Surrounded by voices, I stand in the crowd,
Faces blur by, some laugh, some are loud.
But in the space between their words, I find
A quiet echo that calls to my mind.

Their eyes pass over, not stopping to see,
The weight I carry, the distance in me.
I reach for connection, but hands slip away,
And I wonder if anyone knows how I stay.

I wear a smile, as bright as I can,
But inside, I’m a stranger in a crowded land.
Their stories are woven, their lives intertwine,
But I am a shadow, left somewhere behind.

I crave for a moment, a pause in the din,
A glimpse of a soul that feels just like within.
Yet all that I hear is the silence I know,
The space in my heart where no one can go.

In the midst of the chatter, the laughter, the cheers,
I’m surrounded by faces, but no one is here.
And though I am seen, and though I belong,
I am still so alone in the echo of song.

---

I wrote this poem to really capture the feeling of being surrounded by people yet still feeling deeply alone. It’s a sense of isolation that often goes unnoticed, even by those around you. In a world where we are constantly connected but rarely understood, I wanted to express that emotional disconnect—the quiet emptiness that lingers even in the most crowded spaces. This poem is a reflection of the struggle between outward appearance and inner solitude, and the longing for a connection that feels both real and seen.

For all the praise we give “me time,” for all the Instagram posts about bubble baths and solo grocery trips, there’s a side to shared custody that no one talks about—the loneliness. Yes, it’s nice to get a break, to breathe without someone asking for a snack or needing help with their homework. It’s refreshing to sip your coffee in peace, maybe even catch up on your favorite show without interruptions.

But then the quiet sets in.

The house that was once filled with the noise of small feet running, laughter, arguments, and the toys or clothes scattered everywhere feels eerily still. The hours stretch longer than expected, and you begin to realize that while the world tells you “this is your time,” it doesn’t always feel as fulfilling as it should.

Sure, it’s wonderful to reclaim your personal space, to rediscover what it’s like to read an entire book in one sitting or to go out with friends without worrying about getting back in time for bedtime. These are moments you desperately need, no doubt. But there’s a quiet ache that comes with them, a reminder that your kids aren’t underfoot. You miss their little voices, their smiles, and yes—even their tantrums. It’s hard to admit, but it’s true. You can love the time alone and still feel incomplete without them.

And while the idea of shared custody is about fairness and balance, the emotional toll can be draining. The loneliness creeps in during those quiet afternoons when you’re not sure how to fill the time. It’s hard to feel whole again when the rhythm of your life has changed so drastically. It’s even harder when you don’t want to be seen as “the parent who misses their kids too much” because somehow, that makes you seem weaker. But the truth is, being separated from your kids—even if it’s only for a few days—is hard. It’s a tug-of-war between savoring your freedom and missing the family that makes you feel like you belong.

What makes this even more painful is when the other parent restricts communication during their week with the kids. It’s one thing to miss your children, but it’s another to feel like you’re being cut off entirely from them. The unanswered texts, the lack of phone calls, or even the inability to send a simple message to check in can feel like a sharp reminder that you’re not part of their world in that moment. You want to be involved, to know they’re safe, to hear about their day, but you can’t. This kind of silence isn’t peaceful; it’s isolating. It creates a barrier that not only hurts you but can also deepen the divide in co-parenting. It can feel like you’re waiting in limbo, unsure of when or how you’ll get to connect with your kids again. And though you try to respect boundaries and trust that they’re well taken care of, the longing to bridge that gap can weigh heavy.

No one talks about how isolating it can feel. The support groups and well-meaning friends are often quick to remind you that “this is your time to recharge” or “think of all the things you can accomplish!” But when the kids return, you realize just how much of yourself you gave away in their absence. You can’t help but feel like you’re somehow missing out on the only kind of love that truly fills the space. The love of your children.

So, let’s be real: shared custody isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Yes, it has its perks—freedom, self-care, and personal space. But it also has its shadows, ones that not everyone talks about. It’s okay to acknowledge that being a parent who shares custody doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids any less or miss them any more. It just means that, sometimes, the silence is a little louder than we expect, and the “me time” can come with a side of loneliness.

Going back to college as an adult with a two year old and another in kindergarten was no small feat. Looking back now, I’m amazed by how much I was juggling at the time. High school had been hard enough, but nothing prepared me for the challenge of college—especially after being out of school for so long. I thought I knew what I was in for, but nothing could have truly prepared me for the late-night study sessions, the overwhelming reading lists, and the pressures of balancing parenting with coursework.

The transition was rough. High school felt like a breeze by comparison, even though I’d thought it was tough back then. In college, the stakes were higher, the pace faster, and the expectations were no longer about just memorizing facts but truly mastering complex subjects. And, with a two-year-old in tow, there were days when I wondered how I’d get through it all.

