belief-lessness

protect.

don’t die.

protect.

i didn't post yesterday. and there was a part of me that was slightly panicking—not because i think people will stop listening, but because i don't trust myself. that's the truth of it. i don't trust that i will finish anything.

this distrust lives in me like a shadow companion, following me through each new endeavor, each attempt to climb out of survival mode. the voice whispers: you've failed before. you'll fail again. and i believe it, because history seems to confirm it.

everywhere we look, there are "success stories" of how they pushed through and made it.

just try this path.

try harder.

or soften.

the messaging is unrelenting: the only reason you didn't make it out of generational poverty is your own fault.

i've searched for direct answers—articles, books, experts—someone to explain why it feels impossible for mothers to climb out despite our best efforts. but there's so little addressing how systems of inequality trigger and maintain our fight or flight responses, keeping mothers trapped in survival mode. nobody talks about motherhood in these terms—how these systems aren't just external obstacles but become embodied responses, collective trauma written into our bodies as we care for our children, passed down through generations of mothers.

i've failed at so many things trying to climb out of survival mode as a mother. but now i see it's not about my individual shortcomings as a parent. the system is designed to make mothers distrust ourselves, to internalize structural failures as personal ones. not committed enough to your children? not driven enough as a mother? these are the lies the system tells us to mask its own failings toward mothers and children. and i'm a pretty driven mother—that's evidence enough that maternal drive isn't what's missing here.

for us to distrust ourselves and whether we can do the thing.

accomplish the thing, build the thing.

we believe our mindset is the problem. just meditate more. just respond with more ease.

but fight or flight isn't a mental problem.

it's a nervous system problem.

a cellular experience, a body thing that hijacks us. animalistic in nature. it's what we're made of, what we're designed to do: protect. don't die. protect. don't die.

when you're constantly operating from this state, poverty becomes a cycle you can't break. how can you plan for the future when your body is screaming that there's danger right now? how can you take risks needed for advancement when every fiber of your being is focused on immediate survival? the financial gurus and bootstrap stories never address this biological reality.

there are circumstances at play beyond our control. there are some traumas i will never, ever recover from. this is the learning—to live with the complexities of all that life is, all that i am, and how i navigate it.

i'm not sure ease is the answer as much as complete surrender and acceptance. being in each moment in a state of surrender to what actually is. and fight or flight doesn't leave much room for that.

what poverty narratives leave out

i've done a really good job of protecting what matters most—my children. not their innocence; you can't grow up in this world and think innocence will stay intact. it doesn't need to. it's something more profound than that. it's the truth of who they are.

i've kept them safe from the indoctrination of erasing that which is most beautiful within us. i've done that. and i think ultimately that's all that matters.

now i'm learning to recognize when i'm in fight or flight. questioning whether the situation is actually dangerous or if i'm just responding to some trigger, and navigating my way through.

generational poverty isn't just about money—it's about a legacy of trauma responses, about bodies and brains wired for constant danger. the stories about escaping poverty leave this out. they assume we're all starting on level ground, with nervous systems equipped to make calculated, future-oriented decisions. but what if your body won't let you believe in a future? what if every attempt to climb out triggers the very response that keeps you trapped?

finding threads that connect

it's been interesting to share what i'm doing here with other mothers. i have no idea if this is going to matter to anyone, and i'm certain that at some point, i'll get beyond my own whiny ranting about how painful this is.

in a way, me showing up each day is finding the threads that weave us all together. what makes us mothers? what connects us? what do we value?

right now, what i have to offer is my voice speaking the truth of one very, very committed mother's perspective and life. when i have more, i'll offer that too.

maybe i don't want to keep striving and hustling and grinding for survival. maybe i want something else for my life.

goddammit.

i want ease.

but six months ago, i started to let go of the idea that maybe i just continuously fail at everything. maybe it's circumstantial. maybe it's biological. maybe my fight or flight response is doing exactly what it evolved to do—keeping me safe in familiar territory, even if that territory is poverty.

i don't know what it means. i have no idea how it's going to unfold. all i know is that i'm here, showing up, day after day, trusting myself just enough to keep going, trying to rewire a nervous system that sees opportunity as threat and stability as danger.

and maybe that's enough. maybe recognizing how our bodies work against our dreams of escaping poverty is the first step toward building different ladders—ones that account for where we actually are, not where society pretends, we should be.

Photo by Oleksa Mara Paniv on Unsplash