She wakes up at 5 in the morning.
Her body aches from yesterday’s work, but she doesn’t have the luxury to hit snooze. The kids need her. The world needs her.
She drags herself out of bed, her feet heavy, her heart even heavier. She wonders, for the hundredth time, how long she can keep this up. But she doesn’t stop. She never does.
She is a single mom.
She’s the one holding everything together. No backup. No partner to split the bills or share the bedtime stories. Just her. She’s both mom and dad, the nurturer and the protector.
At the kitchen counter, there are bills she hasn’t dared open. They mock her, reminding her that she’s one misstep away from chaos. She wonders if her kids notice. She prays they don’t. They deserve a childhood without chaos.
So, she hides the stress in the back of her smile and focuses on frying eggs, packing lunches, brushing her kids’ little teeth, and tying their little shoes.
And when the day ends and lights go off, when the kids are asleep, she’s the one still awake, crunching numbers, praying that the next paycheck stretches far enough.
Some nights, she allows herself ten minutes. Ten minutes to cry. Ten minutes to feel the weight of everything. But by minute eleven, she's planning. Plotting. Pushing forward.
Her kids think she’s a superhero, and maybe that’s what hurts the most. Because she doesn’t feel like one. She feels like she’s breaking. She feels like she’s failing.
She doesn’t have the luxury of mistakes. One missed shift, one unpaid bill, and the whole house of cards could collapse. But she smiles anyway, wipes her tears before they wake, and tells them everything will be okay.
She walks into parent-teacher meetings with her head held high, knowing she’s doing her best but wondering if it’s enough.
She hears the whispers – “How does she do it?” – but no one stays long enough to ask if she’s okay.
But listen, she’s a fighter.
She carries scars no one sees and tears no one hears, but she keeps showing up. For her kids. For herself.
She loves so fiercely it hurts, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her children are her world, and she’ll fight until there’s nothing left in her to make sure they never feel unloved.
She doesn’t just survive – she thrives, even when the odds are stacked against her.
She teaches her children resilience, not by words, but by her example. She shows them that love isn’t about grand gestures but in the quiet moments – the scraped knees she bandages, the birthday cakes she bakes, the stories she tells at night even when her voice is cracking with exhaustion.
So here’s to her – the single mother who doesn’t get enough credit. The woman who works twice as hard to ensure her children never feel the gaps in their lives.
The mother who cries in the shower because that’s the only place she feels safe to break. The woman who shows up, no matter how heavy the burden, no matter how tired, no matter how broken.
I want you to know that you are seen. You are loved. You are appreciated. You are not just surviving. You are magnificently, beautifully conquering life. One impossible day at a time.
Your strength doesn't just speak.
It. Roars.
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