I vividly remember one of the hardest subjects—precalculus, I was never good at math anyhow, but this math was a whole new ballgame, and I had to work twice as hard to keep up. I’d drag Miles (my then two year old) to class, hoping he’d quietly sit through lectures while I took copious notes. But it wasn’t always so smooth. I’d often get the occasional dirty look from students around me, clearly frustrated by the disruption. I couldn’t blame them—at times, he’d squirm, make noise, or demand my attention in the middle of a lecture. But somehow, I kept pushing through. I had no choice. I had to make it work. It was during these moments that I truly appreciated the teachers who understood. My precalculus teacher was one of those rare gems. She saw me struggling—not just with the subject matter but with the weight of my responsibilities—and offered kindness and extra help after class. I’ll never forget her patient explanations and the way she never made me feel like I was a distraction or a burden. She made me believe that I could get this math, even when I doubted myself.

It wasn’t just her, though. Throughout my time in college, there were teachers who truly reignited my passion for learning. Teachers who didn’t just follow the syllabus but encouraged me to dig deeper, to question, and to think critically. It was in those moments that I realized something I hadn’t truly understood when I was younger: learning can be a joy, not just a requirement.

Some days felt like I was failing—drowning in papers to write, tests to take, and lectures to attend. But it was in those quiet moments when I looked around and saw the kindness in my teachers’ eyes, that I knew I wasn’t alone. Even as a busy mom, a woman juggling so many things, I was part of something bigger. And that, somehow, kept me going.

Looking back now, I realize that the challenges I faced were not just obstacles—they were opportunities. Opportunities to prove to myself that I could learn, grow, and thrive no matter where I was in life. And, with the unwavering support of some incredible teachers, I learned that learning doesn’t have a finish line. It’s a lifelong journey, one that can begin at any time and at any stage in life.

To the teachers who made a difference in my college journey, to the grade school teachers who made me want to continue my education—and to all the other parents, students, and dreamers out there who are balancing their own paths—thank you for reminding me that learning is never truly over. It’s just another chance to keep going.

It’s been over a decade since I ended my relationship with my older kids’ dad, but somehow, it still feels like we’re stuck in the same toxic cycle. Every time the kids go to his house for the week, I brace myself for the inevitable texts, the criticisms, and the blame game. It’s exhausting, and it’s something I’ve been dealing with since 2014.

The thing is, you’d think that after all this time, people would realize that I’m not the enemy in this co-parenting arrangement. But every week, like clockwork, I get a message: “You’re not doing enough,” “This is your fault,” “The kids are struggling because you don’t have the right schedule,” or worse, “Why can’t you just get it together?”

It doesn’t matter if the issue is a missed school assignment or if one of the kids is tired because they stayed up later than usual—somehow, it all comes back to me. According to him, I’m always the cause of their problems. And honestly, it’s getting old.

The Back-and-Forth Blame Game

What gets under my skin the most is the way he consistently tries to make me the villain in every situation. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to share the decision-making in our kids’ lives—he wants full control. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s called CPS on me, claiming that I’m unfit as a mother, only for them to close the case with no findings. But that doesn’t stop him from trying again. It’s like he’s fishing for something that will stick, and it’s a never-ending battle that wears me down.

One of the most frustrating parts is knowing that even when the truth comes out—like during our last mediation, where the court told him to stop wasting government resources by filing frivolous complaints—he still refuses to let go of his agenda. The state made it clear: there’s no reason to strip me of legal custody. I’m not on drugs. I’m not unfit. But in his eyes, that’s not the point. It’s about control.

The Restraining Order and “Talking Parents”

The harassment has gotten so bad that I’ve had to take legal steps to protect myself. I was granted a restraining order some years ago because of the constant emotional abuse and harassment. He is no longer allowed to text or call me directly. Any communication between us is now supposed to go through “Talking Parents,” a platform that allows the courts to view the conversations if needed.

But, as you can probably guess, that doesn’t stop the criticism. Every time I hear that notification ding, I brace myself for the next round of insults and put-downs. The messages are still there, sometimes worse than ever, and they still carry that same weight of negativity and blame.

With every criticism comes him telling me how him and his girlfriend are better parents than I am, how they run a “better” household, or how the kids apparently like being over there more. It’s a constant barrage of superiority, and it feels like he’s trying to rewrite the narrative that I’m just not enough for my own children. And that’s something I don’t think I’ll ever fully get used to.

