I've lived through parenting and caregiving from many angles. I grew up in a blended family where I often helped care for younger kids. I was raised by a single mother who leaned on a circle of other single moms for survival. And for the past seven years, I've been co-parenting a neurodivergent child with high needs who we saw through some very tough years and is in high school. Parenting means trying to get through turbulence with grace and compassion, and I've learned that the right support and community can transform the chaos into something bearable--- and even make it possible for you to more consistently connect with joy! I can help you find steadiness as you move through the ups and downs of parenting and help you focus on the unique joys your relationship with your child (including adult children) brings to your life.

I was married for 20 years, but for at least half of that time, my partner was having affairs with people of the same sex. We went through counseling, trying to heal, but I later found out the betrayal had continued behind my back. Going through the end of that marriage while raising two kids was incredibly painful, but it also pushed me to find a strength I didn’t know I had. After a year of being single, I dated again, remarried, and eventually divorced a second time. Each experience, though heartbreaking, led me closer to understanding myself and what I truly want out of life. Today, both of my children are in college, and I’m proud of the compassionate, grounded people they are becoming. I've written a book on raising kids with empathy and now focus on helping others navigate their own transitions. If you’re facing the wreckage of a broken relationship or struggling to rediscover yourself, I would be honored to support you.

I’m a single mom raising my neurodivergent son, and it’s been a journey of constant learning. After a tough school year, I made the decision to homeschool, which helped me see the importance of adapting to my son’s needs. I learned how to advocate for both him and myself, especially as I faced the challenges of balancing my own mental health with parenting. Parenting a neurodivergent child means letting go of traditional expectations and embracing flexibility, and I’ve discovered that it’s okay to walk a different path. It hasn’t been easy, but by trusting my instincts and making empowered choices, we’ve found a way to thrive together. Now, I want to help other single parents, especially those navigating similar challenges, feel supported and empowered in their own unique journeys.

Becoming a mother was unexpected, but stepping into the role was a conscious choice, even knowing I would be doing it alone. For the past 6½ years, I’ve raised my son as a solo parent, learning how to carry both the beauty and the burden of parenting without a partner. The early days were especially difficult. I often felt isolated from family, friends, and even society as I confronted the stigmas and the sheer weight of responsibility. Time, resources, and support felt limited, and the emotional load was heavy. But single parenting has also transformed me. I’ve learned to advocate for myself in ways I never did before - at work, in my family, and in my relationships. I’ve made hard decisions that reflect my values, not others’ expectations, and that shift has made me stronger and more focused. In the process, I’ve discovered a deeper love; one that gives me the strength to push through even the most stressful moments. Some of the biggest turning points came when I stopped trying to live up to outside standards of “good parenting.” I took time away to reflect on what I truly wanted from this life and decided to pursue a path that reflected who we are, not what we were told to be. One of those moments came when I saw my son being left out on a school playground. That was when I knew we had to do things differently. Since then, we’ve embraced our unique rhythm as a family. This rhythm is one that includes rituals, values, nature, chosen family, and plenty of honesty. I’ve learned that single parenting doesn’t have to mean doing everything alone - it can mean doing it intentionally, and together.

Financial stress first hit me hard when I became a single mother. The emotional and physical demands of parenting alone collided with the reality of limited income and rising debt. I often felt paralyzed by the weight of financial insecurity. It wasn’t just the logistics of paying bills—it was the feeling of being trapped, of falling behind while others moved forward, and of constantly being reminded of childhood poverty I had hoped to leave behind. At my lowest, debt felt like an 800-pound gorilla sitting on my chest. I shrank in social circles where others had more financial stability, and struggled to feel like I belonged. But over time, I began to face things head-on. I made one small step each day—checking my bank account, making hard phone calls, asking for help. I learned that the fear of doing something was often far worse than the task itself. Though financial stress still lingers, my mindset has shifted. Even though it can still feel hard, I’ve seen my own strength in action. I now understand that money doesn’t define me—my values, my efforts, and my love for my child do. That clarity allows me to move through challenges with more grace, confidence, and self-worth.

I became a mom at 25, and soon after, I found myself juggling the complexities of single motherhood. My son was diagnosed with autism, and my ex-husband’s alcoholism created an even more unpredictable and chaotic environment. Going back to school for my master’s degree at 31 while raising my son wasn’t easy—especially since I was living on public assistance during that time. But, despite the challenges, I made it through. I learned how to manage my emotions, not expect perfection from myself, and embrace the mess that comes with being a single parent. There were times I wanted to scream in frustration, but I learned to let go of some societal expectations about what "perfect" parenting looks like. My experiences with co-parenting, financial instability, and trying to create a stable home for my son have given me a deep well of empathy for anyone trying to do their best under tough circumstances. Now, as a therapist, I know how powerful it is to simply show up and be real with someone, rather than offering advice that doesn’t land. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about showing up, messy and all.

