There’s something sacred about mornings. Something heavy, yet holy, about opening your eyes to a world that hasn’t paused for your pain. You breathe in the silence of dawn, stretch into responsibility, and remind yourself that somehow, some way, you’re going to carry it all again.
For me, that “somehow” has always been grace. Not the cliché kind. Not the pretty kind people post about. I’m talking about the kind of grace that keeps you from falling apart when everything inside of you is screaming to break.
I’ve been a single mom for over a decade. That sentence alone could be a novel. And while I wish I could tell you it’s been smooth sailing and easy victories, that would be a lie wrapped in survival.
June 27th: The Day My World Split in Two
In 2020, I lost my daughter’s father to gun violence. A moment. A phone call. And everything changed. Just like that, a man was gone, a life ended, and my child’s world was flipped upside down.
June 27th became a date I’ll never forget—not because I want to remember it, but because I can’t forget it. It was the day grief walked in and made itself at home in our lives. And yet, somehow, I had to keep going.
I was the one left to carry the weight, not just of the loss, but of the life that followed it. I had to be strong for my daughter when I barely knew how to be strong for myself. I had to figure out how to explain death, absence, and God’s presence all in the same breath.
But here’s the thing about pain—it doesn’t ask permission. And healing? Healing rarely shows up on time. So I leaned into what I did have: faith.
When Words Fail, Tears Speak
There were days when the only prayer I could offer was a sigh. Nights when I wept into my pillow, hoping my daughter wouldn’t hear. Mornings when I stood over the stove making breakfast while holding back tears I hadn’t even named yet.
And in those moments, when my voice was quiet but my spirit was loud with grief, the Holy Spirit showed up. Not in grand gestures or lightning bolts—but in whispers.
“You are not alone.”
That voice—soft but steady—became the anchor I clung to when the storms inside me refused to calm. It was the reminder that I wasn’t navigating this life by myself. That even when I couldn’t see the plan, God was still writing it.
Carried by Grace, Not by Strength
People often ask me how I do it. How I manage parenting, grief, healing, business, and life without collapsing. And the answer? I don’t do it in my own strength.
I wake up every morning held together by invisible threads—faith, grace, and the kind of endurance that only heaven can provide. I’ve had to redefine what strength means. It’s not about powering through. It’s about allowing yourself to be carried.
Some days, carrying looks like showing up with a smile. Other days, it looks like sitting in silence, letting tears fall, and knowing that even in the weeping, God is working.
Grace doesn’t always look glamorous. Sometimes, it looks like survival. Sometimes it looks like soft boundaries and loud worship. Sometimes it looks like therapy, quiet time, or holding your child while holding back your own fears.
From Pain to Purpose
Out of our grief came something powerful. My daughter and I channeled our healing into storytelling. Together, we co-authored a children’s book series titled “The Girl Who Found Her Voice Through Therapy.” What started as a way to help her process emotions became a voice for other children walking through similar storms.
The books are more than pages—they’re pieces of our testimony. They speak to children who are trying to make sense of big feelings and uncertain losses. They speak to parents who feel like they’re failing, but who are, in fact, faithfully showing up every day.
I’ve seen how God can use our wounds as a witness. What once felt like the worst thing that could happen became a door for something holy to take root.
God Never Wastes the Fire
Here’s what I know now: the fire didn’t destroy me—it refined me.
I learned that the bravest thing a woman can do is trust God when everything around her feels uncertain. I’ve walked through heartbreak, financial struggle, confusion, and deep disappointment. But I’ve also walked through deliverance, healing, growth, and provision.
God never left me. Not once. Not when the bills stacked up. Not when the tears soaked my pillow. Not when the enemy whispered lies that I wasn’t enough.
He stood with me in the fire and reminded me who I am. And more importantly—whose I am.
For Every Single Mom Who Needs to Hear This
If you’re reading this and you’re walking your own version of my story, hear me when I say:
You are not weak for being tired.
You are not broken for needing help.
You are not less than because life didn’t turn out the way you planned.
You are a warrior. You are seen. You are chosen.
And even in the chaos, God is not finished with your story.
He’s taking the broken pieces and turning them into something sacred.
He’s using your motherhood as ministry.
He’s using your scars as sermons.
He’s using your pain as purpose.
Let your faith roar louder than your fear. Let your praise rise higher than your pressure. Let your voice, even when it trembles, say boldly: “God, I trust You.”
My Anchor Scripture
“Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.”
— Philippians 4:9 (KJV)
I’ve seen His peace. I live in it now. It’s not perfect. But it’s present. And that’s enough.
Final Words
There’s something about waking up each morning knowing you’re the only one holding it all together. And that something, I now know without a doubt, is God’s grace.
To every mother reading this:
You’re doing better than you think.
You’re walking through fire, but gold is coming.
And if no one else tells you this today, I’m proud of you.
You’ve got this.
Because He’s got you.
With strength and grace,
You are not less than.
You are not forgotten.
You are chosen.
And even in the fire, God is forging you into gold.
Let your faith be louder than your fear. You’ve got this—and He’s got you.