Reflections from the orange chair.

"I wish you were like that mom, nice and playful all the time". Who would have known a simple sentence would make my heart shatter in ways I never knew was possible. Tears began forming as negative thoughts rode the waves in my mind. Every thought pushing my tears closer to my eyelids, ready to stream down my face. I can't cry here though; I can't allow my emotions to be seen by him or anyone for that matter. As quick as he spoke, he carried on without a response from me, not even realizing my mind is still dwelling on the words that shot arrows at my heart. He sat on my lap, continuing on with his conversation as I listened, but I wondered how I would respond to his first comment, is he even looking for a response? How do I explain to a child, who is only six, that I want to be that mom. I want to be that family. I want to be a mom he sees as kind, loving, nurturing, and playful. Sadly, the version of me now is emotionally drained, numb, and operating in high functional depression. I am currently pouring from an empty cup, and to even ask me to play feels like an impossible thing to do. My body cannot take much more; I have already gained 100 pounds since being pregnant. Which feels like a boulder on top of my shoulders and every step I take it gets heavier and heavier.

As I sat in this orange, fluorescent chair I can't help but to question if I was a good mother. Am I capable to provide his needs? Or will I be the cause to his childhood wounds once he's an adult? The voices of the children playing behind me echoed in my mind. The father now entertaining the children, so the mom could go attend class with their sibling. I wonder if she understands the value of support. Does her heart rejoice knowing the blessing of partnership? I do not think this out of jealously or envy, but pure curiosity. I love to see true partnership, especially those built on the foundations of Christ. But my heart can't help but to wonder, will it ever be my turn?

I also knew that motherhood was never without its trials, but single motherhood carries a weight I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I pray those who haven’t walked this path never have to face the storms it brings. It is not natural; it never was in God's original plan.

As quickly as swim class started, it ended. We headed home and I did our normal routine. He ate his dinner, took a bath, then he jumped in bed to call it a night. I gave up long ago trying to make him sleep in his own room. If his peace is found next to me, how could I ever take that away? One day, he'll be ready, but tonight, he feels safer being close. Once he was asleep, I slipped into my prayer closet, to do the only thing my heart still knew how to do: pray. I knew that if I even attempted sleep, this aching would bleed into my dreams. Where do you begin when the pull of depression keeps you from moving forward? How do you even pray after enduring emotional warfare all day? It starts with wisdom. In order to persevere, you must have wisdom. My zeal for the Lord is the only reason I can keep going. I knew that in my weakness, he was my strength, and I can only know that through wisdom. The enemy knew exactly what to target. He used the only person he could, my son, to pierce my heart without ever physically striking me. It is amazing how a single sentence could unravel the strongest parts of me. Satan's goal was to steal my joy, and I won’t pretend it didn’t work. The longer I let those words echo in my mind and allow my thoughts to sit in defeat, the more the enemy had control over my mind. In a perfect world, I would have immediately rebuked every thought, casting them down at the feet of Christ. But in this real world… Sometimes, all I can do is kneel and allow my tears to speak.

The silence in my closet was deafening. I stared at the wall for what felt like forever, unsure how to even begin approaching God in this kind of brokenness, where even the knowledge of His love wasn’t bringing me comfort. I didn’t have words. I just knew I was tired. I picked up my bible, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. The scripture Matthew 11:28-30 rose from the page, as if it was in 3D. I read silently "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light". I am weary, I carry heavy burdens, and I most definitely need rest. I begin to pray this verse over my situation. "Lord motherhood has made my spirit weary, the heavy burdens of doing this alone has stolen joy, peace, and rest from me. I try my best to care for my son and provide all his needs, but it feels impossible to give 100% to him all while working, going to school, doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning. There just doesn't seem to be enough time in the day for everything. After all that, there is nothing left for me to do for myself, which has caused me to neglect my body, my mind, my soul. Teach me how to be attentive to my son, as well as run the household and work. Provide me with your yoke and take mine off my shoulders. May your light override the darkness that has made a home in my mind. In Jesus name I pray. Amen."

As I prayed, something shifted in the atmosphere. A warmth settled around me, one that words alone couldn’t begin to describe. It felt like the comfort a child finds wrapped in their favorite blanket, clutching a beloved teddy bear. Peace began to pour into my soul, overflowing the ache that had hollowed my heart.

For the first time that day, I didn’t feel alone.

I could sense the presence of angels, flames of fire encircling me like a divine shield. My voice was heard. My tears, collected. I stopped speaking and simply waited, not for an audible word, not even a thought, but for that gentle whisper in the garden of my soul. In that sacred place, He spoke. Not with language, but with presence. And what was given to me in that moment will remain tucked away, too precious to share.

But I will end this blog with a word of encouragement, for every mother carrying a weight you were never meant to bear alone. God is not distant from your weariness. He is in the thick of your schedule, your silence, your self-doubt. He knows your worries, your burdens, your deepest longings. It is so easy to get swallowed by the roles we juggle work, school, meals, laundry, parenting, healing, and holding ourselves together. But none of these were ever meant to be carried without Him.

If your foundation isn’t rooted in God, even the smallest tasks can begin to bury you. So, take time to sit with Him, wherever your secret place may be. Seek Him, and you’ll find that what once felt impossible becomes weightless in His hands. When He authors your life, He carries the ending too.

There’s a song I turn to when the weight of motherhood feels too heavy to carry. It’s called “The God Who Sees” by Kathie Lee Gifford and Nicole C. Mullen. I encourage you to add it to your playlist and let it be water to the dry places, hydrating the seeds of healing within your heart.

When the enemy rises to rob you of peace or shake your confidence in who you are, stand firm in this truth: there is a living God who chose you, for this time, for this purpose. He entrusted you with the sacred calling of motherhood, and that is no accident.

You are worthy of the role you've been given. And if you’ll rest in His promises, He will sustain you, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

May these words settle deep in your soul, planting seeds of faith, hope, and wonder in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

God bless you, abundantly and always.