After my divorce, I found myself thrown into the deep end of single parenting. At first, I felt completely overwhelmed. My son was young, and I was trying to balance working, managing the household, and figuring out how to provide emotional stability for both of us. I didn’t always have the answers and often felt exhausted. One of the hardest things was adjusting to the silence in the house after the divorce—no more shared responsibilities or support. It was up to me to create the structure and calm that we needed. Over time, I learned how to communicate my needs more clearly, set boundaries, and prioritize self-care. I realized that I couldn’t pour from an empty cup, and that it was okay to ask for help and lean on my friends and family when I needed it. Now, after five years, I’ve become much more grounded in my role as a single mom. I’m no longer just surviving; I’m thriving, and I want to help others who are walking the same path.

I got married young, but by the time I was 28, I was going through a divorce and adjusting to life as a single parent. My son’s father chose not to be involved from the beginning of my pregnancy, and I had to make the decision to move forward on my own. It wasn’t easy. I faced financial struggles, loneliness, and moments when the lack of family support made everything feel heavier. I leaned into support groups and community resources, connecting with other women going through similar experiences. Through that, I found strength and learned how to advocate for myself and my child. Over time, I built a network of friends who felt like family and taught myself how to balance parenting, working, and healing from the loss of my marriage. I also sought therapy, which helped me manage the anxiety and depression that showed up along the way. Now, I am passionate about supporting others who are facing the overwhelming reality of single parenting, reminding them that it's possible to rebuild a life full of joy, stability, and love.

When I got married, I never imagined I would one day be raising my two kids on my own. After facing emotional, financial, and narcissistic abuse, I made the difficult decision to leave. I bought a home by myself and started over, even though I felt ashamed and suffered in secret for a long time. Co-parenting was challenging at first, but now, after five years, we have created a peaceful 50/50 relationship that supports our kids’ well-being. During this time, I tripled my salary and built a life that feels abundant rather than scarce. Therapy, supportive friendships, and a belief in manifestation helped me move from simply surviving to truly thriving. Sharing my journey helped inspire others, like a close friend who found the courage to leave her own unhealthy marriage after hearing my story. I want you to know you are not alone, and that a joyful, fulfilling life is absolutely possible after heartbreak.

I come from a long line of highly educated, professionally successful, depressed, and anxious alcoholics. Even as a teenager, I knew my excessive drinking was a problem, and I could feel it taking root in ways that scared me. I got sober for the first time at 19 and stayed clean for 12 years, building a life I was proud of. But at 32, I relapsed and spent the next 15 years drinking and smoking pot, even as I managed to maintain a home, a full-time job, and raise two healthy, thriving children. On the outside, it looked like I was holding it all together, but inside, my life had become completely unmanageable. In March 2017, I checked myself into detox and returned to AA, where I found the community and tools I needed to start over — for real, this time. I’m so deeply grateful for my sobriety today and the peace it’s brought me.

I became a mom at 19 and now have five kids ranging from a toddler to young adults. I’ve raised them through some incredibly tough seasons—divorce, domestic violence, co-parenting challenges, and the constant juggle of meeting everyone's needs without losing myself completely. I’ve had babies on my hip while calming down a teen, all while trying to figure out who I was in the midst of it all. There were times when the anxiety and depression felt louder than anything else, but therapy and leaning on trusted friends helped me stay upright. I’ve learned how to ask for help, how to trust my gut, and how to talk with my kids in ways that help them feel seen—even when things were messy. One of the biggest lessons? Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean you’re failing. Now, I love supporting other parents who are deep in it. I don’t have all the answers, but I know how to listen, reflect, and hold space when it feels like everything is falling apart.

I spent five years caring for my mom, who suffered from dementia. Looking back, I realize I was probably a caregiver for her long before her diagnosis. Growing up in a co-dependent household with an alcoholic, abusive father meant that I learned early on how to put others’ needs first—even when it wasn’t healthy. After my mom was diagnosed, I stepped in to provide care, all while raising three kids and working full-time. It was a delicate balance, and it felt like I was constantly giving but never receiving in return. What I didn’t know then was how important boundaries would be in preserving my own mental and emotional health. At first, I struggled to say “no,” feeling guilty about not doing enough. But over time, I learned how to set firm yet compassionate boundaries, both with my mom and with others who needed my support. It wasn’t easy, but it allowed me to stay emotionally grounded and avoid burnout. I’ve also spent a lot of time helping friends and family navigate caregiving roles, and I’ve organized resources for others dealing with aging or ailing parents. There’s no blueprint for caregiving, but I’ve learned that it’s vital to find your own balance and remember that self-care isn’t selfish.

Becoming a parent later in life brought both joys and challenges I hadn’t expected. While some parenting experiences feel universal, I’ve learned that others — like balancing parenthood with a professional life or navigating the world as a parent of color — can be deeply unique. I’ve also found that parenting isn’t just about raising children, but about learning how to show up in different spaces, including among other parents, at schools, and in communities that don’t always reflect my own experiences. Along the way, I’ve thought a lot about how to advocate for my child, connect with the right support services, and step into leadership roles where needed. My journey has taught me that parenthood is about more than just surviving the day-to-day — it’s about building belonging for both yourself and your child.

