Struggles of Single Mom with Kids with Special Needs

From a Father of a Single Mom

Author

DANIEL FEE
September 01, 2025 • Estimated Reading Time: 8 minutes

Table of Contents

The Struggles of a Single Mom

Raising children is hard. Raising children with special needs is harder. Doing it alone as a single mother? That’s a level of pressure and sacrifice most people don’t fully understand unless they’ve lived it.

There’s no manual for parenting, and there sure isn’t one for parenting special needs children. Add financial strain, social isolation, burnout, and the emotional rollercoaster that comes with navigating diagnoses and daily meltdowns, and you begin to see the reality many single mothers face every day.

Constant Responsibility, Zero Backup

Single moms don’t have someone to tag in when they’re exhausted. They don’t get to split duties or take turns going to therapy appointments, IEP meetings, or late-night hospital runs. Everything falls on one set of shoulders—doctor visits, school advocacy, behavior management, medication routines, and basic care.

There’s no such thing as a “day off.” Even being sick doesn’t excuse you from showing up. Your kid needs meds. Your kid has a meltdown. Your kid doesn’t understand that you’re running on empty.

That relentless responsibility chips away at your energy, your mental health, and sometimes your identity. You become the advocate, the caregiver, the therapist, the scheduler, and the disciplinarian. There’s no time to be just you anymore.

The Financial Strain is Real

Raising a child with special needs often means extra cost, therapy, medical equipment, special diets, assistive technology, and transportation to and from appointments. Insurance doesn’t cover everything, and services can be outrageously expensive. If your child can’t attend regular daycare or school, you may need to stay home—or find a caregiver trained in special needs support, which costs even more.

Being a single parent means one income, if you can even work. Many special needs moms are forced to reduce hours or quit jobs entirely because care is a full-time commitment. That leads to a cycle of financial instability that’s hard to escape. Government assistance helps, but it rarely covers enough, and qualifying can involve jumping through hoops while you're already stretched thin.

Getting services for your child isn’t just about asking. It’s about fighting. Constantly.

You fight the school system for an Individualized Education Plan (IEP) that actually meets your kid’s needs. You push back when teachers dismiss your concerns. You sit through endless evaluations and meetings, repeating your child’s history over and over. You file paperwork for every therapy, every accommodation, every insurance claim.

And often, you're not taken seriously. If you advocate too strongly, you’re labeled "difficult." If you’re too quiet, you’re ignored. You’re expected to be an expert, even when no one has trained you.

Call from the School Again

Isolation is Inevitable

Single moms of neurotypical kids often say they feel isolated. For moms of kids with special needs, that isolation can be intense.

You can’t just hire a babysitter and go out. You can’t meet friends for lunch if your child’s needs are unpredictable. Many people don’t understand what you’re dealing with. Friends fall away. Family might distance themselves out of discomfort or lack of understanding.

Support systems shrink, and loneliness grows. The outside world doesn’t see the meltdowns, the sensory overloads, the sleepless nights. They see a mom who looks tired and a kid they don’t understand.

Some people judge. Others offer well-meaning advice that completely misses the mark. Very few say, “I see you. You’re doing everything you can.”

Mental Health Takes a Hit

What’s Next?

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The emotional weight of single-handed care for a special needs child can be crushing. Anxiety, depression, and burnout are common. You worry constantly—about your child’s future, about money, about what will happen if something happens to you.

You might feel guilty when you lose your patience. You might feel shame for wishing things were easier.

You might feel grief over the childhood you imagined—for both you and your child.

And yet, there’s little time or space to process any of it. Therapy is expensive and hard to access. Talking to friends often leads to more frustration. So you hold it in. You keep going.

But suppressing pain doesn’t make it disappear. Over time, it compounds. And when there’s no room to fall apart, you feel like you’re breaking inside without a way to show it.

Love Doesn’t Erase the Hard

None of this means you don’t love your child. Of course you do. Fiercely. You’ll fight for them until your last breath. You celebrate their progress, however small. You know their strengths better than anyone. You protect their dignity and humanity in a world that often overlooks them.

But love isn’t a cure for exhaustion. It doesn’t fix the system. It doesn’t make your child’s needs any less intense or your life any less overwhelming.

Sometimes the pressure to “stay positive” becomes its own burden. You’re told to be grateful, to focus on blessings, to remember that “God only gives special kids to special people.” But those sayings don’t make diapers easier to change at age 10. They don’t get your child a speech therapist. They don’t pay the bills.

The Strength is in Showing up

The strength of a single mom raising kids with special needs doesn’t come from superpowers. It comes from getting up every morning and doing the work—tired, unseen, afraid, angry, heartbroken. She shows up. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

She advocates in school meetings even when her voice shakes. She calms her child through a meltdown in the grocery store with people staring. She learns medical terms she never wanted to know. She holds her kid through sleepless nights and wakes up for therapy in the morning.

She does it without applause. Without backup. Without rest. But with more love and grit than most people will ever realize.

What She Needs

She doesn’t need pity. She needs support. Tangible support. Access to services. Flexible jobs. Inclusive schools. Affordable therapy. Respite care. Compassion, not judgment.

She needs people to listen without fixing. Friends who check in. Professionals who respect her expertise. Systems that see her not as a problem parent but a partner in care.

She needs space to feel what she feels. To cry. To vent. To say, “This is hard,” without someone telling her to be grateful.

Because loving your child doesn’t mean you don’t struggle. And struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing. If you know a single mom with special needs children give them respect, they are doing the best they can.

If the conversation sparked something in you — a new idea, a moment of calm, or a little boost — I’d be honored if you shared it with someone you care about.

Daniel Fee 559-701-8088

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