So recently I’ve gotten way off track from my normal routine. Between having the kids home for Easter break, to half term, a random day off, and bank holiday — I barely remember what my routine was. Focusing on my physical health was a great escape from stress for me. I spent a lot of time exercising outdoors with my youngest, going for walks, and lifting weights indoors at the shelter. And having both kids home severely limited my time. I went from walking 4 miles in under an hour to now today doing 2 miles in that time and being incredibly tired.
It’s like all the progress I was making got put on pause and I haven’t figured out how to press play again. I’m starting to feel like I’ve lost all momentum, like I’m just barely holding on, and to be honest — I don’t know how to get back to where I was. Time is going by so quickly. Soon it’ll mark a year of being homeless. A full year. And honestly? I’m over it. I’m over the struggle, the sleepless nights, the crying, the stress — all of it. But I’m stuck. Completely powerless to change it.
I had a conversation with my children’s father about what the summer will look like. Because I struggle enough during half term — let alone the kids being in the shelter all day for six and a half weeks. And to be honest, the conversation went just as expected. He offered no solutions, and no additional help. Just silence, as if the burden of figuring it all out automatically falls on me because I’m the mother.
What makes it worse is that this isn’t just about wanting a “break” — it’s about basic mental and emotional survival. There’s no space to think, no real time to rest, and barely enough left in the tank to keep smiling in front of the kids. And yet, somehow I still get up. Still show up. Still keep going, even when I feel like I have nothing left to give.
I’ve learned that surviving in this space requires a new level of grace. Grace for myself, when I can’t keep up. Grace for the fact that the laundry might not get folded, the dinner might be pasta for the third night in a row, and that I might need to quick cry in the corner before putting myself together and reading a bedtime story like everything is fine.
If you’re reading this and you’re feeling anything like I am — I want you to know you’re not alone. Even when the world feels like it’s closing in and no one’s offering help, even when the routines are lost and your body feels like it’s giving up… you’re still here. And that matters.
I’m learning to take it one day at a time again. To slowly reintroduce the things that helped me feel like me. Even if it’s just a short walk, or five minutes of quiet while the kids nap or scroll. It’s not about bouncing back — it’s about crawling forward, even if it’s slow. Even if all you can do is breathe.
✨ Reflection:
It’s easy to feel like you’re behind when the routine falls apart. But motherhood isn’t a race. It’s a series of constantly shifting seasons — some full of momentum, others of stillness. If you’re in a slow season, it’s not failure. It’s just part of the rhythm. Be gentle with yourself. What you’re doing right now — surviving, showing up, and loving your kids the best you can — is more than enough.
🌸 Affirmation:
“Even when I feel like I’ve lost control, I am still worthy of grace. I am doing the best I can, and that is enough.”
Signed,
The Comforting Mum 🤎
The Comforting Mum 
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