The Exhaustion of Co-Parenting with Someone Who Refuses to Co-Parent

I’ve learned over the years that co-parenting isn’t just about sharing the kids. It’s about working together to make decisions, to build routines, to be a team. But when one parent refuses to let go of the control, it feels like a constant battle. He wants to make decisions for the kids without consulting me. He’s tried to manipulate situations to create distance, limit communication with the kids when they are there and the worst, telling the kids I lied to them or that they couldn’t do something because I didn’t have money for it or I said no when it’s not the case. It’s a tactic that’s not only damaging to me but to them as well.

When the kids come back from his house, it’s like I can feel the shift. There’s always a bit of tension, and sometimes I hear things like, “Dad says I need to be more organized” or “Dad doesn’t like how late I stayed up.” It hurts, especially because I know I’m doing my best. But no matter how hard I try, it feels like it’s never enough. It’s hard to keep a smile on my face when it feels like I’m constantly under a microscope, criticized for every little thing.

Holding On to My Strength

But here’s the thing: Despite all the criticism, despite the constant undermining, I’m still standing. And as hard as it is, I won’t let his negativity define me or the way I raise my kids. I know that I’m a good mom, and I’ve got a support system in place that helps me navigate these challenging moments.

Yes, it’s frustrating. Yes, it can be heartbreaking when he keeps trying to chip away at my confidence as a parent. But at the end of the day, I know my kids see me for who I am. They see me fight for them, for their well-being, and for a life where they feel loved and supported. I’m not perfect, but I’m doing everything I can. And that’s what matters.

Moving Forward: Setting Boundaries for My Sanity

Here’s something that I think a lot of people don’t understand: I’ve had people tell me I should petition for full custody, that I should go after child support, or that I should just cuss him out already. I’ve had my moments, trust me. I’ve wanted to engage in the drama, to show him exactly how I feel. But honestly? It’s just a waste of my energy.

The truth is, no matter what I do, he’s still going to be him. The more I react, the more he wins. So instead, I choose not to get bogged down in the petty stuff. I refuse to talk negatively about him in front of my kids. That’s not their fight. They can form their own opinions about him when they’re older, and it’s already starting to happen. They’re old enough now to see things for themselves, and I trust that they’ll make up their minds when the time comes.

There are days when I want to scream or throw in the towel, but I remind myself that I’m in charge of my peace. As co-parents, we may not ever agree on everything, and that’s okay. But what I won’t stand for is feeling like I’m constantly under attack. I’ve come too far to let that dictate my mood or my relationship with my kids. They deserve better, and I deserve better.

At the end of the day, I’m not here for his approval. I’m here for my kids, and I will keep fighting for the best future I can give them—one filled with love, stability, and the knowledge that they have two parents who care deeply, even if we don’t always see eye to eye.

To my best friend. 20 years. It’s crazy to think we’ve been through two decades of life together—through all the ups, downs, and everything in between. We started out as kids, and now we’re navigating the chaos of adulthood, but some things never change: you’ve always been the one who gets it, the one who knows exactly what I need even before I do.

From inside jokes to life-changing moments, we’ve been through it all side by side. No matter what’s happened, you’ve been a constant—sometimes the only constant. I can’t imagine what my life would’ve been like without you, and honestly, I don’t want to. Here’s to 20 years of friendship, and however many more we get. I’m lucky to have you by my side. I hope I didn’t get too personal with this one, but this blog is dedicated to you and the amazing woman and mother you are.

Nine years ago, my best friend became a mother for the first time. Now, after almost a decade, she’s stepping into this role again, this time with a newborn. Watching her navigate this new chapter has been nothing short of profound.

Every day she faces challenges that would overwhelm most. Dealing with postpartum depression while raising a newborn, with a husband who works hard for over 72 hours a week. On top of that, she’s responsible for taking her son and her husband’s kids to school, sports practices, and events, managing every detail of their busy lives. Yet, through all of it, she moves through each day with a kind of quiet strength that leaves me in awe.

What truly stands out to me is how rarely she asks for help. I’ve seen her pour herself into her family’s needs — ensuring they’re all cared for, whether it’s driving them to the next event or making sure everyone has what they need. Even when she’s exhausted or struggling, she simply keeps going, never once making it feel like the weight is too much for her to bear. There is a grace in how she handles everything, a calm that steadies the chaos around her.

I know in our girl time, she shares pieces of what’s difficult — the moments when it all feels heavy. But I also know that she doesn’t always let me in on every struggle, and that’s okay. What matters is that when she does speak up, I listen. I offer what I can — support, a comforting word, or just the space for her to vent. But even without asking for much, she shows up every single day, giving all of herself to her family in ways that are quietly powerful.

