22 Nov The Hidden Strength in Being Too Much: A Single Mother’s Truth

Part of the Women’s Voice Rising Series, exploring the journey of voice, power, and transformation through women’s lived experiences.

A Single Mother’s Truth

I didn’t rise like a phoenix from these ashes. That’s the story everyone wants to hear—the triumphant resurrection, the glorious rebirth. But here’s my truth at 56, looking back across the landscape of my life: I shrank. Slowly. Quietly. Almost imperceptibly. Like water-wearing away stone, each judgment, each dismissal, each “you’re too much” carved away another piece of who I was until I barely recognized myself.

Yet standing here now, decades deep in the wisdom of survival, I understand something profound: even as parts of me eroded, other parts expanded beyond imagination—my capacity to love, to heal, to create, to protect.

This is the paradox of a woman’s journey through life: we can be simultaneously carved away and ever-expanding.

The Weight That Breaks and Builds

The Triple Crown: Woman, Single, Mother

The world has special judgments reserved for women who dare to be all three—woman, single, and mother. Each identity alone carries its burden of expectations and limitations. Combined, they become a gauntlet of impossible standards and endless criticism.

I was judged for the mess in my house when my kids were young—because apparently, a spotless home matters more than raising good humans. Judged for dishes in the sink after long days of work—because somehow being Supermom wasn’t enough. Judged for my busy schedule, my boundaries, my protective fierceness—because balancing work and motherhood should look effortless, shouldn’t it?

I’ve had men take credit for my children’s successes—”They’re this way because I prayed for them.” And when things weren’t perfect? I was blamed for their struggles. When I asked “uncles” for help as my kids became teenagers? No one showed up. Instead, they asked where their father was. The question cut like a knife, as if I hadn’t been both mother and father for years, as if I hadn’t sacrificed sleep, personal time, and my own dreams to ensure my children had everything they needed.

The Art of Disappearing

Transformation happens so gradually that I barely noticed it happening. The woman who once roared at injustice learned to whisper. The warrior who stood tall learned to make herself small. The mother who taught her children to be fierce learned to be “nice.”

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This is women’s strength at its most humbling:

Not always in rising, but in enduring.

Not always in roaring, but in steady presence.

Not always in fighting, but in protecting.

Not always in winning, but in surviving.

And sometimes, in that survival, we lose pieces of ourselves we never thought we could live without.

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Each dismissal, each marginalization, each time we were ignored in our too-muchness—carved away another piece of who we were and it shaped us anew. Like water meeting stone, constant and relentless, until the very essence of us changed. Until we became smaller, quieter, more palatable to a world that found us too fierce, too loud, too demanding, too much.

The Toll of Endurance

My body kept the score with brutal honesty. Hashimoto’s disease crept into my life like a silent intruder, my immune system turning against itself—a perfect mirror of how I’d learned to doubt my own truth. Each dismissal, each judgment, each swallowed protest became cellular memory. My body began attacking itself, just as I had been attacking my own truth by trying to fit into spaces too small for my spirit.

The toll of endurance isn’t just in the moment-to-moment survival.

It’s in the accumulated weight of all the times we swallowed our words to keep the peace.

All the times we smiled through disrespect to protect our children from witnessing conflict.

All the times we folded our world around someone else’s dysfunction because we were too exhausted to fight.

Until one day, we look in the mirror and wonder: Who is this woman who has learned to make herself so small?

The Evolution of Being “Too Much”

They called me “too much” when I refused to let dysfunction into our home. Too strict when I set boundaries around alcohol at family gatherings. Too protective when I wouldn’t let uncles steamroll my children with their opinions. Too difficult when I closed the door on those who brought chaos into our sanctuary.

Now, with the perspective of years, I understand:

Being “too much” wasn’t just about protection—it was about creation.

Creating safe spaces where there were none.

Creating opportunities where doors were closed.

Creating hope where despair threatened to take root.

Creating love in the face of judgment.

Creating healing in spite of wounds.

Creating wisdom from pain.

The Paradox of Preservation

Yet even as I became less visible, even as my voice softened to a whisper, something remained undiminished.

My love never shrank.

My fierce protection never wavered.

My capacity to create safety, to nurture growth, to hold space for healing—it only grew stronger.

This is the profound paradox of a mother’s journey:

As parts of us erode, other parts expand beyond imagination.

