To the Young Mother Raising Children Alone

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You wake up and do it all.
Every morning, every night.
With no one to tag in, no one to catch you, no one to see how heavy it all is.

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You are the provider.
The comforter.
The protector.
The one who reads the bedtime story and answers the bill collector—sometimes on the same day.

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And you do it with a strength that looks like magic to the outside world.
But you know it’s not magic.
It’s exhaustion.
It’s grit.
It’s love so deep it bends you.

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And still—there’s that quiet ache.
That wondering if anyone sees you.

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Let this place be the answer to that ache.

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You are seen.
You are so seen.

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You deserve softness.
You deserve rest.
You deserve a space where someone makes you a meal, holds you while you cry, and whispers,
“Let go, just for a moment. We’ve got you.”

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You are not invisible here.
You are sacred.
You are radiant.
You are more than the role you’ve carried alone.

 

Come rest, mama.
You don’t have to hold it all together here.
You get to be held, too.