The Weight of Holding It All

There’s a heaviness that lives in the bones of a single mother - not from falling apart, but from holding everything together.

It’s the exhaustion of keeping the walls from caving in, of sealing every crack before it breaks, of being the only one standing guard when the world goes quiet.

Having one child feels like a small mercy - two or more, and you become the anchor, pulled in every direction, holding steady for everyone else’s individual needs while your own breath runs thin.

Provider.

Nurturer.

Chef.

Protector.

Educator.

Healer.

Every role. Every day. Alone.

Add to that the soul of an artist - a fire that refuses to dim, a passion that can’t be contained by routine or a paycheck - and stability becomes another battlefield.

You learn to live between creation and survival, between duty and the ache to be free.

Life wasn’t meant to be this way.

Parenting wasn’t meant to be done alone.

Families were never meant to fracture this much.

But still - the warrior rises

Because someone has to hold the line.

Someone has to keep the fire burning.

Someone has to teach our sons what strength and commitment truly mean — not through perfection, but through presence.

This is my calling.

My endurance.

My truth.

My blessings to hold.

To hold the walls steady, mend the cracks with love, and keep the fire burning - until the world learns to carry its weight again.