She has this incredible ability to keep things moving, even on the busiest days. With kids in tow, she’s always the first to say “yes” to any spontaneous adventure, whether it’s a last-minute park visit or a weekend getaway. She doesn’t let the stress of juggling motherhood and life slow her down. Instead, she embraces it all with a smile, managing to get herself and her little ones out the door, ready for whatever comes their way. It’s as if she’s built an effortless rhythm around the whirlwind of daily life, proving that, even in the most hectic moments, there’s always room for joy and adventure.

Watching Melissa, I’ve come to realize that the most profound kind of strength is not always loud or obvious. It’s not about grand gestures or perfection. Sometimes, the truest strength is in the ability to show up when it’s hardest, to keep going even when you feel you have nothing left to give, and to do it all with a heart that’s fully invested in your family’s well-being.

To Melissa, and to all the mothers out there who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders without asking for praise or recognition, you are seen. You are enough. Your quiet strength speaks volumes, and your love for your family is the most powerful thing of all.

Dedication to My Mom

To the woman who has shaped my world, my rock, and my greatest inspiration—this is for you, Mom. You are my favorite person, the one who has shown me what true strength, love, and resilience look like. Through every trial, you’ve been the light that guides me, the constant support that never wavers. Your courage and kindness have taught me more than words can express, and I am endlessly grateful to call you my mother. This blog is a reflection of the love and admiration I have for you—my hero, my heart, and my forever favorite.

There are few people whose presence in our lives transforms us, whose influence is woven into the very fabric of our being. For me, that person is my mother. To the outside world, her journey may seem defined by hardship and struggle, but to me, it is a profound story of unyielding strength, quiet resilience, and the triumph of the human spirit.

Growing up, we didn’t always see an easy life, and my mom’s struggles were never a secret. She was always transparent about the challenges she faced, even when they seemed insurmountable. As a child, I saw firsthand the toll that life took on her—financial struggles, emotional pain, and the weight of being both a mother and a provider. Yet, despite it all, she never let us feel like we were anything less than loved and supported. She worked tirelessly to keep us going, showing me what it meant to be strong even in the darkest of times.

My mom grew up in a challenging home environment, shaped by a father whose actions made her early years difficult and a mother who did her best with what she had. Yet, despite the toxicity around her, she somehow found the strength to dream beyond it, always striving for more. As a young woman, she made the brave choice to leave home and begin a life of her own, though the road was far from easy.

When I was little, my mom became a single mother of two girls. My dad, an addict, was absent, and my mom had to navigate raising us alone. It was a time of financial strain, emotional exhaustion, and uncertainty. But my mom—she never gave up. She worked tirelessly to make sure we had what we needed, even when it meant sacrificing her own well-being.

Then came another chapter, one that many might not have had the courage to walk away from. She married a man who was an abusive alcoholic and had two children with him, my younger sister and brother. For almost 20 years, she endured the kind of pain and hardship that would break most people. But my mom? She never let it define her. She was strong enough to survive, even when she thought she might not. She showed me that sometimes, the hardest thing you can do is leave, but the most powerful thing is knowing when it’s time to walk away. And eventually, she did. She found the courage to leave that relationship, something I will forever admire her for.

What stands out most about my mom, though, is her boundless generosity. Despite everything she has gone through, she never hesitates to help others in need—especially her children. Whether it’s financial support or just an emotional shoulder to lean on, she’s always been there for me and my siblings. Even when she’s dealing with her own struggles, she puts her own worries aside to lift us up. She’s given us not just a roof over our heads, but a sense of security and comfort, never asking for anything in return. Her ability to support us, even at her lowest points, speaks volumes about the depth of her heart and the strength of her spirit.

Today, I look at the life she’s created for herself, and I am in awe. My mom owns her own home, a place she worked hard for and finally made her own. She takes luxurious vacations, something she never allowed herself when she was caught in the cycle of survival. She buys herself the things she deserves, because she has earned them a thousand times over. It’s not just about the material things; it’s about the life she has built from the ground up—on her own terms, after all she has endured.

Through everything, my mom has been a living example of resilience. She taught me that even in the face of immense adversity, you can rise. She proved to me that it’s never too late to change your life, to pursue happiness, and to live the life you deserve. She didn’t just survive; she thrived. And I am so incredibly proud to be her daughter.

When I face challenges in my own life, I think of my mom. When I wonder if I have the strength to keep going, I think of her. Her story is a testament to the power of self-love, perseverance, and the belief that we can always create a better future, no matter where we’ve come from.

Mom, you are my hero. Thank you for showing me that nothing is impossible, and that the hardest chapters often lead to the most beautiful stories.

This is a long one so brace yourselves.

Growing up, I had two dads. On the surface, that might sound like I had twice the love, twice the support, twice the chances to feel special. But for me, having two dads didn’t mean having two healthy, loving father figures. It meant I had one dad who was physically absent — a man whose addiction kept him distant and unreliable — and another who was physically present but abusive in too many ways to count. Both played a role in my life, but neither of them ever really fathered me in the way I needed.

