When Mom’s Don’t Get Sick Days
There’s a different kind of fear that comes with being sick when you’re a single mother.
It isn’t just the aches, the fever, the cough that rattles your chest, or the exhaustion that seeps into your bones. It’s the constant, quiet worry that never turns off—the worry about your kids. Are they okay? Do they need me right now? Am I doing enough, even when my body is begging me to stop?
When I get sick, my mind doesn’t rest. It races. I worry about whether I can still show up the way my children need me to. I worry about meals, routines, comfort, emotions. I worry that they’ll remember me as tired or weak instead of strong—despite the fact that strength is sometimes simply staying upright and trying anyway.
There are no sick days for moms. Especially single moms.
Even when I’m barely holding myself together, I still do my best to be the best mother I can be. I push through because love doesn’t pause when your body does. I may not have endless energy, but I have endless devotion. I may move slower, rest more, and lean on small comforts—but my heart never clocks out.
What makes it harder is that when I’m sick, I don’t have the luxury of fully falling apart. I don’t have someone here to take over completely. I still have to be the steady place my kids land, even if I’m shaking inside.
And yet… I’m not entirely alone.
Even from a distance, my boyfriend shows up for me in ways that are hard to explain to people who have never experienced a long-distance relationship. He can’t physically be here, but his presence still finds me. In his voice. In his messages. In the way he listens when I’m overwhelmed and reassures me when I’m scared. In the way he reminds me that I’m doing an incredible job—even on the days I feel like I’m barely surviving.
Comfort doesn’t always come from a hand to hold. Sometimes it comes from being seen. From someone knowing your heart. From someone steadying you when your world feels fragile.
Being sick has a way of stripping everything down to the essentials. It reminds me how deeply I love my children. How fiercely I protect them. How strong I’ve become—not because life was easy, but because I had no choice but to keep going.
I may be exhausted. I may be sick. I may worry more than I let on.
But I am still here. Still trying. Still loving with everything I have.
And that, in itself, is enough.
