Today, I held my almost-nine-month-old daughter in my lap while trying to type an email for work. I felt the familiar tightness in my chest — the one that sneaks in when I know my boss is watching, listening, waiting for me to slip.
Just a few weeks ago, he told me, “I don’t run a daycare,” in a Zoom call. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it cut through me. Since then, nothing has changed. Some days he’s calm. Some days he’s reasonable. But the moment the storm hits, I freeze.
I can’t respond.
I can’t think.
And my daughter, sweet, little, fully aware of the energy around her, feels it all.
I can’t let this job touch her. I can’t let her see fear in me when she looks for comfort. She is my priority. Every waking thought, every ounce of energy I have, is dedicated to making her feel safe, loved, and seen. And yet, I am breaking inside.
The Cost of Survival
I am a writer.
I’ve worked tirelessly for years, built my life from the ground up, taken on multiple consulting clients, handled startup CEOs with dragon-like tempers, all to survive and pay off massive debts. I know how to thrive under pressure.
But now, I’m married. I have a child. And my priorities have shifted.
My husband is a neurosurgery resident. His salary keeps us alive, barely. Every extra expense, every unexpected bill, reminds me that I have to contribute. That means I keep working, late nights, early mornings, weekends — while trying to care for my daughter and our dogs.
My body is exhausted.
My mind is stretched.
And my spirit?
Fraying.
I need out.
But I need a lifeline first.
Ten thousand dollars.
That’s the number I’ve set.
It’s not a luxury. It’s survival. Ten thousand dollars is enough to cover our essentials until the end of 2026. Enough to give me the freedom to leave this job without fear. Enough to stop sacrificing my peace — and my daughter’s safety — for someone else’s instability.
Every Day is a Balancing Act
Some mornings, I watch her play in her crib, happily babbling, totally oblivious to the chaos around her. I fold laundry, put away dishes, pack items to sell on Poshmark, schedule pick-ups with the mailman — all while keeping one ear on her coos and whines.
Every small task feels monumental.
Every decision weighs heavily.
I whisper prayers, hoping she feels calm, hoping I feel calm. I read passages from a book called A Beautiful Year With Jesus, trying to anchor myself for five minutes while she plays. It helps. Not completely, but enough to breathe.
And through it all, I keep thinking about ten thousand dollars. It’s a distant number, but it’s tangible. It’s hope. It’s survival.
Why This Matters
I’m not just working toward a number.
I’m working toward freedom.
Freedom to be present.
Freedom to nurture.
Freedom to live without constantly tensing, without fearing a phone ping, without praying that I don’t melt under the pressure while my daughter watches.
I am not weak.
I am not dramatic.
I am not fragile.
I am a mother.
A wife.
A woman trying to carve out a life that allows me to exist fully, without compromise, without fear.
You Can Be Part of This Journey
To anyone reading this who has checked our Baby Zola registry, sent kind messages, or even just offered a few words of encouragement — you are a lifeline.
You remind me that the world still has generosity, compassion, and human decency. Your support, even in small ways, keeps me moving. It reminds me that my daughter is worth every battle, every late night, every ounce of energy I can muster.
I’ll keep writing.
I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep surviving.
Because if I don’t, who will be here fully, completely, for her?
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UPDATED BIO:
Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.
In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.
Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.
If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.
🍼 Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.
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Read also: Two Days After Bringing Our Baby Home, I Asked for a Divorce
Read also: Our Marriage Ended Before It Began: The Pregnancy That Shattered Everything
Read also: I’m Pregnant And Broke — My Cry For Help
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Yuri Li On Unsplash
