The outcome? A new kind of family: no sex, no traditional husband-wife model, but shared meals, shared school runs, and shared resilience.
In recent years, with divorce rates climbing and the cost of living in China soaring, more and more women raising children on their own are re-imagining family. According to one recent report in The Guardian, there are roughly 30 million single mothers in mainland China. In more than 80 per cent of cases where parents separate, mothers retain custody. Faced with “时间贫困” (shíjiān pínkùn – time poverty) and “经济贫困” (jīngjì pínkùn – economic precarity), many simply cannot or choose not to remarry—but neither do they want to endure solo motherhood in silence.
Platforms such as Xiaohongshu (小红书) and Douyin (抖音) have become fertile ground for women advertising “寻找合住妈妈” (seeking co-living moms) or “联合育儿妈妈” (co-parenting moms) arrangements. One posting reads: “Looking for another single mom to share an apartment so we can watch each other’s backs — if your child is similar age, even better.” The idea is simple: share the rent, split the duties, have a back-up when the child is sick or deadlines loom, and most importantly, not feel isolated.
Culturally, this is no small shift. The dominant ideal in China has long been the “传统家庭” (chuántǒng jiātíng – traditional family): married couple, children, lineage (传宗接代 – chuán zōng jiē dài). Single motherhood has often carried stigma. One survey found 50 per cent of single mothers worried their child might be viewed as “有缺陷” (yǒu quēxiàn – defective) by peers. Yet, these co-living structures and single-mothers kindergartens and small communities are quietly turning stigma into solidarity. Researchers call them a “functional alternative” to the nuclear family.
In the Nanjing example, the two women say their motivation was practical—sharing a business, running a household—but it evolved into something richer. The daughters now have “siblings,” weekends are full of laughter and shared outings, and the mothers describe the arrangement as “双倍的爱” (shuāng bèi de ài – double the love). But it isn’t entirely without friction. Online forums admit to failures: mismatched parenting philosophies, one mother moving away, children not bonding. The informal nature of the setup means there’s no legal contract outlining duties or rights. “The state welfare system didn’t furnish what we needed,” one academic observed, “so they are improvising.”
And the structural pressures remain stark. One issue is access to child-care subsidies. In Sichuan province, officials stated that subsidies for children under three are available only if the parent is married. A single mother asked online: “Without a marriage certificate can we claim?” The answer was: only if you form a recognised “family unit” with marital status. Hence the appeal of these mutual-aid households: they create a de-facto family unit that meets social, emotional and financial needs even if it doesn’t fit the legal mould, and often join forces with other mothers to create cooperatives for childcare.
What does this tell us about changing gender dynamics in China? For one, it underscores how women are rewriting the script of independence rather than simply awaiting a partner. Psychologists note that today’s single mothers often rededicate to self-worth, entrepreneurship and community. These communal households reflect a shift away from patriarchal, male-breadwinner models and toward collective female agency. In other words, the network of solo mothers supporting one another is becoming a new social “家族” (jiāzú – family clan) of choice rather than obligation.
For children, the results may be quietly transformative. Many report fewer feelings of loneliness, more playmates at home, a steady adult presence. One mother said: “An only child can feel孤单 (gū dān – lonely). Living together, the kids fight, make up, and learn how to get along. That’s valuable for their future.” However, the long-term psychological and legal impacts are yet to be studied in depth.
My dearest Chinese sisters, I see you. I see you pushing strollers alone through subway stations, juggling work deadlines with PTA meetings, cooking dinner with one hand while answering your boss on WeChat with the other. And now, I see you doing something even more revolutionary: choosing each other. Not waiting for the State to support you (ha!), not waiting for a man to “come back” or “step up” (double ha!), but organizing, strategizing, and building families and childcare centers out of solidarity, not marriage certificates.
Auntie claps. Auntie bows. Auntie pours you jasmine tea and a shot of baijiu, because this is courage with a bit of spice.
You see, official rhetoric in China likes to talk endlessly about “家庭和谐” (jiātíng héxié – family harmony). But harmony requires instruments that actually show up to play. And many of the men? They walked off-stage long ago, leaving women with the bills, the school paperwork, the emotional labor, and the midnight fevers. The State, meanwhile, says “Have more babies! Women should contribute to national rejuvenation!” but then forgets to provide daycare, affordable housing, or even social respect for single mothers. Sisters, the math doesn’t math.
So what do our Chinese single moms do? They form new families. Practical families. Fiercely loving families. Peanut-butter-and-no-screaming-at-breakfast families. Households where the children have playmates and the mothers have shoulders to lean on. This is not romantic partnership—but it is partnership. It’s survival and joy wrapped together with a clean floor on Saturday morning.
Let me confess something, since we’re among sisters: Auntie is also a single mother. Yes, yes, the famous Spicy Auntie with her red lipstick and sharp tongue raised a daughter—alone. A brilliant, loud, hilarious 20-year-old girl who grew up knowing that love doesn’t have to look like a couple’s wedding portrait to be real. Some days were hard. Some nights felt like swallowing the ocean. But I did not drown. And neither will you.
Sisters, you are not “broken families.” You are invented families. You are the architects of the future. The family of the 21st century is not mother-father-2.5 children in a box apartment. It is chosen. It is collective. It is built from courage, coffee, shared laundry, and late-night laughter.
Where the State disappears, where men retreat, women will always, always find each other. And when women find each other, we make the world livable.
Keep going. Auntie is cheering you on, loudly, in red.