Observing Love from the Sidelines

Why Being Single Isn’t a Deficit — It’s a Vantage Point 

I’ve been single for almost 18 years. I’ve never been married. Yet somehow, friends keep coming to me with relationship questions, heartbreaks, and divorces. I didn’t sign up for this gig- it just… happens. Apparently, sitting quietly on the sidelines gives one a kind of unintended credibility.

Watching others navigate relationships has taught me something important: love is not a single feeling. It’s a system- a balance of different forms that must coexist to endure. In Greek, these forms are agápē, éros, and philia:

• Agápē: unconditional, committed love that persists even when life changes.

• Éros: passionate, desire-driven love that fuels intimacy and connection.

• Philia: friendship, mutual respect, and the enjoyment of shared presence and values.

The strongest relationships integrate all three. Remove one, and the foundation weakens: passion without friendship can burn out; loyalty without desire can feel hollow; friendship without commitment may not survive hardship. Observing relationships over the years, I’ve realized why so many marriages falter. People often don’t fail because they stop caring- they fail because they never achieved that balance.

I remember sitting in a church pew years ago, listening to Pastor Ronnie’s sermon about the different types of love in relation to God. If God is Love- and if Love is patient, kind, truthful, protective, persevering, and never fails, as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13- then it’s only fair that I have very high standards for any relationship I might enter.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

When I read this passage, I see that it’s not just an aspirational statement- it’s a structural blueprint. Love that endures doesn’t rely on intensity alone, or fleeting attraction, or blind loyalty. It is a careful balance: patient, kind, truthful, protective, persevering. That’s exactly what I look for in relationships, even from the sidelines.

That understanding isn’t just lofty theology or idealistic poetry- it’s a practical lens for observing love in real life. And it’s also why I’m okay being single.

I’ve learned that settling for a relationship that doesn’t meet the full balance of agápē, éros, and philia would be worse than being alone. Sure, being single means I sometimes get the side-eye at family gatherings, and yes, I’ve had people suggest that I “just lower my standards a little” (as if integrity were negotiable). But being single allows me to preserve clarity, observe love without getting swept up in it, and recognize patterns that most people only see in hindsight- usually after a heartbreak or a divorce.

Remaining single isn’t a punishment or a deficit. It’s a vantage point. It’s where I’ve learned that love isn’t measured by who you’re with, how often you date, or how intense the passion feels at the moment. It’s measured by how well love holds together the different layers - desire, friendship, and commitment - without breaking the people involved.

And that’s why friends keep coming to me for advice, even though I never sought the role. It’s not about having all the answers or any special authority. It’s simply that observing love from the sidelines provides clarity that intensity often obscures. Sometimes you don’t have to live every experience to understand it; sometimes, you just need to watch, reflect, and recognize what endures- all while occasionally sipping your coffee and quietly enjoying the fact that you don’t have to share a bathroom with anyone who steals the covers.

The Mother I Wanted to Be, and the Mother I Had to Become: A Single Mom’s Quiet Grief

When Strength Becomes the Only Option: The Hidden Grief of Single Motherhood

I came across a TikTok recently that caught me completely off guard. It wasn’t dramatic or loud or meant to go viral- it was just a mother being honest. A single mom, pouring her heart out about the kind of mother she never got to be. 

She said she wasn’t soft anymore.
She wasn’t the cuddler, the comforter, the warm, gentle place her own mother once was for her.
Instead, she had become the enforcer.
The provider.
The protector.
The parent who carried everything on her back, even when she had nothing left to give.

She admitted she didn’t know how to be soft on a regular basis. Not because she lacked love, but because softness is a luxury in a life where you’re the only line of defense.

And what broke me wasn’t just her words… it was the comment section.

One woman said, “I found myself becoming the angry man I swore I left.”
Another wrote, “Single moms are robbed of the mothering experience we deserve.”
Someone else added, “Dads make everything so hard for me with zero acknowledgement of how it affects his kids.”
And the original poster responded with something that hit a part of my soul:
“When I see a father with his children genuinely being a father, it hurts a part of me for them that I’ll never be able to heal.”

I felt that.
Every syllable.

Because as a single mom, especially one who raised a son who begged for his father, I’ve been there. I’ve lived in that place where you’re responsible for everything, including the emotional environment you’re drowning in. I’ve tried so hard to stay the nurturer even while fighting my own battles, my own health, my own exhaustion, my own heartbreak.

