How Single Motherhood Broke Me and Built Me Back Up
There’s no easy way to describe the moment your life splits into two—the life you imagined and the life you’re living now. For me, that moment came when I became a single mom. I wasn’t prepared for the weight of it, the sheer force of responsibility, or the loneliness that would creep in and make itself at home.
Single motherhood broke me. Not just once, but over and over again. It broke me in ways I didn’t even know I could break—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. There were days when I felt like I was stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper no matter how hard I tried to claw my way out.
But somewhere in that rubble, something else started to happen. I started to rebuild. Slowly, messily, painfully—but intentionally. This isn’t a story of how I “got it all together” because, truthfully, I’m still figuring it out. It’s about how being broken forced me to find parts of myself I didn’t know existed, parts that are stronger, softer, and more resilient than I ever imagined.
The Breaking Point
When I first found myself alone with two kids, it felt like the ground beneath me had disappeared. My daughter was just a newborn, and my son wasn’t much older. I was knee-deep in diapers, feedings, and sleepless nights, all while trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was doing it all alone.
The nights were the hardest. I’d lay in bed after putting the kids to sleep, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. The silence was deafening, but my mind was anything but quiet.
I replayed everything—every decision, every mistake, every “what if.” I carried guilt for not being able to give my kids the picture-perfect family I had envisioned. I carried resentment for how everything had unfolded. And underneath it all, I carried fear—the kind that keeps you awake at night, wondering how you’ll make it to the next day.
There were moments I broke down in the bathroom, tears streaming down my face as I tried to keep quiet so my kids wouldn’t hear. I felt like I was failing, not just as a mother but as a person. The world felt like it was closing in, and I couldn’t see a way out.
But the thing about being broken is that it doesn’t care about your plans. It strips you down to your core, leaving you raw, exposed, and painfully aware of what’s missing.
Sitting in the Darkness
For a long time, I fought the darkness. I tried to distract myself with tasks, staying busy so I wouldn’t have to sit with my thoughts. But no matter how hard I worked or how much I accomplished, the emptiness stayed.
Eventually, I stopped running. I let myself sit in the discomfort, as scary as it was. I started to unpack the guilt, the resentment, the fear. Why did I feel like I had failed? Why was I holding onto anger that was only hurting me? What was I afraid of?
It wasn’t a quick process, and it wasn’t pretty. Some nights, the answers were too overwhelming, and I’d have to pause. Other nights, I’d write it all down, pouring my thoughts onto paper just to get them out of my head. Slowly, I began to understand that the pain I was feeling wasn’t just about being a single mom—it was about everything I had ignored for years.
I had spent so much of my life putting other people first that I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had lost myself long before I became a single mom, and this breaking point forced me to confront that truth.
The Rebuilding Process
Rebuilding didn’t happen in a neat, orderly way. It came in fits and starts, in small, almost unnoticeable moments of growth.
It started with asking for help—a simple act that felt monumental at the time. I had always prided myself on being self-sufficient, but single motherhood taught me that strength doesn’t mean doing it all alone. Leaning on others, whether it was family, friends, or even a kind stranger, became a lifeline.
I also began to prioritize myself in ways I never had before. I stopped feeling guilty for taking time to breathe, to dream, to be something other than “Mom.” I let go of the idea that my worth was tied to how much I could do or how perfectly I could do it.
And I started to forgive myself—for the mistakes I had made, for the expectations I couldn’t meet, for the times I felt like I wasn’t enough. Forgiveness wasn’t a one-time thing; it was a daily practice, a choice to let go of the weight I had been carrying.
A New Kind of Strength
Single motherhood didn’t just teach me how to survive—it taught me how to thrive in my own way. It taught me that strength isn’t about never breaking; it’s about what you do after you’ve been broken.
It’s about finding joy in the smallest moments—the sound of your kids’ laughter, the warmth of a quiet hug, the peace that comes from knowing you’re doing your best. It’s about redefining what success looks like and realizing that sometimes, just getting through the day is enough.
And it’s about understanding that being strong doesn’t mean being hard. I’ve learned that there’s immense power in softness, in vulnerability, in allowing yourself to feel the full spectrum of emotions without shame or judgment.
The Journey Ahead
I won’t pretend I have all the answers. There are still hard days, just like everyone else’s. But there are far more moments of joy, moments where I look at my kids and feel a kind of pride and love that’s hard to put into words.
Single motherhood broke me, but it also taught me how to rebuild myself—not just for my kids, but for myself. It forced me to let go of the person I thought I had to be and embrace the person I am.
I’m still on this journey, and I don’t think it ever really ends. But what I know for sure is that every piece of myself I’ve rebuilt has been stronger, more intentional, and more real.
If you’re in your own breaking point, I want you to know this: you are not alone. You are not broken beyond repair. And you are capable of building something beautiful, something better, even from the hardest moments.
This is not the end. It’s the beginning-even if it doesnt feel like it now, I promise, the growth from it all is immeasurable