It’s taken me years to come to terms with this truth. But now, as a woman and a mother, I realize I need to say it out loud: I have daddy issues. And it’s incredibly difficult to admit. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and deeply personal. But it’s also part of my story — and if I’m being honest, it’s part of many women’s stories. So, I want to share my experience, to shed light on how having two dads didn’t give me the security, love, or guidance I needed as a child. Instead, it left me grappling with deep wounds that I’m still learning to heal.

The Impact of Two Dads, One Absent, One Abusive

One dad was absent for most of my life. He was an addict, always in and out of my world, never really there when I needed him. His addiction became the center of his existence, and it kept him from being the father I desperately needed. I learned early on not to expect much from him. There was always a sense of longing, an empty space where a father’s love should have been.

Then, there was the other dad. He was there — physically, at least. From the time I was 2, he was a constant presence in our household. He was there for birthdays, school events, and family outings. But that doesn’t mean he was a good father. He was abusive in many ways. He wasn’t just harsh in his discipline; his words, actions, and sometimes, his silence, were damaging. We lived in fear — my siblings, my mom, and me. The love we needed from him was replaced by manipulation, cruelty, and an underlying tension that kept us walking on eggshells in our own home.

I watched my mother time and again give both of these men chances to redeem themselves. She kept believing that if she loved them enough, they would change. She tried to see the good in them, to focus on their potential, hoping that one day, they would be the fathers and partners she needed them to be. But they never truly changed. The man I called my father continued his cycle of abuse and neglect, and my biological father never fully showed up. I saw my mom forgive and forget, time and time again, because she wanted to believe in the possibility of redemption — in the goodness that could be, not what was.

In a twisted way, I learned this same pattern. I found myself constantly seeking the good in toxic people, in relationships that I knew weren’t healthy for me. I would overlook the red flags, justify harmful behavior, and try to fix people who didn’t want to be fixed. I wanted to believe that, just like my mom, if I loved them enough, if I showed them enough grace, they would change. But, like my mom’s experience, I was only setting myself up for heartbreak and disappointment.

Admitting I Have Daddy Issues

I’ve been reluctant to admit this for so long — even to myself. There’s a stigma around “daddy issues,” and it’s often viewed as something that women should just get over. It’s expected that we should somehow rise above the pain of not having a healthy relationship with our fathers, or that the brokenness it creates in our lives is something we should hide. But that’s not the reality.

I now realize that my daddy issues didn’t stem from a lack of trying. It didn’t come from a place of weakness or failure on my part. It came from the absence of real fatherhood. I didn’t learn how a man should treat me, how to set boundaries, or what love and respect looked like because my fathers didn’t model that for me. One was absent, and the other was harmful.

It’s hard to admit that the pain of growing up in these circumstances still affects me. It shows up in my relationships, in my ability to trust, in how I approach love and commitment. But it also shows up in how I relate to my children. I sometimes wonder, will I inadvertently repeat the same patterns with them? Will I be able to break the cycle of brokenness that I inherited?

Breaking the Cycle: It’s Not Our Fault

Here’s what I want to say to anyone reading this who might relate: It’s not our fault. Society often places the blame for relationship problems on women, labeling us as emotionally unavailable or too complicated. But the truth is, the root of my issues isn’t about me being “too much” or “too sensitive” — it’s about the men who failed to show up for me in the ways I needed.

We cannot be blamed for the emotional damage done by a father who was physically absent or emotionally toxic. It’s time to stop placing the weight of fatherlessness or abusive fatherhood on the shoulders of women. It’s the men who should have shown us how to love, how to trust, how to be secure in our worth. It is their failure, not ours.

As women, we are often expected to navigate the pain caused by men’s absence, addiction, or abuse without acknowledging how deep that wound runs. But we need to start recognizing that this pain, these daddy issues, deserve validation. We can’t heal until we accept what happened, and we can’t break the cycle until we acknowledge the ways our fathers’ actions (or lack of actions) shaped us.

Healing and Moving Forward

I won’t pretend that healing is easy. It’s a slow, sometimes painful process. But I’m committed to doing the work. I’m learning how to love myself in ways I never learned growing up. I’m learning how to set healthy boundaries in relationships, how to trust, and how to let people in — without letting them hurt me. I’m also learning how to be the kind of mother who shows up for her kids in ways my fathers never did for me.

I’m committed to raising my children with the love, security, and guidance they need — something that was sorely lacking in my own childhood. I’m committed to breaking the cycle of emotional neglect and abuse, and to teaching my kids what it means to love and be loved in a healthy, nurturing way.

