The Sacrifices No One Sees

People think I’m doing well.

They see me handling my responsibilities; rent paid, bills on time, child cared for. I go to work, I smile when I’m expected to, I show up. From the outside, I look like someone who has her life together. Stable. Capable. Functioning.

But they don’t see what’s behind the curtain. They don’t see the nights I sit on the edge of my bed, eyes burning with silent tears, wondering how much longer I can keep holding it all together. They don’t see how close to the edge I feel some days, how the weight of it all presses so hard on my chest it hurts to breathe. They don’t see that I’ve become a master of hiding my pain. They only see the performance; the version of me that looks like I’m “making it.”

But I’m not. Not in the way they think.

I’m in a job that drains me. It doesn't challenge me or ignite any part of my soul. I go through the motions, day after day, because it’s safe. Because it's flexible. Because it gives me just enough space to be the kind of parent I want to be. And that’s the truth; that’s why I’ve stayed. Not out of fear. But out of love. I chose this job because I’m a single parent. Because I wanted to be there for my child in the ways I wasn’t always sure someone would be there for me. I chose presence over ambition. I chose accessibility over titles. I chose school pickups over promotions. And I have no regrets. None.

But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t cost me.

It’s cost me sleep. It’s cost me parts of myself I haven’t visited in years. It’s cost me creative energy, confidence, and dreams I shelved “for later.” It’s hard to admit how long I’ve been waiting for later to come. And now… I feel tired. So, so tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. It’s the soul-deep exhaustion of being stretched too thin for too long; of always having to be strong, dependable, and composed; even when I’m breaking inside. Of having no one to fall apart in front of, so I just don’t, and the world keeps spinning. And I keep surviving. But I want more than survival. I want to wake up excited about my work. I want to rediscover the parts of me that I buried under duty. I want to chase the dreams I postponed. I want to believe that my life can still be mine; even after all the detours and delays.

So I made a promise to myself: this is the last year. Once my child graduates from primary school, I’ll give myself permission to let go of this job. I’ll step into the unknown and chase what I really want. I’ll stop making excuses and start honoring the fire in me that’s still flickering, even after all these years of neglect. It’s scary. But I have to believe that I’m still allowed to want something more.

You are allowed to choose you, too. You can be a good parent and still want more. You can be responsible and still crave joy. You can be strong and still feel exhausted. You can love your child with everything in you and still mourn the pieces of yourself you had to put away.

And it’s not too late. So when the time comes, I will step out of the shadows I’ve lived in for so long. I will chase the life I’ve quietly dreamed of. I will become the woman my younger self prayed I’d become; the one who didn’t just survive, but finally, finally started to live. Until then, I keep going. Quietly. Bravely.

Because that’s what we do.

-HumanityECW