While the world carved away at who we were, we grew into something more powerful than we could have dreamed.

Every force that tried to make us smaller somehow made our capacity for love, wisdom, and fierce protection even larger.

It would take years to understand the full meaning of this transformation.

Related Reading: The Hidden Health Risks of a Dysregulated Nervous System: Unveiling the Root Cause of Chronic Illness

The Alchemy of Age

I now understand something I couldn’t have known in those early years of motherhood: All of it—the battles, the joys, the wounds, the triumphs—was forging something new. Something stronger. Something deeper. Something wiser.

Time has a way of transmuting our experiences into gold we never expected to find.

The judgments that once cut so deep become the very tools that carved our boundaries clear and strong.

The exhaustion that threatened to break us revealed reserves of strength we never knew we had.

The moments when we felt most alone taught us how to build communities from scratch.

Even our failures—especially our failures—became stepping stones to a wisdom that can only be earned through living fully, loving fiercely, and refusing to be less than who we are.

This is the gift of time – it shows us that what we thought was erosion was actually evolution. Like a river carving its course, we weren’t being worn away—we were creating something extraordinary.

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The Revolution in Our Becoming

This is the story of countless women who’ve created sanctuaries in their homes, who’ve mothered children their own and not their own, who’ve held space for healing in a broken world. Even in our diminishing, we expand in ways that defy explanation. Even in our silence, we speak volumes through our actions, our love, our continued presence.

Looking back across the landscape of my life, I see the topography of every experience – every battle fought, every judgment weathered, every moment of fierce love given.

I see the woman who learned to whisper but never stopped speaking truth. I see the warrior who bent but never stopped protecting. I see the mother who appeared to shrink but whose love only grew larger. Every line, every hollow, every smooth place – they’re all part of this transformation.

And perhaps that’s the most revolutionary act of all—to keep creating, keep loving, keep building safety in a world that calls us too much. To continue showing up, sunrise after sunrise, not just enduring but evolving. To remain fierce in our protection, endless in our love, unshakeable in our boundaries, transformed by every force we face into something stronger, deeper, wiser.

Related Reading: Seven Words: When Truth Gets Sacrificed on the Altar of Denial

This is women’s strength at its most profound:

We become the containers that hold worlds together, shaped not just by our battles but by our triumphs, our joys, our everyday acts of love.

We transform into the ground that others build upon, our wisdom earned through every dismissal and every celebration, every wound and every healing, every ending and every new beginning.

This is how we become the force that steadies the earth beneath countless feet.

We are the women who are too much—and in that too-muchness lies a power that can reshape worlds.

In our quiet, relentless evolution, we become something entirely new – not just surviving, but transforming everything we touch.

We build bridges not just between what is and what could be, but between who we were and who we are becoming.

In the end, it’s not about rising from ashes – it’s about becoming the very soil from which new life grows.

Like water meeting stone, we are both gentle and unstoppable.

Each drop of experience—whether bitter or sweet—has shaped us, carved channels of deeper understanding, pooled into reservoirs of wisdom and strength.

So to you, dear one, who might see yourself in these words:

Trust that your too-muchness is your power.

Your sensitivity, your fierce love, your bold boundaries, your wild heart – they’re not flaws to be corrected but gifts to be honored.

The very things the world tells you to tone down are often your greatest strengths.

Know this: Just as water shapes stone into works of profound beauty, every challenge you face, every boundary you set, every love you give shapes you into something magnificent. You’re not just surviving – you’re becoming. In your gentle persistence, in your fierce protection, in your unstoppable love, you’re carving new landscapes of possibility.

Related Reading: The Silent Struggle: How Ignoring Our Inner Voice Fuels Chronic Illness and Autoimmune Disease in Women

Take the Leap: Your Voice is Essential

Thank you for taking the time to read and connect with this post. Women’s voices, stories, and healing are close to my heart, and I believe in the transformative power of sharing our truths. 

If any part of this post resonated with you, if you felt seen, heard, or inspired, I invite you to take the next step. Perhaps you’re curious about your own journey of self-discovery, or you’re ready to share your story and step into your power. 

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Whether you are suffering from chronic illness, or are just looking to carve new paths or new ways of relating to yourself and the world.  I’m here to support you on this journey. 

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This is women’s wisdom. This is women’s strength. This is women’s revolution

*[Part of the Women’s Voice Rising Series]*