And let me tell you:
Trying to be soft while living in survival mode is a war most people don’t see.

We don’t talk enough about the grief single mothers carry, the grief of the mother we wanted to be. The mother who would have more patience. More gentleness. More time. More emotional availability. More margin. More help.

We don’t talk about how single moms mourn the version of childhood they wish their kids could have had.
We don’t talk about the guilt that sits heavy on our chests at night.
We don’t talk about the jealousy that flares when we see a father actually show up for his kids, not because we resent the dad, but because we ache for what our children deserved.

And we definitely don’t talk about how hard it is to stay soft when life keeps hardening you.

But here’s something I’m learning:

Even if I wasn’t always the picture-perfect nurturer.
Even if I had to be the enforcer, the provider, the protector.
Even if I had to be both mom and dad, soft and stern, gentle and strong.

I was still there.
I still showed up.
I still loved them fiercely.

Sometimes “soft” doesn’t look like cuddles and warm cookies and soothing words.
Sometimes “soft” looks like fighting for a child who feels abandoned.
Like holding the line when you want to collapse.
Like protecting them from the very person who should have protected you too.

And sometimes, the mother we had to become is the exact one our kids needed to survive.

To any single mom grieving the soft mother she wanted to be:
You’re not alone.
You’re not failing.
You’re rebuilding a life from the ground up with strength most people will never understand.

And even if you had to become tougher than you ever wanted to be, you are still raising children who know what resilience looks like. You’re showing them courage. You’re showing them loyalty. You’re showing them what it means to stay- even when others walked away.

You are not “less than” for being both soft and strong.
You are more.
And your kids will one day understand just how powerful that is.

Raising Kids for a Future We Can’t Predict: High Expectations in a Post-Pandemic Economy

 Adaptability: The Real Skill We Can Teach

Parenting in a rapidly changing economy was hard enough before. But now, after a generation of kids went through “shutdown isolation mode,” we’re expected to not only teach them how to manage money, plan careers, and survive adulthood- but also how to interact with other humans without panicking.

As an elder millennial, I can barely predict how my own budget will survive the month, let alone map out a full economic plan for a teenager. Meanwhile, schools are supposed to teach kids to budget for a world where rent is skyrocketing, wages are frozen, and half the careers they might pursue don’t exist yet. Oh, and don’t forget: many of these kids are just learning how to look someone in the eye and carry on a conversation. Because, you know, two years of isolation totally didn’t mess with their social skills.

So yes, the expectations are high. Unrealistically high. We’re told to prepare our kids for an unpredictable economy while simultaneously teaching them soft skills that even the adults are still learning. Financial literacy? Sure. But maybe first teach them how to survive a family dinner without retreating under the table. Career readiness? Absolutely- but let’s start with explaining that not every Zoom call needs to start with a TikTok reference.

The truth is, I can teach them values that last- resilience, adaptability, curiosity, and empathy. These skills will carry them further than any perfectly executed budget spreadsheet or futuristic career roadmap. Because the economy will keep shifting, industries will keep evolving, and yes, life will keep throwing curveballs. The goal isn’t to “future-proof” our kids. It’s to raise humans capable of thriving despite the uncertainty.

The truth is, at this point, I can guide them, share lessons I’ve learned the hard way, and help them develop values that will carry them forward- resilience, adaptability, and common sense. I can’t control the economy, predict the housing market, or guarantee a perfect career path. What I can do is support them as they make their own decisions, stumble, learn, and grow into adults capable of handling uncertainty. Because raising an older teen isn’t about shielding them from the world- it’s about preparing them to step into it with confidence, even if I wouldn’t always make the same choices myself. 

Paid Off, Worn Out, and Still Running (Kind of Like Me)

 I was sitting in the Walgreens parking lot today, waiting on a prescription, when I noticed all the shiny new cars around me- the ones with heated steering wheels, backup cameras, and monthly payments that look like rent.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my 2008 Jeep, with a hood that’s shedding paint like a snake in spring. The luxury? It’s paid for. That’s right. No car payment. No “your bill is due” reminders. Just me and my gloriously unbothered old Jeep.

Sure, the tires are new- because I do prefer my children alive-  but otherwise the thing is aging like a feral cat: difficult, loud, and somehow still surviving.

