I’m back home.

And it feels like I failed.

But the truth is—the system failed.

For six days, I sat in a bedroom with my kids. No resources, no real support. Just a daily office visit to say, “I’m sad,” and to hear back, “You’re not alone.”

Meanwhile, my kids missed three days of school. Their education wasn’t a priority there. The screen time rules I’d worked so hard to set? Impossible to enforce in a tiny room with nothing but screens.

We just sat there. In silence.

By Day 5, I was supposed to get a key card that would let me come and go more easily. It never worked. Instead, I got stuck in the elevator more times than I can count.

Every morning started with a “community meeting”—sharing how we felt, naming our goal for the day. But there was no way to actually reach those goals.

I watched my kids go from excited to defeated. All the progress we’d been making with school, structure, and behavior slipped through my fingers. Even the shower barely trickled, like a leaky sink.

So we just sat. I was withdrawing from an addiction to a person with nothing to pass the time but sleep—but I couldn’t sleep. Not with elementary-age kids stuck in that room. I couldn’t cry, either. Not when little lives were looking at me, waiting for the next step.

So I asked, What’s the next step?

The answer was more sympathy. More “You’re not alone.” But alone is exactly how I felt.

I’m not better than anyone else, but my life was in a different place than the other women there. And I knew it.

So here I am—back home. With a man who doesn’t care. Carrying the weight of “failing.”

But also carrying the resilience nobody sees.

Maybe a shelter wasn’t the right option for me. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

I’ll keep showing up for my kids.

Keep pushing through school.

Keep going to therapy.

Keep doing the work.

I’ll adjust. I’ll figure it out.

Work is a necessity.

Savings are a necessity.

And I will build both.

Maybe he’ll wake up one day and be Superman. But I’m not naive. I don’t need saving—I need strategy. And I know I can survive here. I know I can thrive, even in the mess.

My story isn’t over. It’s just beginning.