More than Enough
They don’t talk about how loud
a single mother’s mind is at night.
It’s never quiet.
It’s questions.
Did I do enough today?
Did I yell too much?
Did I listen enough?
Did I miss something that will show up years from now in therapy?
We clock in.
We clock out.
We keep the house standing,
the fridge full,
the kids fed, bathed, dressed, breathing.
We carry calendars in our heads
and guilt in our chests.
Somewhere between survival and responsibility,
we forget ourselves.
We forget to eat.
We forget to drink water.
We’re so tired that even the idea of a shower feels like work.
And when we finally steal five minutes to breathe
five minutes to remember we are human
there are knocks on the door.
Little hands.
Little cries.
“Mama?”
So we put ourselves back on the shelf.
Again.
They say you can’t pour from an empty cup,
but they don’t talk about how mothers learn
to bleed instead.
We show up sick.
We show up exhausted.
We show up after 6, 8, 10 hours on our feet
just to come home and work some more.
Unpaid.
Unpraised.
Unseen.
This is for the mothers who do it all
with shaking hands
and full hearts.
For the ones running on fumes
and still choosing love.
You are not failing because you’re tired.
You are tired because you never stop.
And even when no one says thank you
your children feel it.
Your love is loud.
Your sacrifice is holy.
You are doing more than enough.
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