My dad used to say new cars were a lousy investment. “Keep an old one,” he’d tell me. “If you learn how to work on it, you can always keep it running.”

I thought he was being dramatic. Turns out, he was teaching me economics, survival, and emotional endurance all at once. It wasn’t about the car- it was about not relying on things (or people) that fall apart the first time life sneezes on them.

And somewhere along the way, those lessons bled straight into motherhood.

Because moms- especially single moms- are experts in the quiet trade-offs nobody sees.

We keep the same winter coat for seven years, but make sure our kids get new ones the second theirs seem “a little snug.”

We wear tennis shoes until the tread is basically a suggestion, but our kids somehow have three pairs from the latest trend cycle and the backup pair “just in case.”

We skip buying our favorite snacks so the pantry can be filled with their favorites. We pretend we don’t even like snacks.

And on the nights when there’s just enough food for everyone except us, we suddenly “aren’t hungry.” Kids never notice. They’re too busy eating the meal we quietly made sure they had.

These sacrifices don’t come with fanfare. Nobody applauds them. They’re just woven into the rhythm of everyday life- the invisible currency of keeping your children safe, fed, confident, warm, and ready to face the world without carrying the weight you carry.

My Jeep may be rough. My coat may be old. My tennis shoes may have seen better traction back when I did, too. But my kids have what they need- and a lot of what they want- because I decided that my comfort could wait.

One day, maybe they’ll understand. Maybe they’ll look back and realize love isn’t loud. It’s not always shiny. Sometimes it looks like driving an old Jeep in a parking lot full of new cars… and being proud of it.

So why does the grass always look greener on the other side- especially to our kids? Maybe because they’ve always played on grass we watered. They don’t see the long nights, the stretched dollars, the patched jackets, or the worn-down tread. They just see a world where things show up for them, because we quietly made sure they did. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the real sign that we’re doing it right is that they never had to wonder how the bills got paid or why we were still wearing that same winter coat. 

To every mom out there doing the same invisible math every day- choosing stability over sparkle, love over luxury- just know this: the grass is greener because of you!

The Everyday Parent vs. The Fun Parent: What Kids Don’t Always See

Kids can be brutally honest, but also completely blind. They’ll walk into the kitchen, open a fridge that you made sure was stocked, pull on the clothes you just washed, toss their backpack down (that you probably bought on a last-minute Target run), and still act like you’ve done absolutely nothing for them.

Then they come back from a weekend at Dad’s. Oh, the stories. Every second was “amazing.” He was funny. He was cool. They went out to eat. No bedtimes. No nagging. All fun, no stress.

And of course, that must mean life is like that at his house all the time, right? Because Dad doesn’t have bills, or work, or actual responsibilities. He’s just permanently stuck in vacation mode.

And when the glow wears off, when homework and chores and regular life kick back in, what happens? Suddenly Mom is the villain. Mom, who does the morning and afternoon carpool line. Mom, who makes the breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Mom, who pays the field trip fees, buys the soccer cleats, remembers the permission slips, and holds them while they cry after a fight with a friend. But apparently, all of that gets wiped out by one game of candy poker at Dad’s.

Let’s not forget the financial side. Ballet classes, baseball uniforms, field trips, birthday presents for every kid in their class - who pays for those? Mom. New shoes when theirs mysteriously vanish into thin air? Mom. The emergency $30 for “school spirit day” tomorrow that you find out about at 9 p.m.? Yep, Mom again. Dad might clap proudly at the recital or ball game, but the ticket to even be there was bought with Mom’s sacrifices.

But do kids realize that? No. To them, ballet and field trips just exist. Clothes magically appear in their drawers. They don’t know that you’re quietly juggling bills, stretching dollars, and giving up things for yourself so they don’t have to go without. They don’t see that Dad gets to swoop in, play hero, and never once feel the weight of what it took to make that “fun” possible.

And then it happens. Out of nowhere, usually during an argument or a hard day, your child drops the bomb:

“Maybe I should just live with Dad.”

It doesn’t matter if they’re seven or seventeen - those words never stop hitting like a knife to the chest. In one sentence, every sacrifice you’ve ever made gets erased. The field trips, the hospital nights, the birthday parties you pulled off when money was tight… gone. And the worst part? It’s not even about Dad - it’s about the illusion of Dad. The highlight reel. The “fun parent” performance.

