Solo Parenting Season

Since September 22, I’ve been learning what it means to solo parent while my husband is away on deployment. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but already I’ve felt the weight and the beauty of this season in equal measure.

The hardest part has been the routine, especially at night. Normally, when my husband walks through the door around five, that’s when I exhale. It’s when I cook dinner in peace, or take a shower without listening for every noise, or just enjoy a few minutes of quiet. Now, those little moments don’t come until long after midnight. I wait until my daughter is sound asleep before I sneak away for a shower, and even then, I keep one ear open. It’s a reminder that rest isn’t something that just happens anymore. It’s something I have to fight for.

Our days are busier too. Where we once ventured out once or twice a week, now I push us to get outside and do something every day. Maybe it’s because I know how much we both need the fresh air, or maybe it’s just to keep the walls from closing in. I’ve stepped fully into the stay-at-home mom role, juggling potty training, activity books, and flashcards while balancing errands and helping my family when I can. It is a gift to be able to stay home, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy. Some days it feels like I’m carrying more than I know how to hold.

Then there’s the distance. My husband is an hour ahead, working 12-hour shifts, so talking every day isn’t always possible. When we do get to connect, our daughter doesn’t really understand how precious that time is. She just sees her dad on the screen and wants to be silly. She looks for him throughout the day and asks where he’s gone, and explaining time and distance to a toddler feels almost impossible. It’s bittersweet, her innocence mixed with my longing.

And community. This is where my heart has been stretched the most. Some of the people who promised to check in haven’t, and that hurts more than I expected. But then there are others who have stepped up every single day, inviting me to dinner, sending encouragement, and offering to watch my daughter. Their presence has been a lifeline, proof that God weaves support into places we didn’t know to look.

What I keep reminding myself is this: deployment is both a burden and a blessing. It is hard and holy. It is heavy and hopeful. We are stretched, but we are also being shaped. This time apart is opening the door for our dream move from New Orleans to Portland, Oregon. It’s preparing us for a fresh start, a chance to build a life that feels wholly ours, rooted in new soil, surrounded by new opportunities and family bonds.

So yes, it is hard. Some days I feel the loneliness more than I want to admit. Some nights I stay up late just to have a piece of quiet that feels like mine. But woven into the exhaustion is a deep gratitude for the stability to stay home, for the community that does show up, for the strength that only surfaces when we are stretched thin, and for the promise of what lies ahead.

The truth is, solo parenting is hard. And sometimes it’s simply the situation you’re in. There’s nothing to do but be strong, pray through it, and lean on the people who are willing to hold you up. But there’s also a balance: not taking advantage of that help, but receiving it with gratitude and humility.

No matter how you came to this season, military deployment, long work hours, being a stay-at-home mom, or just carrying more than you thought you could, you are doing good work. It may not feel glamorous, and some days it may not even feel like enough, but it is enough.

For me, it looks like skipping the nap I’d love to take, because what my daughter needs more right now is consistency. It looks like cooking dinner with her on my hip, so she feels the love she’s missing from the parent who isn’t home. It looks like showing up in the small, everyday ways that remind her she is safe, seen, and deeply loved.