“The Cost of Being a Mom”

A story of struggle, love, and dignity.

Lena was 34 years old, with deep dark circles and rough hands from constant cleaning. She lived in a small apartment in the Bronx with her two daughters: Camila, six years old, and Abril, two. Every morning began before dawn, with reheated coffee and a persistent pain in her back. But there was no time for complaints: she had to go to work.

She cleaned offices from 6 to 10 in the morning. Then she took the subway to the supermarket where she worked as a cashier. At night, she folded towels in a gym that smelled of sweat and despair. All for a paycheck that barely covered rent, bought milk, and kept her daughters from noticing the emptiness in the fridge.

Lena had no family nearby. The father of the girls had left when he learned of the second pregnancy. “I’m not ready for this life,” he said. And he disappeared.

Lena’s pride was great, but her daughters’ hunger was greater. So, even though it pained her soul, one day she went to a thrift store with her little ones. Abril needed boots for winter. Camila, a jacket.

It was there that she heard it.

A woman behind her in line murmured:
“Must be nice, just buying and living off the government.”

Lena didn’t turn around. She just pressed her lips together. Camila didn’t understand, but Lena did. And it burned. Because they didn’t know. No one knew the number of nights she had gone without dinner. The silent tears she had shed while folding other people’s clothes. The double shifts. The bleeding feet. The times she pretended to be okay so her daughters wouldn’t see the storm inside her.

CAMILA AND THE JACKET WITH THE BUTTERFLY PATCH

Camila, with her big eyes and timid voice, asked her mom for the jacket with the butterfly patch. It was used, but pretty. Lena checked the price. $6.50. She hesitated. But she said yes.

“Thank you, Mommy. You’re the best cook in the world,” Camila said, hugging her.

And that was enough. Enough for Lena to forget the humiliation, the exhaustion, the judgment of others.

**AN UNEXPECTED TURN**

One day, as Lena was leaving the gym, she found an envelope inside her bag. She thought someone had mistakenly put it there. She opened it. It was a letter.

“I see you. Every night, folding clothes, with sad eyes and dignity intact. My mom was like you. I am who I am because of her. This is for you.”

Inside was $300.

Lena looked around. No one. Just the security guard, who smiled knowingly.

That money allowed her to fill the pantry. She bought fruit, meat, diapers. And for the first time in a long time, she made a complete dinner: rice with chicken and fried plantains.

Camila, tasting it, said:
“Is it Christmas?”

**THE LITTLE MIRACLES**

Weeks later, a social worker from the community center, named Rebeca, approached her while Lena waited in line at the food bank.

“Are you Lena?”

“Yes…”

“Someone recommended your name for a support program for working single mothers. It’s a subsidy for rent, free childcare, and job training. Are you interested?”

Lena couldn’t hold back her tears.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

That was the beginning of change. With the subsidy, she could reduce a night shift. With free childcare, she enrolled Camila in advanced reading classes and Abril in a decent daycare. With the training, she began a course to become a medical assistant.

A NEW HORIZON

Two years passed.

Lena finished the course and got a job at a pediatric clinic. She no longer cleaned floors, but she didn’t resent that past. On the contrary, she wore it like a medal on her chest.

Her apartment was still small, but she no longer lacked the essentials. Camila read stories to her sister. Abril had outgrown diapers and said “thank you” without being reminded.

One day, as Lena was leaving the supermarket, she heard a familiar voice.

“Lena?”

It was the woman who had judged her years ago. The one from the thrift store. Now she was alone, with a child in her arms. She looked tired.

“I’m sorry… for what I said that day… I had no idea.”

Lena smiled.

“You don’t need to explain. Just try not to do it again with another mom.”

The woman nodded, tears held back.

**A NEW CYCLE**

Years later, Camila, now a teenager, wrote an essay at school that began like this:

“My mom doesn’t have superpowers. But she saved us from a world that isn’t always fair. Not with a magic wand, but with love, hard work, and dignity.”

The teacher read it aloud. Some students applauded. And in that moment, Lena, unknowingly, was honored in the most powerful way: through her daughter’s voice.

**EPILOGUE: A WOMAN WITH A STORY**

Lena no longer needed help. Now she was the one donating gently used clothes. The one leaving anonymous envelopes for other women in laundromats and food banks. The one cooking large dinners at Christmas and inviting mothers without families.

When asked how she had gotten ahead, she simply said:

“It wasn’t easy. But the love of my daughters was stronger than any obstacle.”

FINAL REFLECTION

This is the story of Lena. But it is also the story of millions. Mothers who perform miracles with what little they have. Who transform judgment into strength. Exhaustion into tenderness.

The next time you see a woman in line with used clothes and children by her side… don’t think “it must be comfortable.” Think: “How brave.”

Because she is.

And if you were raised by a woman like that… don’t wait for Mother’s Day.

Tell her today:
“Thank you, Mom. I saw you. I see you. And I admire you.”