The eviction notice sat on the kitchen table like a weight no one could lift. I had read it so many times the words no longer blurred—they just settled deeper into my chest. Thirty days. Thirty days to figure out how to move an entire life that already felt like it was breaking apart.

Every morning started the same. I woke up before the sun, quietly moving through the house so I wouldn’t wake everyone. My daughters needed me strong. My parents needed me steady. My sister… she needed me to be something I wasn’t sure I could keep being—unshakable.

But the truth is, I am tired, I am exhausted. 

Not just tired from long days—but tired in my bones. Tired of trying to stretch dollars that no longer stretched. Tired of opening the fridge and mentally calculating how to make the little we had last just one more day. Tired of smiling and saying, “We’ll be okay,” when I didn’t know if that was true.

I used to work full-time. Back then, things were still hard—but manageable. Then my hours were cut. Just like that, everything changed. Bills piled up faster than I could keep up with. Groceries became a luxury I planned like a strategy. I go without just so everyone has a little something to eat. And every unexpected expense feels like a blow I cant afford to take time after time.

My parents do what they can, but their small Social Security checks disappear almost as soon as they come in—mostly toward medications. My father’s COPD meant prescriptions we can't skip, doctor visits we can't delay. I will never resent any of this. They took care of me once. Now it is my turn.

My sister moved in after losing her husband. She carried her own grief, her own quiet sadness. She didn’t ask to be here, and I didn’t turn her away. Family doesn’t work like that. But another adult, another mouth to feed, another layer of worry—it all adds up.

At night, after everyone is sleeping, I sit alone in the quiet and let myself feel it. The fear. The pressure. The uncertainty. The question that kept echoing louder each time: How am I going to fix this?

But even in the middle of all that, there was something I refuse to let go of.

Hope.

I have a few interviews coming up. A better job. A real chance. I hold onto this like a lifeline— I pray over it. I imagine what it would feel like to breathe again, to not constantly feel like I am drowning.

I don't need everything to be perfect. I just need a chance to get ahead. To catch up. To give my family a moment of peace.

Some days, I don't feel strong. I don't feel brave. I feel overwhelmed, stretched too thin, and scared of what could happen next.

But I kept going anyway.

Because even when I feel like I have nothing left to give… I still have them, my family. 

And somehow, this is enough to take one more step forward with a little help if possible from you.

I am putting my pride on the back burner for once and in doing so, praying for a miracle. 

I also have Cash App if that helps…

$AngelaSimmons94