I gathered what I could carry. I called the children, helped them choose their most treasured things, and closed the door on a house I had spent more than a decade making into a home. My marriage ended in a way that left fear and grief scattered everywhere, but at the center of all that wreckage, a small, steady clarity began to glow.
Starting Over With Four Children And A Shaky Heart
The first months alone felt like trying to build a bridge while already halfway across it. There was no pause button. The rent had to be paid, lunches packed, homework checked, laundry folded. Life for a single mother rarely waits until she feels ready.
Morning started before sunlight. I would wake to the sound of an alarm and a child calling “Mom,” then move through a series of tasks that barely left room to breathe. Breakfast, backpacks, school drop-offs, work, pick-ups, dinner, dishes, baths, bedtime stories, late-night email replies. I fell into bed each night with a kind of tired that lived in my bones.
Without realizing it, I was learning who I was again, outside of the marriage that had slowly become smaller and smaller around me. Years of compromise, of staying quiet to keep the peace, had caused my own voice to fade. Now, in the middle of the chaos, I began to hear it again.
At first it showed up in the smallest ways.
I opened windows and rearranged furniture in the apartment. I sorted through boxes I had never fully unpacked, letting go of what did not feel like it belonged in this new life. I placed the children’s drawings where they would catch the light. The space slowly stopped feeling like a temporary shelter and became a home that reflected who we were becoming.
In the kitchen, I started cooking differently. Meals were no longer hurried plates thrown together while tiptoeing around another person’s moods. I tried new recipes, experimented with spices, invited the children to stir or taste. Food slowly became something that comforted us instead of just filling a gap.