Final Thoughts: You Are Not Broken

If you’ve experienced the absence of a father, or if your father was present but emotionally or physically abusive, I want you to know this: You are not broken. You are not defined by the wounds of your past. Your father’s actions are not your fault, and the pain you carry doesn’t have to dictate the rest of your life.

Healing is possible. It may take time, and it may take help — but it is possible. And as we heal, we also empower ourselves to raise the next generation with the love, care, and presence that we deserved.

To anyone who feels like they grew up with two dads but never had a father: You are seen, you are heard, and your journey matters. And above all, you deserve to be loved — the right way, in every sense of the word.

Let’s be real for a second: as a single mom, the idea of dating is almost laughable. The thought of going out on a date when you’ve spent the day in sweat pants with no makeup, no shower and negotiating with your autistic kid about why they have to wear clothes to the grocery store seems like a distant fantasy. And that’s before we even get to the emotional baggage that comes with dating after tumultuous relationships.

I’ve been single for almost five years now, and truthfully, it’s mostly been by choice. After three intense, complicated, and ultimately unhealthy relationships, I made the decision to step away from the dating scene for a while. The idea of adding another person to my already chaotic life seemed… exhausting. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was finally putting myself first.

So here’s the thing: I’m not out there swiping left and right. I’m not juggling multiple dates or drowning in a sea of text messages from guys I’ll likely never meet. And that’s okay. Here’s why I’m content with my single mom status and what I’ve learned about dating (or rather, the lack of dating) during this season of my life.

1. The Reality Check of Motherhood

First, let’s talk logistics. As a single mom, my life revolves around my kids. That’s not a complaint—it’s just the reality. My days are full of school runs, meal prep, tantrums, playdates, and the occasional (okay, frequent) breakdown in the bathroom when I finally get five minutes of peace. When your kids are your primary focus, the concept of “dating” feels like an entirely different universe.

Add in the fact that finding time for yourself—let alone for someone else—feels impossible, and you quickly realize that your personal life takes a backseat. And honestly? I don’t mind. There’s a certain satisfaction in spending evenings binge-watching Netflix with a bowl of ice cream and knowing that the only drama in your life is the plotline of the latest show, not some guy’s latest emotional baggage.

2. Healing is Hard Work

The truth is, after three tumultuous relationships, dating just doesn’t seem appealing right now. I’m not in a rush to jump into something new, especially when I’ve worked so hard to rebuild myself after years of emotional roller coasters. Being in toxic relationships takes a toll on your self-worth, your trust in others, and your overall ability to see yourself in a healthy light.

For the first time in a long time, I’m learning what it’s like to be okay on my own. There’s something incredibly powerful about not needing anyone else to feel whole. I’ve been learning to love myself—flaws and all—and making sure I’m in the right headspace before I even consider letting someone else into my life.

3. Setting Boundaries (and Actually Sticking to Them)

One of the things I’ve learned as a single mom is that boundaries are everything. And not just with my kids. With my friends, my family, and yes, even potential romantic interests. After years of being in relationships where my boundaries were either ignored or outright violated, I’m hyper-aware of the importance of protecting my energy.

When you’ve been burned before, it’s hard to let someone new in. But being picky about who I spend time with—and not compromising my values or my peace—has become a non-negotiable part of my life. If someone doesn’t align with my values or respect my time, they don’t make it past the first date. And I’m totally fine with that.

4. The Emotional Weight of Sharing Your Life (and Your Kids)

Let’s talk about the kid factor. When you’re a single mom, you’re not just dating for yourself. You’re potentially inviting someone into your child’s life. You’re thinking about their emotional well-being, the kind of example you’re setting, and what kind of energy you want in your home. And frankly? It’s a lot to consider.

I’ve heard people say things like, “Well, you deserve to be happy, too!” and while I agree, it’s hard to navigate dating when your happiness directly affects your kids. It’s a delicate balance. The last thing I want is to introduce my kids to a person who doesn’t respect me or my role as their parent. Dating as a single mom requires an emotional maturity and level of discernment that goes beyond the basic “do I like this person?” question. It’s, “Will this person fit into my world? Will they add value? Or will they disrupt the peace I’ve worked so hard to create?”

5. I’m Not Desperate, I’m Just… Busy

One of the biggest myths about single moms is that we’re all sitting around waiting for someone to swoop in and save us. The truth is, I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m living my life, raising my kids, and focusing on what’s best for me and my family.

Do I miss companionship sometimes? Sure. There are nights when I wish I could curl up with someone and share a beer after a long day. But does that mean I’m out there actively seeking it? No. My happiness doesn’t depend on another person, and I don’t need someone to complete me.

I’m in a season where I’m completely content with my own company. And the beauty of that is, I’m learning that my value isn’t tied to being in a relationship. My worth isn’t defined by someone else’s opinion of me.

