I remember the last time it snowed this much.

It was a bonafide snow day in 2017 – the type that kept everyone from going into work or school, and prompted all sorts of canceling of things across the state. I was in my 600-square foot rental that I could barely afford with my 4-year old daughter, who I feared one day would resent me because I could never be good enough for her.

At the time, I was still working in emergency services and had a work-from-home setup that allowed me to take calls and dispatch emergency crews to residential pipe breaks and flooded basements from my living room. This was in a pre-COVID world, of course, so I felt pretty lucky not to have to secure childcare and brave the unplowed streets. I felt safe from the elements inside my little home, still dressed in my pajamas with a cup of hot coffee as heaping mounds of sparkling snow piled up outside.

My daughter sat in awe at our bay window as she watched the snow come down. She wore a matching pink-and-white fair isle printed pajama set with her hair askew in a messy ponytail I didn’t bother to rectify. I promised her we would build a snowman together after I was done working for the day, which she held me to with bated breath. In between her bouts of snow-day excitement, she debriefed with multiple rounds of hot cocoa, Frozen, and Moana.

In between taking calls from frenzied property owners and our burnt out emergency techs, I paused to gaze over at her little body heaped up on the couch in front of the tv: completely perfect, content, and at the same time oblivious to the reach of the world around her. My heart ached with a mix of joy and the sting of dread, knowing she would not always be this way. She would have to grow up, eventually. It would be then that she would realize I am not this amazing, perfect person that she believed her mom to be.

Despite all my efforts, I was still a broke-ass single mom living paycheck to paycheck with no long-term plans to speak of. At this time our lives, I was still just trying to make it through the day. I flinched as my internal criticism started to show – it was hard enough facing the reality of knowing I was behind the ball in the game of life. I didn’t feel good enough to be her mom, but I always felt like I had to try. It was this inner drive that fueled my motor to keep churning forward, no matter what.

I pushed my inner critic down as calls continued to come in from colleagues and customers alike. I navigated each of them without missing a beat as I logged every conversation, demonstrated a master class in logistical Tetris, and seamlessly coordinated each next step with my team. Whether I was in the office or not, if there was one thing I could say, it was that I was pretty darn good at my job. A little flame of hope flickered inside me as I looked over at my daughter again. If I can get to do anything, I can do this for her, I thought to myself. It was moments like these where I hoped, even if I didn’t fully believe it, that I could try to be something great. Someone worthy of being her mom. Someone ready, willing and able to try and not just make it work – but to push beyond the limits I thought I had.

I had come a long way in just a year. I didn’t have a college degree or much experience outside of basic customer service skills. I tried my best, though, by talking to the right people, learning what I could, and applying myself the best I knew how. My efforts paid off, and I landed an entry level job where I was quickly recognized for my abilities and given the opportunity to show my worth. It felt surreal watching myself climb the frayed rope ladder of advancement. Every little step I made felt like it could be my last before plummeting to my demise, but I did it all the same.

I never thought in a thousand years I could be in a place where I could still do my job while staying at home with my daughter on a snow day. It may not seem like much to anyone else, but it meant everything to me. Only last year, I would have had to call out of work and lose a day’s pay (which would make the difference between buying groceries the next week and not,) or, blow the same day’s pay on the cost of a sitter and pray that my Kia Rio could make the ten mile drive to work.

Outside, the still quiet of winter quivered as the steady wind from the sound lifted the top layers of powdery snow through the air in brisk, sparkling swirls. It was 4 o’clock – time to close out for the day and build a snowman. In that moment, I might have only had a 600-square foot apartment, zero dollars in my savings account, and no backup plan if my car broke down, but still, I had everything I needed:

hope.