𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝: 𝐀 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

I saw this video https://www.instagram.com/reel/DFv77GhOJAv/?igsh=MWVrdGhla29mMGlybQ==
And when I watched it I couldn’t help but relate deeply with every emotion, every silent word, every silent struggle, every unspoken and unseen battle. I wept for a very long time before I found the courage to compose this blog post.

Motherhood had been undeniably beautiful, but it was also relentless. And doing it alone had made the weight of every responsibility feel even heavier. I don’t talk about it often because there are so many emotions to navigate that it can become overwhelming, but being a single mother had stretched and pushed me in ways I never imagined. People saw the strong front, the smiling pictures, the victories that were all genuine and true. But what they didn’t see were the moments behind closed doors—the exhaustion, the persistent self-doubt, the profound loneliness. Honestly, I’m still in the process of healing from those experiences.

I had mourned my old life in ways I never expected. Not grief in the traditional sense, but the mourning of a version of myself that no longer existed. The freedom to make decisions without overthinking how they would affect my child, the ability to rest without guilt, the spontaneity of simply existing without always having to plan ahead.

And oh, the guilt. It never truly left. No matter how much I did, it never felt like enough. There had always been this lingering thought that I could have done more, been more patient, given more time. The mental load of motherhood had been crushing—keeping up with schedules, meals, school, emotions, responsibilities…. breastfeeding!  It had all fallen on me and only me. Every decision, every burden, every sacrifice. And ironically, even though I had never been alone, I had never felt lonelier. Conversations had revolved around homework, meals, bedtime routines. There had been no significant other at the end of the day to tell me, “I see you, I appreciate you.”

When I look back, I realize that I went through postpartum struggles without even knowing what they were. I had never heard the term, never been educated on it, never knew the word to describe what I was feeling. And that’s exactly why education is so important—because how do you heal from something you don’t even know you’re experiencing? I remember looking in the mirror and barely recognizing myself. My body had changed in ways I wasn’t prepared for. My breasts were swollen with milk for a baby who only recognized me as a milk cart lol; my belly was softer, my energy drained. I wanted to embrace the fact that my body had created and given birth to a nine-pounder, but some days, I just wanted to feel like me again. I carried so much, yet I never had the space to acknowledge my own struggles. The world expected me to simply adjust.

And then there had been the daily battles—tantrums, sleep struggles, picky eating. It had felt like an endless cycle of negotiations and exhaustion, followed by guilt for even feeling exhausted.

“Losing” my career identity had been another challenge. Before motherhood, singing had been my life since I was 17. I had dreams, goals, and a vision for my creative future. But suddenly, everything revolved around my child. My voice didn’t feel the same, my body didn’t move the same, my passion didn’t burn the same. I questioned whether I would ever find my way back or if that part of me was lost forever.

Motherhood had changed every relationship in my life. Some friendships had grown stronger, while others had faded. And I had struggled with dislike—not because I didn’t love being a mother, but because I had wished for someone to share the weight of it all. My daughter’s father was absent in every way imaginable. He did not support her emotionally, spiritually, or mentally. He did not check in, did not guide, did not nurture. He was a shadow, a name, an absence that left me to bear everything. I had to be the provider, the disciplinarian, the comforter, the teacher…. everything and every person! The weight of it all fell on my shoulders, and there were days I felt like I was breaking under it. Parenting is hard enough with two involved parents, but doing it alone meant I had to be everything at all times. His absence did not just affect me—it shaped her world too. She grew up knowing that the one person who should have been there simply chose not to be. That kind of void didn’t go unnoticed by her (the effects of that are manifesting itself all now though her and being witnessed by many). And while I did my best to fill every gap, there were things I could never replace. The emotional security of a father, the guidance, the reassurance—she was denied all of it and only made to feel guilty and gaslit when she begged for his attention which was also divided among five younger siblings, along with numerous women. Time and time again she fought for his approval, desperate for validation and support, but it never came. That pain cut deeper than she could express in words. And seeing her like that hurt me more than I can ever explain.

I had feared messing up every single day because I had been my child’s whole world, her place of love and saftey. That fear had been heavy. And there had been no off days, no breaks, no pause button. I had been on all the time, always needed, always responsible for 18 years. Some days, I had wished I could disappear for just a little while—to be alone, to breathe, to remember who I was beyond being mummy or Amam as she called me.

Now that my daughter is 18, the struggles have changed, but they have not disappeared. Motherhood does not end when they turn 18. If anything, a new chapter begins—one filled with different fears, different challenges, different emotions. Letting go has been its own kind of battle. After spending years being everything, how do you step back? How do you trust that you have prepared them well enough to navigate the world? There are days when I wonder if I taught her enough, if I protected her enough, if she understands just how much I love her. And then there’s the quiet. The house that was once filled with noise, music, laughter, giggles, now feels… still. The loneliness I once felt in the middle of the chaos has now been replaced by a different kind of loneliness—the kind that comes when you realize that, for the first time in years, you are no longer the center of their world.

But through it all, I would not change a thing. It had been exhausting, overwhelming, and the hardest thing I had ever done. But it had also been the most beautiful. Because at the end of it all, I know every struggle, every sacrifice, every sleepless night was worth it.

This is why you will never hear me judging another single mother, whether she has one child or several. You will never see or hear me speak as if I am an authority on motherhood, because every journey is different. While the foundation of motherhood is built on love, the ways we show it, the ways we cope, the ways we survive—it all looks different for every mother. And yet, there are always those who think they know better, who are quick to tell you what you should or should not do. They don’t see the battles you fight, the choices you make with nothing but love and survival in mind. And so, I refuse to be one of them.

I will pause here and say: If you’re a single mother reading this, I see you. I know the weight you carry, the battles you fight, the love you pour out daily. And even when it feels impossible, remember this: you are doing an incredible job. 💛

May God remember you as a Mother as He did me. May He comfort you on your darkest days. May He hold you up from falling. Amen