A silent reflection on single motherhood, identity, and the weight we carry alone.

When we become mothers, many of us dream of “forever”—a love story worthy of a Disney fairytale. We imagine growing old with someone by our side, building a family filled with laughter, warmth, and stability.

What we never imagine… is a separation. We never think we’ll wake up one day alone—broken inside, holding our children in our arms while carrying a heart full of doubt and silent grief. I separated at 24, after a 9-year relationship. I had a 3-year-old daughter and a baby just 20 months old. And even though I knew I was making the right decision… I felt completely lost.

I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I had no direction, no peace.

I wanted to be strong for them, to protect them from the emotional storm.

But how do you protect your children when you’re shattered yourself? As women, we’re taught to endure. To give, to carry, to sacrifice.

And in that process, we begin to disappear.

We forget ourselves.

If we take a break, we feel guilty.

If we go out for coffee with a friend, we wonder if we’re being selfish.

If we rest, we feel like we’re failing.

Somehow, motherhood became synonymous with losing our identity.

And to make it worse…

Society doesn’t make it easier.

It judges. It points fingers. It asks why we’re alone, why we’re tired, why we can’t “do it all.”

But rarely does it ask:

Who holds us when we’re falling apart?

Who sees our tears when the kids are asleep?

Who takes care of us?

Being a single mother isn’t just a status.

It’s a silent battle—fought in the dark, with strength we didn’t even know we had.

And just when I thought I could finally catch my breath… life struck again.

And then… the diagnosis.

My son was five when I heard the words that would change everything: autism.

I was alone in that room.

It was another turning point—another moment when I felt myself slipping away.

Not because I didn’t love him.

Not because I wasn’t capable.

But because no one prepares you for this.

No one tells you how it will feel to have your child’s future suddenly reshaped by something you can’t control.

Everything became questions, fears, and guilt.

I froze.

The doctor gave me a diagnosis, but no answers.

No roadmap. No comfort.

I walked out more confused than ever.

Alone.

In a country that isn’t mine.

With no family. No support system. No one to guide me.

It’s in those moments that you become everything.

You become their voice. Their advocate. Their therapist, nurse, defender, teacher… and mother.

All at once.

And that’s when I realized—being a single mom to a child with a disability is not just about being alone.

It’s about carrying the entire weight of their world without a manual, without rest, and often… without recognition.

Still, every morning, you rise.

Sometimes crying.

Sometimes exhausted.

Sometimes numb.

But you rise—for them.

And eventually, little by little, you rise for yourself too.

Now, after 10 years of living with my son’s diagnosis—after a decade of battles, victories, regressions, therapy sessions, and sleepless nights—I can tell you this:

It’s not easy to keep your calm when everything inside you feels like it's falling apart.

It’s not easy to find peace in a world that doesn't always understand your child.

But somehow, you learn to breathe.

You learn to focus on the small wins.

You learn to find meaning in the chaos.

Because within the hard days, there is still beauty.

There is still growth.

There is still love.

And most of all—there is still you.

A woman who may have been broken, but never gave up.

A mother who continues to show up.

Every. Single. Day.