6. The Unexpected Perks of Being Single

The funny thing is, once I let go of the idea that I needed a relationship, I realized that being single is actually full of perks. There’s freedom in not answering to anyone, in not having to explain where I’m going or why I’m doing something. I get to make my own decisions, plan my own schedule, and set my own pace.

I get to focus on myself. On my goals. On my dreams. On my kids. And that’s honestly been a beautiful thing. No dating app, no awkward first dates, no wondering if I’m wasting my time. Just me, living my life, unapologetically.

Final Thoughts:

Dating as a single mom—or not dating—can be a confusing and often lonely experience. It’s easy to feel like you’re missing out, or that you should be out there trying to “find someone.” But I’ve come to realize that my life is complete as it is. Relationships will come when they come, but in the meantime, I’m living my truth and embracing my single mom journey.

For now, I’ll choose peace over drama, self-love over validation, and my kids’ happiness over anyone else’s expectations.

(I want to note that this entry was written on 6/2/24. Shortly after, about mid November, I met a man who shows potential and could possibly become someone I would welcome into my life, adding even more peace and happiness to what I’ve already built. I will proceed with caution and update your curious minds as this unfolds.)

Raising Moises, my 6 year old son with autism, is one of the most beautiful and challenging journeys of my life. He attends special education at a school out of our district where he receives 6 therapies weekly within the program, all of which are essential in helping him develop the skills he needs to navigate the world in his own way. We are up at 5am every morning and he is on the bus by 6:10am. He follows a demanding schedule that’s equivalent to an adult’s, and he handles it with incredible strength and resilience. However, there are days when the weight of it all feels heavier, and the challenges are harder to navigate for us both. As a single mother, and I use this term cautiously, Moises has a father, he is present, just not involved in anything he is uncomfortable with. Which is anything school, medical related so the bulk of it is on me, who works full-time and has two other children. The biggest challenge, though, isn’t just managing schedules or navigating Moises’ needs—it’s making sure that each of my children feels seen, heard, and valued for who they are, not just as siblings in the shadow of Moises’ care.

Moises requires a lot of attention. His therapies, routines, and moments of calm and chaos often take center stage in our home, and it’s easy for me to get caught up in the demands of his world. The truth is, Moises needs more from me than my other children do—more time, more patience, more understanding. And while I do everything I can to ensure that he gets what he needs, I’m acutely aware of the fine line I walk in making sure that my other children—his brothers—don’t feel lost or overlooked in the process.

They deserve time with me, too. They deserve to be their own individuals, to have the space to grow, to laugh, to cry, and to exist without being overshadowed by Moises’ needs. The guilt I sometimes feel is overwhelming—how do I ensure they feel just as loved and supported when so much of my energy is consumed with making sure Moises is thriving? How do I give them the attention they need without sacrificing the care Moises requires?

It’s hard to carve out that space, especially when the day-to-day feels like a constant juggling act. But I’ve learned that balance isn’t about dividing my time perfectly between each of my children. It’s about quality. It’s about making the most of the time we do have together, even if it’s in small moments: a whispered conversation before bed, an impromptu dance party in the kitchen, or a quiet walk outside just to be with one another.

I also make sure that each child knows they are seen for who they are, not just for the roles they play in our family dynamic. They are not just Moises’ siblings; they are independent, complex individuals with dreams, feelings, and needs of their own. I’ve learned to hold space for their uniqueness, to listen to their voices, and to validate their experiences—so they know that while Moises may require more attention, they are no less important.

There are moments of doubt, times when I wonder if I’m doing enough for each of them. But I know that showing up, even in small ways, is what matters most. The love we share as a family is our foundation, and that love grows in the cracks of our imperfectly balanced lives. Moises may be the center of our world in many ways, but I am determined that no one, not even him, takes away from the individuality and worth of the other two beautiful souls I am raising.

We are learning together, growing together. And in that, I find the balance I seek.

If you’re a mom, you already know: cleaning your house is like trying to hold back the tide. No matter how many hours you spend scrubbing, wiping, or folding laundry, the mess comes back—usually within minutes. And let’s be real: it sucks. But guess what? You’re not alone. Every mom is fighting the same battle, and spoiler alert: there’s no finish line.

I’m not going to lie and tell you that my house is spotless 100% of the time. It’s not. There are days when the laundry piles up, dishes overflow, and I’d rather nap than clean. But when my headspace is clear and the motivation is there, these tips are what help me keep the chaos from totally consuming me. So, if you’re tired of feeling like you’re failing at keeping things clean, here’s why your house never stays tidy and how to survive the mess without losing your mind.

