Week-On Mom, Week-Off Mess
A dive into single mom burnout, job hunting hell, and learning to exist without performing for the world.
Every other Wednesday, I do the same damn thing: hug tiny bodies, remind myself not to cry in front of them, and send my kids off for a week at their Dads.
Week-on, week-off parenting may sound like a built-in reset button for your sanity. In theory, it’s supposed to be a gift. Time to get your shit together.
Except when you’re broke, tired, and sitting on a pile of job applications that all lead to the same dead-end silence, that “me time” feels less like freedom and more like punishment.
This past week, I hit my limit: emotionally, financially, hormonally, existentially.
It was that delightful time of the month when everything hurts, my body feels like a malfunctioning heating pad, and my uterus decides to host its own demolition derby. On top of that, it marks five months of trying to claw my way toward some kind of financial stability. Five months of applying to jobs, pitching projects, creating content, and doing the whole “trust the process” thing everyone swears by. Spoiler alert: the process fucking sucks.
By all definitions, I’m drowning.
My credit card is maxed out. My bank account looks like a bad joke. I’m putting in hours every single day applying to jobs that ghost harder than any of my exes. I love what I’m building—a company, my writing, myself—but living project to project is exhausting. I can’t keep pretending it’s sustainable.
I’ve officially hit that point where selling off the last of my shit sounds more practical than sad. And before anyone feels tempted to say “it’s just a rough patch,” I know. I know it’s temporary. I know I’m not failing. But knowing something logically doesn’t make it feel any less awful when you’re in it.
The Unpaid Performance of Survival
When you’re struggling financially, mentally, emotionally—pick your fucking poison—there’s still this twisted expectation to perform. To smile, to post, to prove that you’re “okay.” Especially if you work in marketing, content, or anything remotely creative. Visibility is currency, right?
Except I’m fucking tired of being a brand before being a person.
This week, I hit the wall. I stared at my phone one morning, scrolling through a feed of people celebrating their promotions, partnerships, and picture-perfect lives, and thought, “Why the hell do I need to exist here to matter?”
So I pulled the plug.