My Boss Told Me He Doesn’t Run a Daycare

Today was supposed to be quiet.

Simple.

A Tuesday where I could drink my coffee, hold my baby girl, pet my dogs, breathe, and move on from yesterday’s chaos.

Instead, I logged into a Zoom call and within seconds my boss opened with “You good?” and then followed it up with “I don’t run a daycare.”

I sat there staring at the screen, my 6-month-old in my lap, wondering what part of my existence as a working mother he was attempting to insult. I’m not sure if this was his interpretation of an apology, a clarification, a power move, or something else entirely.

All I know is that the sting hit instantly.

Then he circled back to yesterday’s blowup. The moment he told me that me working over the weekend was “total B S dot com.” Today he explained that he didn’t mean my work was “BS,” but that he was calling me not reaching out “BS.” I told him I didn’t message anyone on Sunday because it was a minor design issue. Not urgent. Not something that required people to interrupt their weekend, their families, their rest. It was something that could be handled during normal business hours.

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He didn’t like that.

He said I could have messaged him. I told him I was trying to be respectful of time zones and, frankly, respectful of people just living their lives. Especially since he constantly reminds me how he never gets a break. I wish I could care but this is his company. That is his choice.

Meanwhile, I am a mom working every spare second I can find. I have a 6-month-old who depends on me. I have two dogs who depend on me. I have bills and rent and the weight of trying to rebuild my life after giving birth and immediately returning to work because I didn’t have the luxury to rest.

Jobs in my area are nearly impossible to find. Especially for a mother juggling newborn life and everything else. I’m constantly asking myself if I should double down on my writing. If maybe Medium is meant to be more than a side stream. If I should keep pushing. Keep building. Keep going even when I’m exhausted to the bone.

Because after yesterday’s humiliation and today’s comment, I know I cannot stay here forever. I know I need an end date. A plan. A next move.

But I also know this: I am not weak for crying.

I am not dramatic.

I am not unstable or emotional or fragile.

I am a woman trying to survive in a world that demands the strength of ten people from mothers while giving us the respect of none.

To everyone who has sent donations and bought diapers off our Baby Zola registry, please know I mean this with every part of my heart: thank you.

On days like this, your kindness is not just generosity.

It is oxygen.

I’ll keep writing.

I’ll keep showing up.

And I’ll keep telling the truth, even when it shakes me.

Because someone needs to.

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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.

💸 Donate here — Venmo

🍼 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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This post was previously published on medium.com.