Becoming a single mom wasn’t something I planned, and nothing really prepares you for the weight of it—especially when you’re also fighting for custody. For four years, I was in and out of court, constantly trying to keep it together for my daughter while dealing with the stress and uncertainty of not knowing what would happen next. At the same time, I had just moved to a new city where I didn’t know anyone, and everything felt unfamiliar. I had to rebuild my life from the ground up, without a support system close by. It was hard, really hard. I leaned on therapy, phone calls with family, and my faith to get through it. Some days I was just surviving. But over time, things shifted. I was granted full custody, and my daughter and I started counseling together. I slowly started making connections and building community in my new city. I’ve learned how to be both soft and strong, how to listen to myself and to my child, and how to ask for help without shame.

I had my son when I was 17 years old, still a junior in high school, and it changed my life completely. Balancing school, work, and a newborn was overwhelming at times, but I was determined to create a better life for both of us. With help from friends and family, a lot of long nights, and even longer days, I managed to graduate, go to college, and eventually earn a Master’s degree. It wasn't easy. There were moments I felt like I was failing, moments I missed milestones, and moments I didn’t know if I could keep going. But through it all, I built a beautiful relationship with my son, who is now an amazing young man. Being a single teen parent forced me to grow up fast, but it also gave me incredible resilience, compassion, and strength that I carry with me today. I understand the loneliness, the fear, and the pure determination it takes to parent young and alone. I'd love to support others who are navigating this tough, beautiful journey.

I was 42 when I realized I couldn’t keep raising my kids in the emotional chaos of my marriage. Their father was emotionally and verbally abusive—and cheating. I knew staying would only teach them the wrong version of love, so I filed for divorce. It took 3.5 years to finalize, and it was brutal. I had to show up for court, co-parent with someone who constantly crossed emotional boundaries, and still keep my kids grounded and safe. I worked multiple jobs, went through postpartum depression, and juggled toddler tantrums while managing my own grief and exhaustion. But I also taught my kids how to speak up, how to set boundaries, and how to think for themselves—even when it meant calling out their own father’s behavior. It wasn’t perfect, but I stayed steady and led with love. Now they’re adults in strong, healthy relationships, and I know that the hard choices I made gave them a better start. I’m here for anyone trying to parent in the middle of that kind of storm—you don’t have to do it alone.

At one point, I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of heartbreak and responsibility. I'd lost loved ones—my brother, my sister, and the father of my son—to addiction. I was raising three kids, balancing work and school, and trying to keep everything together while secretly falling apart. But amidst the chaos, I decided: I wouldn’t let pain define my story. I began healing and opened up. I discovered that vulnerability isn’t a weakness—it’s how we connect with others. Today, I share my story to help others feel seen, heard, and never alone. I’ve become the person I once needed—a steady light for those navigating their darkness. And I’ve learned that even when life doesn’t give you a happy ending, you can still write a powerful one.

When I became a mom, I had big ideas about what family life would look like. But life had other plans. I stayed in a relationship much longer than I should have, believing that keeping the family together was the best thing for my kids. Deep down I knew something was wrong, but I compartmentalized it, telling myself it would be worse if I left. We eventually survived domestic violence, family court, and involvement with the Department of Children and Families. Leaving was just the beginning; I had to grieve the loss of the partnership I had fought so hard for, while also carrying guilt and shame for not getting my kids out sooner. It took time to rebuild trust in myself, focus on my children's healing, and create a new kind of family where we could truly thrive. Today, my kids and I are stronger, more honest, and more connected because of everything we overcame together. I would love to be a support for anyone navigating parenting after leaving a difficult situation.

When my daughters were young, my husband went to rehab to get sober. Overnight, I became a single parent. Not because I wanted to, but because it was what our family needed to survive. I had to hold it all together while he worked to save his own life. That season of life was lonely, overwhelming, and filled with hard truths. There were moments I felt resentful, moments I was proud, and many where I simply had to keep going without knowing what came next. I juggled preschool drop-offs, tears in the shower, and answering my daughters’ questions without breaking down. But I also found strength I didn’t know I had. I kept showing up. And through all of it, I gained perspective not just as a partner, but as a woman and mother. Today, my husband is in long-term recovery, and I’m here to support anyone who’s walking that same tightrope. You’re not weak for struggling, you're strong for staying.

I’m a woman in long-term recovery who understands the depths of addiction and the incredible strength it takes to rebuild your life. My journey began with alcohol in my teens, and over the years, it spiraled into decades of substance use, which cost me jobs, homes, and nearly my hope. At 39, after losing so much, I decided to seek help with the support of the justice system, and I’ve never looked back. As a single mother, I faced the heart-wrenching trauma of my child’s abuse, but through therapy and healing, we both found a path forward. I've also navigated the challenges of leaving a controlling marriage and discovering the strength that comes with independence. Today, I’m here to share my story and remind you that recovery is possible, and no one has to walk this journey alone. Along the way, I’ve survived the loss of both parents, supported my child through difficult times, and witnessed the miracle of my granddaughter defying the odds after being told she wouldn’t survive. I am passionate about helping others find the hope, strength, and support they need to heal.