Parenting Through the Storm as a Single Mother

Come in an sit down, ears open. Let me be honest for a second.
This parenting things is already hard.
But parenting alone? That’s a whole different kind of warfare.

There’s no tag team. No one to pass the baton to when your patience has hit the floor(can y’all tell I ran track? lol. No one to split the grocery bill with or help figure out why the kid is crying when you’ve already fed them, clothed them, prayed over them, and played Baby Shark six times in a row.

It's all on you.

And that weight? It’s heavy. Sometimes too heavy to even put into words.

But here’s the truth I wish someone would've told me earlier: God sees you. God helps you. God parents with you. Yes, even when you had a child out of wedlock!

When you're up late googling how to stretch spaghetti for four nights(fyi, adding beans to your spaghetti is the bomb)
When you're crying on the bathroom floor after your child throws a tantrum in public and some stranger has the nerve to judge you.
When you're celebrating a small win—like your kid finally learning to tie their shoes—and you wish someone was there to high-five you.

You're not invisible.

Psalm 68:5 says God is “a father to the fatherless and a defender of widows.”
That means He doesn’t just fill in the gaps—He becomes the gap-filler. The stretcher of strength. The miracle-working math-maker when your bank account says $12 and the rent says $700. Ask me how I know.

Parenting alone doesn’t mean parenting empty.
You may be solo in the flesh, but sis—you’ve got heaven backing you.

Here's What I've Learned on This Journey:

1. Grace must go before grit.
   You can’t run on survival mode forever. You need to give yourself permission to rest, to reset, and to not be perfect. The laundry can wait. Your peace cannot.

2. Routines save your sanity.
   Even something simple like Taco Tuesday or Saturday morning pancakes gives your child (and your mind) a sense of rhythm. It doesn’t make you controlling; it makes you wise.

3. You’re not a bad mom if you cry.
   You're not weak for needing help. You're human. Even Jesus wept. And He had all the answers.

4. Laugh—hard and often.
   Your child needs to see that joy still lives here. So do you. Make memories, not just meals. Dance in the living room. Eat ice cream for dinner sometimes. Joy is warfare too.

5. Don’t apologize for protecting peace.
   Whether it’s from toxic family, deadbeat energy, or self-imposed guilt—guard your home. Your child is watching how you love yourself. Set the standard now.

I don’t know what your current season looks like. Maybe you're in survival mode. Maybe you're just now coming up for air. Or maybe you're doing okay—but you're tired of pretending you're not.

Wherever you are, I want you to hear this:

You are doing holy work.
Even in the chaos. Even in the uncertainty. Even when you feel like you're getting it all wrong.

You are not “just” a single mom.
You are a warrior, a builder, a nurturer, a teacher, a protector, and a world-changer wrapped into one.

So take a deep breath. Cry if you need to. Then pick your head up and remember: God trusted you to mother that child. And He never calls without covering.

You're not alone. You're graced for this.

For the Woman Picking Up the Pieces

There’s a kind of silence that follows heartbreak.

Not the soft kind. Not the healing kind.
But the kind that screams at 2 a.m. when your son  is finally asleep and the apartment is too quiet.
The kind that echoes with questions like “How did I get here?” and “Why wasn’t I enough for him to stay?”

This post is for her.
For the woman who gave her all to a man who couldn’t see the worth in what he had.
For the mother who now tucks her children in alone and then cries into her pillow because she doesn’t want them to see her breaking.
For the woman who still shows up—with swollen eyes, a bruised spirit, and a soul stitched together by sheer will.

You were loyal.
You forgave things you had no business forgiving.
You bent until you were almost unrecognizable, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d change, hoping the love you gave would teach him how to love you back.

But he didn’t.

And now?
Now you’re trying to make a home out of what? (Still trying to figure that out)
Now you’re playing the roles of mother, protector, provider, teacher, and healer.
And somehow…
You’re still standing.

I don’t think people understand the kind of strength it takes to keep going when your heart has been shattered by someone you trusted with it.
To cook dinner, help with homework, pay bills, smile at the school pickup line—and still carry the weight of being abandoned, disrespected, or used.

You are doing the sacred work of rebuilding—while mothering, grieving, and growing all at the same time.

And even though you feel overlooked, even though the world has tried to shame you for staying too long or leaving too soon—hear me when I say this:

God sees you.

He saw the tears you cried when no one showed up for the parent-teacher conference.
He heard your whispered prayers when you didn’t know how you’d pay rent.
He caught the pieces of your heart as they fell, and He’s holding them close.

This isn’t the end of your story.

You are not broken beyond repair.
You are not foolish for loving.
You are not weak for hoping.

You are a warrior in disguise.
A mother with scars and still, somehow, wings.
A woman rising—not because it’s easy, but because you have children watching and a God who’s walking with you through the fire.

So if no one has told you lately:

You are seen.

You are valuable.
You are not alone.
And you will not just survive—you will thrive.

Even if today all you can do is show up—barely holding it together—that is enough.

You are enough.

I am the cycle breaker

There was a moment when I looked around at my life and whispered:

“I can’t do this like they did.”

I didn’t say it out loud at first.
I didn’t want to dishonor my mom (she was strong).
But deep in my bones, I knew:
The yelling. The silence. The dysfunction. The survival mode.
The toxic love. The buried trauma. The pretending everything’s fine.
It had to stop.

Because now my son was watching me.

And suddenly, the weight of my choices didn’t just fall on my shoulders—it had the opportunity to spill into my bloodline.

That’s the thing about cycles.
They don’t care if you’re tired.
They don’t care if you meant well.
They’ll keep showing up—dressed in new clothes, disguised in new people—until someone stands up and says:

“No more. Not here. Not with me.”

And that someone was me.

I am the one God called to break what broke everyone else.
I am the one who will raise my children to know peace instead of chaos.
I chose therapy over silence.
Faith over fear.
Healing over hiding.

But can I be honest?
Breaking cycles hurts.

Because I had to grieve what I never had.
I had to stop calling dysfunction “normal.”
I had to parent myself while parenting my child.
I had to forgive people who never apologized.
I had to unlearn what I was taught at home that was soaked in pain.

But, I knew I couldn’t do this alone.

That’s where God came in.

He didn’t just patch my wounds—He performed open-heart surgery on my soul.
He didn’t just hand me a new chapter—He rewrote my entire book.
He didn’t just tell me to, “Break the cycle.”
He graciously said, “Let Me walk with you while you do it.”

Ezekiel 36:26 says:
“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

That was His promise to me.
I am the woman who’s fighting to undo generations of pain.
I am the one saying, “God, I don’t even know what healthy looks like—but I want it. I’m ready.”

The process isn’t perfect.
I fell so many times.
But every day I wake up and choose to do better—I  am winning.

I’m changing the story.
I’m birthing a new legacy.
I’m making heaven proud.

The enemy hates it—because I am dangerous now.
I am no longer just surviving.
I’m surrendered.
I’m healing.
I’m choosing wholeness over comfort.

I am  the cycle breaker.
I am the one my bloodline has been waiting for.
I am not too damaged.
I am not too late.
And I am not doing this alone.

God is right here—in the kitchen, in the chaos, in the weeping, in the whispers.
He is near to the brokenhearted, and He is raising me up, brick by brick, moment by moment.

And one day…
My children will say, “I was raised by a woman who chose God over generational pain.”

Blog Post Title Four

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.