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.