The Vanishing Act That Changed Everything

You think you know someone, right? You think you have a partner, a co-pilot in this wild ride of life. But then one day, poof, they vanish. No explanation. No goodbye. Just gone. And that’s how I became a single mom.

It wasn’t like I got a heads-up. There were no warning signs, no flashing neon lights that screamed, “Hey, Amber, get ready for life to punch you in the face!” One day, my son’s father was there, and the next? He was a ghost. I’d always heard about men who disappear, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be living that nightmare. Yet here I was, standing in the wreckage of my life, a 7-year-old son clinging to my leg, and a giant question mark hanging over everything.

Now, let’s be clear—I didn’t have time to wallow in pity. I had a kid to raise, bills to pay, and a business to build. But, oh, did I want to fall apart. I wanted to scream, cry, break things, and throw a full-on adult tantrum. But what good would that do? My son still

needed dinner. The laundry still needed folding. The world doesn’t stop because your heart

is shattered.

So, I did what I do best. I tightened my grip on reality, wiped my tears (and mascara), and stepped into the ring. Life had thrown a punch, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

The Breakdown Behind the Strength

People see single moms and they throw around words like “strong” and “resilient” like we’re some kind of superheroes. But here’s the truth: I didn’t feel strong. I felt scared out of my mind. I felt like I was free-falling with no parachute. But that’s the thing about being a mom. You don’t get to sit in fear for too long. You can cry for a minute, but you

still have to make that peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Strength isn’t about not feeling the weight. It’s about carrying it anyway. And trust me, I was carrying some heavy baggage. The unanswered questions, the financial pressure, the emotional strain of playing both mom and dad—it all felt unbearable at times. But I had a little boy watching my every move, and if I crumbled, what would that teach him?

So, I learned to stand tall, even when I was falling apart on the inside. I learned to smile through the pain, to keep going when I wanted to stop. Because that’s what moms do. We survive. And sometimes, we even thrive.