Why This Series Exists…

It was early on a Wednesday morning, the kind of morning when the world still feels half‑asleep. My church was hosting a prayer call every week at 6:30a.m., and in full transparency, I didn’t log in until 6:42. Don’t ask me why that oddly specific detail stuck with me, but it did. My mind was already racing through the day: getting my daughter ready for daycare, preparing for work, mentally juggling the endless list of responsibilities that come with this season of life. This was around the time I started forcing myself to wake up earlier than I ever had before. Not because I suddenly became a “5 a.m. girl,” but because life demanded it. I needed the margin. I needed the quiet. I needed the discipline. Let me explain.

As a single mother, my days were getting heavier. My daughter; beautiful, growing, and thriving needed more of me. More attention. More time. More teaching. More correction. More hugs and kisses. More presence. Honestly, she needed all of me. And somehow, so did everything else. I had just stepped into a senior‑level role, leading multiple projects while still learning the culture of a new organization. I was pouring myself out at work, then pouring myself out in ministry, then pouring myself out for family and friends. By the time I got home, I still had to pour myself out for my daughter. Even knowing toddlers go through developmental shifts, I still expected our mornings to be…manageable. Predictable. Maybe even peaceful. But instead, our early‑morning interactions started sounding a little like this:

ME: Okay Baby K, it’s time to brush your teeth! You can do this! *breaks out into the stupid dance that helps her feel happy about brushing her teeth*
BABY K: Noooo mommy *falls out into a raging fit*
ME: *Starting to feel anxious* BABY! Let’s do this now. We have to get ready to go bye-bye.
BABY K: *Cries even harder because she hears the anxiety in my voice because we’re running late and I can’t be late to my first meeting of the day at 9:00AM*
ME: It’s okay mommy’s baby. We have to go though *picks her up to soothe her; now when I put her down, she doesn’t want do anything and cries because all she wanted was a hug and to go back to sleep because it’s the crack of dawn and who wants to be up this early.*
ME: *Carries her and tries to get things done the rest of the morning and eventually feels frustrated because I can’t get much of anything done – Makes her get down – Endures more crying and more fits – Get to my meeting feeling frustrated and anxious.*

So yes, my mornings were becoming draining before the day even had a chance to begin. And if the mornings were that heavy, you can imagine what the evenings felt like. Everything was shifting. Our routine, the ease we once had, the rhythm we used to move in before she turned two… all of it was changing. Back then, life wasn’t pulling on me from every direction. Back then, I wasn’t pouring into so many areas at once. And sure, some mornings still went smoothly. I could turn on one of her favorite learning shows, hand her a snack, and steal a few minutes to get myself dressed.
But other mornings? They were nothing like that. Some mornings left me in tears. Some mornings filled me with a kind of anxiety I had never experienced before. Some mornings left me sitting in regret, wondering if I was doing any of this right. And that’s where the guilt crept in because how could I expect her to make things easy when she was just a little girl navigating big emotions she didn’t yet know how to express? She was innocent. Pure. Learning. Growing. And I was…overwhelmed. As a natural solutionist, all I wanted to do was fix it. Solve it. Make it easier. Make MY life easier. But motherhood doesn’t bend to convenience. Life’s demands don’t pause because you’re tired. And capacity? Capacity stretches you long before you feel ready. After too many “hard” mornings, more than I’d ever admit out loud, I woke up that Wednesday desperate for relief. I needed something to shift without even knowing it. I needed God to breathe on my day before it even began.

So I joined the prayer call. My mentor was leading that morning. The call was only thirty minutes long, so by the time I logged in, she was already deep in intercession. The theme was families. And then, right in the middle of her prayer, she paused. You could hear it in her voice…she felt the Holy Spirit tugging her in a specific direction. And then she began to speak words that felt like they were meant for me. She said something like this:

“Single moms, hear my heart…no longer proclaim over yourself that you’re a single mother. We do not use the world’s language to define ourselves, we use the language of heaven. We do not operate by the systems of this world, we are kingdom citizens, therefore, be kingdom minded. You’re a daughter of the Most High – You are in partnership with God!”

I cringed. Everything in me tightened. I was uncomfortable; deeply uncomfortable. Still, I tried to agree with the words spoken over the call. I tried to embrace them. But in my mind I was thinking, “In partnership with God? What does that even mean?”