But when your kid says it, it doesn’t feel like they’re rejecting the illusion. It feels like they’re rejecting you. It feels like they’re saying, You’re not enough. You’re too strict. You’re too boring. You’re not fun. And it cuts deep because you know damn well you’re the one who makes sure they even have a life to enjoy in the first place.

Sure, go live with Dad. See how fast the groceries restock themselves. See who actually signs your permission slips, who buys your school fundraiser junk, who knows which brand of cereal you’ll actually eat when you’re moody. Go ahead - test the theory.

And here’s the kicker: even when they’re teenagers, dripping in sarcasm and rolling their eyes at everything you say, you know the truth. At the end of a brutal school day, when they walk in with tears threatening to spill, it’s not Dad they turn to. It’s Mom. Because deep down, they know who can handle the hard parts. They know who will actually listen, who will talk them through the mess, who will carry their emotions like it’s second nature.

Dad might get the highlight reel. Mom gets the whole movie - every scene, every meltdown, every triumph. And yes, it hurts like hell when the star of that movie looks you in the face and says they’d rather change directors. But the truth is, they wouldn’t even have a story without you.

So to the moms holding it all together, even when it feels like no one notices: you are the heartbeat of your child’s world. You are the reason there’s food on the table, clean clothes in the drawer, and comfort when life feels too heavy. You’re the steady voice that talks them down when they’re falling apart, the arms that hold them when they can’t hold themselves, the safe place they will always come back to - whether they realize it now or not.

And yes, sometimes it feels like you’re invisible. Sometimes it feels like they’ve forgotten every sacrifice, every late night, every quiet way you’ve held their lives together. But here’s the truth: they haven’t forgotten. They can’t. Your love is stitched into the fabric of who they are. It shows up in their courage, in their laughter, in the way they carry themselves through the world.

One day - maybe when they have kids of their own, maybe in a quiet moment years from now - they will finally see it. They’ll see you. And when they do, they’ll realize the real hero of their story was never the one with the fun weekends. It was the one who showed up every single day, with love that never quit.

Because at the end of the day, it was always you.

Writing My Way Through

 

I’ve been deep in the process of writing a book lately. I didn’t set out with some polished plan or publishing dream, it just started with getting things out of my head and onto the page. Turns out, writing your own story is a lot harder than it sounds.

Some of what I’m writing about touches on the harder parts of motherhood, survival, chronic illness, identity, and the kind of love that teaches you things whether you’re ready or not. I’m not going into full detail here, that’s for the book, but I’ve been peeling back layers I didn’t know were still there. It’s been healing in some ways, stressful in others. Emotional, always.

It’s also a learning curve. There’s more to writing than just pouring your heart out. I’m figuring it out as I go, and it’s taught me just how much I’ve held in over the years. Writing it all down feels like taking inventory of things I’ve lived through and asking, "What do I want to carry forward?"

I don’t think I’ll be giving regular updates on the book. That feels like too much pressure. But I might share little pieces here and there - things that didn’t make it into the chapters but still deserve a place. Moments, thoughts, maybe even old journal scraps that I’ve carried with me.

So if you’re reading this, thanks for being here. Thanks for letting me be a little messy and unsure. This blog has always been a space for me to breathe out what I’ve been holding in. Writing a book is just a louder version of that, I guess.

Still writing. Still healing. Still learning. 

-H

Someone Should Have Told Me to Hang Up the Phone

 Someone Should Have Told Me to Hang Up the Phone

I think I’m getting old.

Now, I know age is just a number—and according to the doctor’s office assistant who complimented my “youthful glow,” I’m apparently winning that game—but still. Age sneaks up on you, not with gray hairs or back pain (okay, sometimes with back pain), but with moments. Moments like this one...

I’m sitting in a waiting room, minding my business, when I overhear a teenage girl chatting on the phone. Correction: announcing to the world that her boyfriend is currently on the toilet, doing some gastrointestinal heavy lifting. Classy.

I wasn’t even embarrassed for him. I was embarrassed for her. She was there with a friend, laughing, scrolling, existing in a cloud of youthful chaos. I leaned over, trying to be lighthearted, and asked her friend how old they were.

“Nineteen,” she said.

Nineteen. And the girl on the phone? She was talking to her boyfriend about her prenatal visit.

