Being a single mom is exhausting on its own. Long shifts, short nights, constant responsibility. Add unnecessary battles you never asked for—and it wears you down in ways you don’t notice until something finally snaps. My name is Laura. I’m 39, a full-time nurse in the trauma unit at our local hospital, and the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with sleep. My shifts run twelve to fourteen hours, often starting before sunrise and ending long after sunset. It’s just me and my son, Evan. He’s twelve. His dad has been out of the picture for years. While that…
