Learning To Stand Without A Net

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting and healing. The kind that doesn’t come neatly or quietly. The kind that shows you truths you didn’t necessarily want to face yet.

One of the hardest realizations I’ve come to is this:

I don’t really have a support system.

I don’t have a group of family or friends I can turn to when I’m struggling. I don’t have people nearby to lean on for advice, reassurance, or comfort when things feel heavy. And as a single mother, that reality hits especially hard.

There are days when the weight of doing everything alone feels overwhelming. Days when I wish I had someone close by to sit with me, remind me I’m not failing, or simply tell me it’s okay to rest. Instead, most of the time, I carry it all myself.

That doesn’t mean I don’t break down — because I do. Often.
But somehow, every time, I manage to pull myself back up again.

Not because it’s easy.
Not because I’m fearless.
But because I have no other choice.

My boyfriend, Ryan is my biggest source of support. He sees me in a way I don’t always see myself. The other night, he told me he thinks I’m the most amazing, selfless, strong, and tough woman he’s ever met. Those words brought me to tears — because being truly seen after everything I’ve been through feels rare and sacred. I wish we were together. I wish the support I feel from him didn’t have to be from a distance.

I do have my best friend, Laura. She lives about 45 minutes away, and she’s healing from her own painful experiences too. We show up for each other the best we can, even when we’re both exhausted. And that matters more than distance ever could.

Still, the loneliness is real.

At the same time, I’m slowly learning something else — something I didn’t ask to learn, but did anyway. I’m learning how to support myself. How to sit with my emotions. How to comfort my own fears. How to keep going even when I feel completely depleted.

It’s not graceful.
It’s not pretty.
And it’s definitely not easy.

But it’s growth.

I don’t believe we’re meant to do life alone. And I still hope for deeper connection, community, and support in my future. But for now, I’m honoring the fact that I’ve survived without a safety net — and that takes strength most people never have to discover.

This season is teaching me resilience, self-trust, and compassion for myself. And even though it hurts, I’m choosing to believe that something gentler is ahead.

For now, I’m still standing.
Still healing.
Still becoming.