Life lately has felt like a storm I can’t outrun. I’m a single mom raising my 13-year-old son, Ash, with little to no help. Every bill, every meal, every doctor visit, every moment of worry—it’s mostly on me. I’ve always been independent and determined to provide for us, but this year has pushed me to my breaking point.

I work full-time as a surgery scheduler, helping patients navigate some of the hardest moments in their lives. When I clock out, my day is far from over—I head straight into my second job delivering for DoorDash. Most nights and weekends, I’m out driving meals to strangers so I can fill the gaps my paycheck can’t cover. I come home exhausted, but I keep going because my son depends on me.

My son is not only a teenager navigating the ups and downs of growing up—he’s also living with Type 1 diabetes. His care is constant: monitoring blood sugar, managing insulin, making sure we have the supplies he needs. It’s not optional; it’s his life. The cost of keeping him healthy adds another layer of stress to an already overwhelming financial situation.

Earlier this year, my car was stolen. That theft didn’t just take my transportation—it sent my life into chaos. I had no way to get to work or make my deliveries. I spent months relying on expensive rides, walking when I could, and praying I’d make enough to get by. I finally scraped together enough to buy an old, cheap car just to keep us moving, but it’s far from reliable. I’m still waiting on the Kia settlement from the theft, but it feels like it may never come.

Rent, utilities, gas, groceries—everything costs more than it used to, and I’m falling further behind. I’ve applied for assistance programs, reached out to charities, and leaned on family when they could help, but it’s not enough. Even with two jobs, I’m in constant fear of not making rent or keeping the lights on.

I try to protect Ash from the weight of all this, but he feels it. He sees the long hours I work, the sacrifices I make, and the stress I try to hide behind a smile. He deserves stability and a mom who can be present, not one who is constantly worried about how to keep the roof over our heads.

I am not asking for a handout. I am asking for a lifeline—just enough help to catch my breath, keep our home, and get us through this chapter so I can stand strong again. Every bit of help will go directly toward rent, utilities, and the basic needs that keep us going. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for even considering it.