Their conversation turned into a mini argument right there in the waiting room. He didn’t seem thrilled about anything, especially not the baby shower coming up in a few weeks. She offered to drive several hours just to pick him up, to which he replied that this would interfere with his “job.” And by “job,” I mean… illegal extracurriculars. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say she had to remind him that no, she didn’t want substances in her car—again—because getting arrested once was apparently enough.

My eye-rolling reached DEFCON 1.

I don’t know if it was the mom in me, or the “been there, done that, got the baby tee” in me—but something snapped. I looked that girl dead in the eye and said, “Hang up. Hang. Up. The. Phone.”

It didn’t matter that I didn’t know her. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t technically my business. All I could think was: Someone should have told me to hang up.

I got called in for my appointment and didn’t see how it all played out. Maybe she listened, maybe she didn’t. But in that moment, I couldn’t stay quiet. Because I was that girl once. Nineteen, pregnant, in over my head. Running in circles with the wrong crowd. Trying to navigate adulthood with a baby on the way and a mind still halfway in high school.

Nobody told me to hang up the phone. Nobody pulled me aside and said, “Hey, that guy isn’t going to be there when it matters. You’re not in the right space to raise a baby with someone who’s already acting like a ghost.”

But who would have told me? Who even could have told me? It’s not like people were out here giving unsolicited wisdom bombs at random OB appointments.

And yet… maybe they should’ve been.

Now, here we are—an entire generation of young girls growing into young mothers. Many will end up doing it alone. Some of them have moms who are doing their best, but don't know the full story. Some of them are hiding things. Some are scared. And some, like me back then, don’t even realize they need saving from the path they’re on.

So here’s the question: Can we, as a society, butt in? Can we speak up, from one mom to another, and say “Hey, this road? It’s a dead end. Try turning here instead.”

Can we do it with love and without judgment? Can we throw out lifelines before the ship fully sinks?

I see so many single moms struggling, so many reaching out in Facebook groups, asking for advice, support, strength. What if we could get to them before that point? What if a little truth-telling in a waiting room was the start of something better?

Maybe we’re not just getting older. Maybe we’re becoming the voices we wish we had. The ones who say, “Hang up the phone, girl. There’s a better life waiting.”

The Archaic Use of Guilt Tripping

 Breaking the Cycle: The Archaic Use of Guilt Tripping

Ah, the classic boomer move: "I did this for you, so now you owe me." It's a tried-and-true tactic that’s been passed down through generations like a family heirloom—only less glamorous. And while it might work for getting the dishes done, it sure doesn't do much for emotional connection.

But wait, it gets better! The grandparents chime in too, unintentionally stacking on more "obligations" to the pile. Whether it’s a favor, a gift, or a well-meaning piece of advice, the cycle of emotional debt becomes a

never-ending chain. It's as if emotional manipulation is the family tradition no one ever signed up for. But here's the kicker: the problem isn’t just that we feel obligated, it’s that we don’t even realize it’s happening.

So, what now? Well, it’s time to break that cycle. It might sound impossible—like trying to change a family recipe that’s been passed down for decades—but it’s doable. Start with communication. No more “you owe me” or "I did this for you" guilt trips. Instead, let’s speak up, set boundaries, and show love without strings attached. Imagine a family dynamic where everyone feels supported instead of indebted. It’s not just a dream; it’s a choice.

How do we break this cycle? Start small. Have a conversation with your loved ones. Be honest, but approach it with care. You don’t have to confront decades of patterns all at once. Let them know how you feel, and ask for what you need. It may feel uncomfortable at first, but in the long run, it’ll lead to healthier relationships. Set boundaries around the "you owe me" mentality, and make it clear that your love and support come without strings attached. Most importantly, keep an open heart and mind. Change takes time, but it's worth it.

For Kids...It’s Hard, But Worth It: And hey, for the younger generation navigating these dynamics—breaking the cycle isn’t easy. It may feel like you're fighting an uphill battle at times, but keep in mind that you’re not just reshaping your own future. You’re setting a new example for the next generation, showing them what healthy, balanced relationships look like. So, take a deep breath, be kind to yourself, and remember that change takes time. But the effort? Absolutely worth it.

