"We have real problems; you do not." How a woman lost her compassion when she became a single mum.

By: Eden Strong for Your Tango

I feel like a b*tch today.

I feel like the mum who’s struggling to not only raise two young kids, but two kids with a very rare genetic illness — alone. I feel like the single mum who’s working three jobs, 18 hours a day, in an effort to get above poverty level, a goal that seems to become further away each day.

I’m the exhausted human being who hasn’t slept more than five hours a night in three years, and the mum trying to help her children grieve the loss of their father.

I worry constantly about how much I’m probably failing my kids.

I’m the mum who spends every single second of her day doing everything on her own: parenting, working, cleaning, cooking, shopping, planning, doctoring, changing, adapting, worrying, and stressing.

I’m also the mum who feels like a complete b*tch because I know exactly how hard my life is and because of that, I’ve lost all compassion for anything and everything you’d like to complain about.

It's not that I don't think other people don't have it harder than me; it's just that I've lost a level of compassion that I used to have for most trivial complaints.

I don't care that your husband had to work late and your kids were getting on your nerves — because help will eventually come.

I don't care that your child's home sick and you had to miss your yoga class — because when my child's home sick, I don't get paid.

I don't care that you had to work all weekend — because I've been working weekdays, evenings, and weekends for three years straight.

I don't care that you feel like you really need a holiday — because I'm just hoping that I can afford to buy food.

I don't care that your mother meddles in your business — because I'd give almost anything to have parents who were able to help me out.

I don't care that your kid didn't get on the soccer team this year — because my kid is grieving the absence of a parent.

I don't care that the coffee shop was out of soy milk, the zoo was too crowded, your nail tech was running late, or any other of your first world problems. I work with women who have been abused, raped, and had their entire lives shattered. Women who are now desperately trying to navigate their own single mother world. We have real problems; you do not.

So your complaints? They're invalid to me. I don't f*cking care.

I realise that my lack of compassion for your daily annoyances is probably my own issue, but that's all I can think about right now.

So unless you're actually stuck in a ravine, don't complain about it to me. Don't call me for help just step over the pebble that's in your path; keep moving because I don't have time for this sh*t.

I'm too busy trying to climb out of the damn ravine to care.

Are you a single mum? Do you agree? 

This post originally appeared on Your Tango.

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