Those were my first thoughts for a couple of reasons:

Reason 1: Baby K has her dad. He’s present. He’s active. So surely, my mentor must have been speaking to mothers who were raising their children without any involvement from the father. That had to be it. Yes, co‑parenting came with its own frustrations, two different mindsets trying to raise one child. But he was still there.

Reason 2: I couldn’t understand how someone who was married could make that statement. How could she say that when she never lived this reality? She had a husband when she had her children. She had support in the home. She didn’t know my day‑to‑day!

Those thoughts were coming from a place of frustration. I was convinced that someone without firsthand experience couldn’t speak into what my thoughts should be. You’re not living my reality. That was the posture of my heart. And I was so wrong. I let offense speak louder than the wisdom of God.

Days passed, but those gut‑punching words kept circling my mind. Not because I understood them but because I didn’t. They lingered for all the wrong reasons. Then came another “difficult” morning with Baby K. I dropped her off at daycare, and the moment I got back in the car, I broke. Not a quiet tear. Not a soft cry. A full, overwhelming, body‑shaking breakdown. It was the hardest one I’d had since becoming a mother. Every emotion I had been suppressing rose at once. Regret. Anguish. Exhaustion. The weight of all the mornings I had pushed through. The tension of co‑parenting. The grief of not waiting until marriage. It all hit me at once. I left a voice note for my sister, Jasmine, trying to put words to the storm inside me. I told her how the comment from the prayer call still bothered me. I told her how important it was to be sensitive to women like me. “She can’t just say that without acknowledging the reality we face every day. There is grief in this. I would’ve never chosen this. I can’t ignore the pain of being single and raising a child in the household. That’s what it felt like she was telling me to do. I’m the ONLY parent in the home. I don’t have physical relief. She got to go home some days and not worry about cooking or washing dishes because someone was there to help her. I don’t have that. And today… I wish I did.”

I meant every word. There is indeed a reality that often goes unspoken. But that wasn’t the point of her comment. I missed the wisdom because I was focused on my own pain. And truthfully, those difficult mornings weren’t about meeting my daughter’s needs; they were about easing my own.

I decided I was going to talk to my mentor about it. Jasmine had given me wisdom, and I felt ready to have the conversation. Before I could reach out, my phone rang. It was her! I was shook – though I shouldn’t have been. That’s exactly how God works. She said she just wanted to check on me. I hesitated, but eventually I opened up. I told her how hard the morning had been. I told her about the breakdown. And in true mentor fashion, sensitive to the voice of God, she said she had meant to call me earlier because the Lord put me on her heart at the exact moment I was breaking down.

*Tears.*

I told her everything. The frustration. The heaviness. The pain behind the title “single mother.” I explained that it wasn’t the title itself, it was the weight it carried. The reality of being the only adult in the home. The lack of physical relief. The grief that comes with doing it alone. She apologized. She listened. She acknowledged the pain in my voice. And then… the wisdom of God flowed through her. She shared her own reality as a married woman and how she has had to confront the stigma and assumptions tied to the phrase “single mother” with her own family. And then these words lit a fire in my belly:

“Erica, you are not single. Everything you’re doing is in partnership with the Lord. He gives you community. He gives you wisdom. He increases you in mercy, grace, and patience. He gives you prophetic insight. You have more than a partner…you have the Creator of the universe walking with you through this journey.”

Those words hit differently. They freed me.

They freed me of the bondage of thinking that the relief came only in the natural. They freed me from the perspective of being misunderstood just because the wisdom initially came without acknowledgement. They freed me from believing I had to meet anyone’s expectations just because I am a mature believer. Yes, there should be an increase in faith however, God gives us grace (underserved favor; power to overcome) through the journey; in every season and phase of life. With that, her initial words wasn’t to get me to ignore the pain but to TRUST GOD MORE. Trust. God. More. Use His word more in THIS situation, just as I do in others. That was the wisdom – to shift my perspective on my situation.

I left that conversation with a fresh outlook and now, it has paved the way for this series. In the end, the freedom wasn’t in escaping the weight of my reality but in seeing it through God’s eyes. What felt like correction was actually invitation. What stung at first morphed into “Ah-haaa”. Perspective shifted, grace realized, and I now embrace the call to avoid denying my pain but to anchor deeper in the One who carries me through it. This is the lesson: relief isn’t found in what changes around me, but in Who strengthens me within.