So yeah, y’all get two Blogs today; back to back because I was supposed to post my previous one three days ago. But, you know, life happens; mama life. My son’s been sick, and in those long nights of wiping his snotty nose and whispering prayers, I realized something that’s been sitting in my soul for a while: There is no such thing as co-parenting after divorce. There’s just mom-parenting.

Unless you’ve got one of those rare fathers who truly splits the load 50/50…the ones who show up for doctor’s appointments, teacher conferences, and not just two weekends out of the month; then you know what I mean. If your child’s father prioritizes his job, his “me time,” or his next relationship over his responsibilities, then you’re not co-parenting. You’re solo surviving.

And let’s talk about that hashtag — #SingleDad. I have noticed that many men are using that hashtag incorrectly. Because if you only see your child two weekends out of the month, you’re not a single dad. You’re a babysitter. A visitor. A tourist in your own child’s life. A real single dad? I met one. He’s the kind of man who gets up before the sun, cooks breakfast, packs lunches, pick his kids up from school, works a full day, then makes dinner while his kids do homework at the table. That’s a single dad. That’s hands-on. That’s hashtag #singledad worthy! I’ve learned, though, that the world doesn’t reward the consistent parent. It glorifies appearances. My daughter will cry all week, telling me her dad doesn’t care, doesn’t see her enough, doesn’t call; but the moment he appears, her heart melts. I used to be that little girl too. My father was in and out for most of my childhood, but every time he resurfaced, he was my superhero. Until I got older. My father suffered a brain injury when I was seventeen, and it changed everything. He lost his memory, and strangely, that became our clean slate. I forgave him. Not because he asked, but because I needed peace. I realized in his final years that no one was there for him… not his friends, not the streets, not his lovers; just me and my brother. And that taught me something profound: Consistency is the real legacy.

That’s what I remind myself when I’m tired; when I’m carrying the weight of motherhood alone. My children often express their gratitude, even my four-year-old. “Mommy, I love you.” “Mommy, thank you.” “Mommy, you didn’t have to do that.” Those small sentences carry me through sleepless nights and sick days.

Therapy taught me this truth: It’s better to have one stable parent than two broken ones fighting for control. When I ceased my efforts to make my older two boys’ father an active dad, he began to engage on his own accord. He recognized the impact of stepping back from his children and understood that they wouldn’t remain small forever. Consequently, he realized he could no longer create narratives, because now as teenagers they can comprehend the situation. Because time has a way of revealing everything; and one day, children grow up. They start talking. They start remembering who was there and who wasn’t. And when that day comes, truth doesn’t need your defense. It speaks for itself. Now, I’m watching history repeat itself with my daughter. She’s only eight, but her little heart already feels the cracks of inconsistency. She compares herself to her friends whose dads are present… the school events, the parties, the hugs after a long day of school. And I see her struggle, so I got her in therapy. Because healing starts early in my house.

My youngest son is four; autistic, beautiful, brilliant. We’re learning his rhythm. He’s high on the spectrum, and he amazes me every day. One of my best friends, Rachel, helped me potty train him this summer. That’s my village. And let me tell you something; your village will save you when the father won’t even text to ask if his sick child is okay. Rachel has been my rock, the friend who shows up at 1 a.m. when I’m crying on the phone or 9 a.m. when I’m still crying on the phone (Lol). My mom and my sister, too who both remind me, “God trusted you with this. He gave you this because He knew you were built for it.”

And they’re right.

I’m not burdened. I’m chosen.

People love to say, “She’s strong.” But strength isn’t a gift; it’s a survival instinct. I didn’t ask to be this strong. I became this strong because quitting was never an option. So to every single parent reading this; especially the ones doing it alone while the other parent lives carelessly; hear me when I say this:

Your children will not be small forever.

One day they’ll thank you for being their safe place.

Don’t waste your breath begging someone to be a parent.

Journal. Write. Scream. Pray.

But stop calling them to care. They don’t.

And that’s not your fault. 

Let them live in denial. Let them post. Let them pretend.

As Mel Robbins said: “Let them.”

Because your reward isn’t their apology… it’s your peace.

My book, Unveiled: The Secrets That Saved Me, coming in 2026, will reveal the parts of me nobody knows. The raw, unfiltered truth, not the social media highlight reel. This book isn’t about revenge; it’s about release. Because no one will ever use my pain as a weapon against me again. I know that when my book is read, it will offer support to someone, especially those who are still in the wilderness and need to witness what God has done for others.

And for anyone watching from afar; scrolling my page, lurking, curious… understand this: You can’t shame me with my past. God already forgave me and I already turned it into art.

I’ve survived too much to shrink.

I’ve almost died three times; and yet, here I am. That’s not coincidence. That’s purpose. 

And so I’ll end with this:

If you’re a parent neglecting the children you created, remember 1 Timothy 5:8 —“Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for the family they created, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” While you sit comfortably in ego and excuses, the one doing the hard work; the praying, crying, loving, healing work… is the one God will elevate!

So to every single parent out there, keep showing up. Keep fighting. Keep loving.

Your consistency is your legacy.

And one day, your children will tell the world who the real parent was. -Michelle