Interview with Spoon Full Of Sugar Rex & Nelle

In February of 2023, I was honored to be interviewed by Rex with Spoon Full of Sugar. Spoon Full of Sugar is a dedicated 501(c)3 organization founded by Rex and Nelle Muhlestein, who has personally experienced the challenges of living with an autoimmune disease. Committed to raising awareness about chronic pain and fatigue, they aim to educate the public, support those affected, and advocate for better understanding and treatment options. By providing resources, support groups, and educational materials, Spoon Full of Sugar  strives to empower individuals and families navigating the challenges of chronic pain and fatigue. Their efforts are aimed at fostering a compassionate and informed community. 

This interview was just prior to my diagnosis of my third macroadenoma. To learn more about the work they do and about Nelle's story, check out the following link: 

SPOON FULL OF SUGAR

CHRONIC PAIN & SUFFERING AWARENESS

Breaking the Cycle: Generational Trauma Among Women and the Impact on Our Daughters, Granddaughters, and… Our Love Lives (Oh, and Friendships Too)

Hello, Supermom.

It’s no secret that being a single mom comes with a whole lot of superpowers. You're juggling everything—kids, work, social life (who are we kidding, what's a social life?), and of course, surviving the never-ending mountain of laundry. But what happens when the weight of not just your responsibilities but also the invisible baggage passed down through generations lands on your shoulders?

Enter generational trauma—a phrase that sounds a lot like it should come with a therapist’s bill, right? But, hey, don’t run for the hills just yet. Understanding this concept can actually help you understand why you sometimes find yourself feeling a little... well, triggered by things that seem innocuous to the outside world. Trust me, you’re not crazy. You’re just carrying some old, unnecessary family baggage.

Generational trauma refers to the emotional, psychological, or behavioral patterns passed down through families, often from mother to daughter, grandmother to granddaughter, and so on. Think of it as a gift that no one wants. This trauma is often linked to unresolved issues like abuse, neglect, or emotional hardship that were never fully addressed in earlier generations. These patterns show up in everything from how we handle relationships (you know, those “lovely” male relationships we have) to how we interact with our friends, and even how we parent our children.

Let’s face it—mother-daughter relationships are already complicated. But when you add the weight of generational trauma into the mix, it’s like trying to fit a giraffe into a minivan. The impact of what your mother or grandmother experienced doesn’t just disappear. It trickles down, leaving invisible imprints on the next generation. If your mother struggled with low self-esteem, unhealed emotional wounds, or maybe had trouble trusting men (you know, just a tiny thing), guess what? You might have inherited those struggles, and whoops—now your daughter might be struggling with them too.

And let’s not even get started on how this affects granddaughters. I mean, if you thought watching your own daughter struggle with relationships was hard, just wait until you see your grandchild trying to figure out how to love, trust, and not become a walking example of unresolved issues. It’s like the family drama of the century, only you can’t mute it.

Friendships. Ah, yes. Those sweet, supportive relationships—unless you're walking around with a backpack full of generational trauma. It’s no wonder so many women struggle to form and maintain meaningful friendships. If you're constantly carrying emotional wounds that stem from childhood, how in the world are you supposed to trust your friends, let alone let them see the real, unfiltered version of yourself? Add in the fear of rejection, a deep-seated need for validation, and an instinct to protect yourself at all costs—and suddenly, your girl group is full of surface-level small talk and a whole lot of emotional distance.

But hey, it’s not just you. You know your friend who always cancels plans at the last minute or seems to be constantly involved in chaotic drama? Yeah, she might be carrying a bit of generational trauma herself, and let’s be real—chaos seems to be part of the package deal. Until we start working through these deeply rooted patterns, our friendships might feel more like a game of emotional dodgeball than a safe place to lean on.

Now, let’s talk about relationships with men. Cue the dramatic music, right? If you grew up in a household where emotional neglect or toxic masculinity was the norm, it’s no wonder you might struggle with relationships later in life. You know, that whole “I’m not worthy of love” thing or the “All men are fill in the blank” mentality. Or how about this one: "I don’t need a man!" Yeah, we’ve all said that, but sometimes that “independence” mask is really just a shield from the hurt caused by a broken relationship or emotional scars left from childhood.

We’re not blaming anyone here (okay, maybe a little). But let’s acknowledge the obvious: we teach our daughters how to navigate relationships based on what we learned about them growing up. So, if the men in our lives weren’t great role models—maybe they were absent, emotionally unavailable, or just plain toxic—it’s pretty likely that we’ll unintentionally attract those same types of men. And trust me, our daughters notice. "Mom, why do you let him treat you like that?"

