I’m a solo mum.
Not by choice. Not by design.
But by a twist of fate that left me raising our daughter on my own.
And while I love her with every cell of my being, I’ll be honest with you: I’m exhausted.
The Invisible Load of Solo Motherhood
Most people see the smile. The functioning human. The “you’re doing amazing” mask.
But here’s what they don’t see:
- Waking up after a sleepless night, still needing to show up fully because your child needs you.
- Doing the school run with a fever, because there’s no backup parent.
- Working a full-time job, then racing to pick up your child, cook dinner, help with homework, answer emails, and maybe remember to drink water.
- Planning birthday parties, attending school meetings, cheering at dancing rehearsals remembering which uniform is needed on what day—all without someone to split the mental load with.
- Sitting in silence at the end of the day, every room quiet… except the hum of your tired thoughts, wondering if you’re doing enough.
There is no pause button
When you’re solo parenting while grieving, you don’t get to fall apart.
Even when your body is aching.
Even when your mind is spiralling.
Even when you haven’t had a proper break in what feels like years.
You keep showing up. Because your child deserves joy.
Because you love them more than you love your own comfort.
Because, somehow, you’re the glue—and the glue isn’t allowed to crack.
But here’s the truth I want to say out loud:
Just because I keep going doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Just because you’re doing it all doesn’t mean it doesn’t cost you something.
And just because you’re strong doesn’t mean you don’t need rest, support, or space to fall apart sometimes.
If you’re in this too… I see you.
To every mum doing it solo…
Every widowed parent still showing up on days when your body wants to collapse and your heart just wants to be held—
I see you.
You are doing enough.
You are more than enough.
Even on the days when you feel like you’re failing.
Even when your patience is thin and your energy is non-existent.
Your child sees the love—not the undone dishes.
They feel the warmth of your arms—not the worry in your eyes.
They carry your strength—even when you’re unsure you have any left to give.
A Reminder to You (And Me)
- You’re allowed to be tired.
- You’re allowed to say “I need help.”
- You’re allowed to cancel things that don’t serve your peace.
- You’re allowed to prioritise yourself too.
This is not the life you asked for.
But you are living it with grace, grit, and heart.
So if today you need to cry, cancel, collapse, or just breathe—do it.
And know that in doing so, you’re not weak.
You’re wise. You’re real.
You’re human.