1. Kids + Chaos = A Mess That Never Ends

Let’s get this out of the way: kids are walking disasters. One second, you’ve got the kitchen looking somewhat presentable, and the next, they’ve smeared peanut butter on the walls or dumped cereal all over the living room floor. They can’t help it. It’s in their DNA to make messes.

Real Talk Tip: Stop fighting it. Kids create chaos. Period. Instead of wishing they’d magically stop being tiny tornadoes, work with it. Set up a “toy jail” where all their stuff goes at the end of the day (like a giant basket or storage bin). At least it’s contained mess, even if it’s never truly “clean.”

2. Your Life Is a Constant Stream of Dishes, Laundry, and Snacks

The truth is, your house never stays clean because you live in it. You cook, you eat, you spill stuff, you throw stuff away. You make food for the kids, and then it’s snack time, and suddenly there are crumbs everywhere. It’s a constant cycle of mess creation that never takes a break.

Real Talk Tip: Use the 10-minute rule. Set a timer and just clean for 10 minutes. Tackle a single area like the kitchen counter, the coffee table, or the pile of laundry. Don’t try to do it all at once. Do a little, then let it go. Life’s too short to obsess over every detail.

3. Perfectionism Is a Waste of Time

Ever scroll through Instagram and think, Why can’t my house look like that? Newsflash: those “perfect” homes are usually staged. Behind the pretty pictures, someone probably has a messy kitchen or piles of laundry hiding in the background. Perfection is a lie.

Real Talk Tip: Let go of “perfect.” Embrace the mess. Instead of stressing over the fact that your floors aren’t sparkling, focus on what you can control. Maybe the dishes didn’t get done, but at least you spent an hour watching cartoons with your kids, and that’s way more important.

4. Superficial Cleaning Doesn’t Cut It

You’ve wiped down the kitchen counter, but somehow it never feels truly clean, right? That’s because you’re only doing surface-level work. You wipe, you sweep, you scrub—but the deep stuff? Like behind the fridge or inside the microwave? That’s where the real grime builds up.

Real Talk Tip: Do a “quick deep clean” on one thing each week. You’re not going to deep-clean the whole house in one go (because, honestly, who has the time?), but pick one area to focus on. Clean out the fridge, wipe down baseboards, or tackle the bathroom sink. It doesn’t need to be fancy, just honest-to-goodness cleaning. It’ll help make the place feel less like a disaster zone.

5. Laundry Will Always Be There

You’ve folded one load of laundry, and suddenly there are three more waiting for you. It’s like an endless loop. If you leave the laundry, it becomes a mountain. If you fold it, it piles up again. You can’t win.

Real Talk Tip: Fold a load a day (even if you don’t want to). Throw in a load while you’re doing something else—cooking, reading a book, watching Netflix. It’ll feel like less of a mountain if you’re tackling it bit by bit. And if you end up with mismatched socks or wrinkled shirts? Oh well. That’s life.

6. The ‘Clean House’ Myth Is a Trap

Let’s be honest. The idea that your house should look spotless all the time is insane. You have kids, a job (probably), a million other things going on, and a house that, surprise, doesn’t clean itself. A messy house is a house that’s lived in. The pressure to maintain a perfect space is just unrealistic.

Real Talk Tip: Lower your standards (dramatically). Focus on one thing: comfort. Does the couch have crumbs on it? Sure. But is there a pile of pillows you can fall into at the end of the day? Yes. Good enough. The cleanest house doesn’t mean the happiest home, and perfection is overrated.

7. Delegate, Don’t Do It All Yourself

You can’t do it all—sorry, that’s just a fact. It’s time to start sharing the load. Whether it’s getting your partner (if you have one, I do not) to clean up after dinner or assigning age-appropriate tasks to your kids (hello, they can put away their toys, I have to constantly remind myself), you don’t have to be the only one scrubbing the floors.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help—this is your team, not your solo mission.

8. Just Accept the Mess

Here’s the hardest truth of all: your house will never be “perfect.” And that’s okay. The mess is just part of life—kids, pets, meals, work, sports, and the constant grind of it all. So if the floors are sticky or the bathroom could use a scrub down, don’t sweat it.

Real Talk Tip: Choose your battles. If the house is a mess but you just spent an afternoon with your kids, laughing and making memories, who cares if the laundry basket is overflowing? Messes are a sign that you’re living life, not just cleaning up after it.

Final Thoughts:

Cleaning is a grind, and there’s no secret formula to keep your house spotless 24/7. What matters is this: you’re doing your best, and that’s enough. The mess is going to happen, no matter what, so stop beating yourself up over it. Instead, focus on surviving the chaos with a little humor, a little help, and a whole lot of “good enough.”

You’ve got this, even if it feels like the laundry is winning.

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