And here’s a fun twist—men who have grown up in similar circumstances (hello, unresolved generational trauma) might find it equally hard to navigate healthy relationships. It’s like trying to make a smoothie with half the ingredients missing.

Now, here’s the kicker. Because generational trauma often goes unaddressed, many women end up seeking psychological treatment outside of the home. It’s not just about therapy sessions or support groups (although, thank goodness for those). It’s about realizing that the pain you’re carrying isn’t just your own—it’s an emotional inheritance. And honestly, breaking the cycle sometimes requires a little more than a good talk therapy session.

We might need to dig deep and do the hard work—whether that’s through therapy, journaling, yoga, or (dare I say it?) emotional triage with the bestie over a bottle of wine. But here’s the thing: It’s worth it. Breaking generational trauma is hard, messy work, but it’s the only way to create a healthier, more emotionally stable future for our daughters and granddaughters. Plus, who wants to pass down a bunch of unresolved issues along with the family heirloom china? Let’s make healthier legacies.

Breaking the cycle isn’t about perfection—it’s about healing. Healing means allowing ourselves to feel the emotions we've buried, forgiving our parents (even when it’s hard), and choosing to live differently for the sake of the next generation. It means allowing our daughters to see us struggle, but also showing them how to rise above.

So, let’s get real. We can break the cycle. It starts with awareness, honesty, and the courage to take action. And if you need a little help along the way, that’s perfectly fine. Trust me, no one said breaking generational trauma was easy—but it is possible.

And hey, if we can survive all of that and still manage to laugh at ourselves along the way, then maybe—just maybe—we’re onto something good.

Single Moms: The Unsung Superheroes and Their Quirky Stats

Single moms—where do we even begin? These women juggle more than most can even imagine, and they’re doing it with grace, wit, and an unstoppable drive. But did you know just how amazing they really are? From owning homes to running businesses, single moms are out here proving that they can do it all. So, sit back, grab a cup of coffee (or wine, we don’t judge), and check out these quirky stats that show just how awesome single moms truly are.

First off, let’s talk about homeownership. Yep, you read that right—over 30% of single moms are homeowners. Not only are they managing to keep it together, but they’re also buying homes while raising kids solo. Talk about multitasking! Forget about the “struggling single mom” stereotype—these women are securing mortgages and living the American dream, one home at a time.

And speaking of dreams, guess who’s out here running businesses? You guessed it: single moms! More than 2.5 million single mothers are entrepreneurs in the United States. That’s right—while some of us are struggling to remember where we put our keys, single moms are launching companies. Whether it's running a local bakery, offering consulting services, or designing apps, single moms are proving they can handle boardrooms just as easily as they can handle bedtime stories.

Now, let's get academic. Who says single moms aren’t going back to school? About 29% of single mothers are enrolled in college—because who doesn't need a degree when you’re already the CEO of a household? Many single moms are going after degrees in everything from business to healthcare to tech. Some are even diving into fields like STEM, breaking barriers and showing the world that single moms are as tech-savvy as they are tough.

And the cherry on top? Let’s talk degrees. A lot of people might assume that single mothers are too busy to think about going back to school, but the reality is, single moms are acing it—literally. They’re going for it in areas like education, business, and even engineering. About 14% of single moms hold degrees in STEM fields (yes, you read that right, STEM!). Who needs a knight in shining armor when you can wield a degree in electrical engineering and a laptop?

And while we’re at it, let’s clear up another common misconception: being a single mom doesn’t mean you’re out of the dating game forever. In fact, about 40% of single mothers eventually remarry or enter long-term relationships. Some single moms are just too busy conquering the world to think about marriage right away—and hey, they’ve got high standards now. They're not just looking for a partner; they’re looking for someone who can keep up with their awesomeness.

But here’s the thing: despite all of this success, it’s not just about the numbers or the degrees. Single moms face a lot of challenges, and yet, 77% of them say they’re proud of their accomplishments as parents. Raising kids while navigating life as a single parent is no easy feat, but these moms do it with a sense of pride and determination that is absolutely unmatched.

So, the next time you see a single mom, give her a high five, send a thumbs up, or better yet—offer to babysit while she enjoys some much-needed alone time. These women are doing everything (literally everything), and they’re doing it with style, smarts, and a side of sass. Single moms aren’t just surviving—they’re thriving, and they’re doing it fabulously.