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!