This Monday Started With Tears

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I never imagined I’d be writing an update like this.

Many of you already know parts of my story, the pieces I’ve been brave enough to share. You know I went back to work a week after giving birth. You know I write part-time for a company, write on here, and piece together any job I can find that lets me care for my baby and our two dogs. You know I’m doing everything I can to keep my family afloat.

What you may not know is what I’ve been quietly enduring behind the scenes.

The Sunday That Broke Me

This past weekend, my partner, who only gets two weekends off a month, happened to be home. I felt hopeful. Light. Motivated. With support available for the baby, I thought, Let me get ahead of the week.

Unpaid, yes. But worth it, because I’d begin Monday with clarity instead of chaos.

I spent hours planning campaigns, writing emails, fixing copy, and organizing tasks. I even felt proud of myself. After months of postpartum exhaustion and juggling motherhood with survival-mode working, I finally felt like I had a handle on things.

Then Monday morning came.

I logged into the Zoom call, ready to start the week strong, when my boss interrupted me mid-sentence and said:

“You working this weekend? That’s total BS DOT COM.”

He didn’t laugh. He wasn’t joking. And when I tried to explain my intention, that I wanted to be ahead so projects could run smoothly, he began mocking me. Every time I spoke, he repeated my words in a taunting voice.

When I gently said, “Oh wow,” he shot back:

“OH WOWWWWW.”

I froze.

My throat closed.

My chest tightened.

I felt the sting behind my eyes you feel when you’re trying not to cry but the tears are coming anyway. I managed to say, “This was absolutely WRONG,” before I clicked off the call and sat there holding my baby, sobbing.

The Confusing Layer

The reason for his anger?

I hadn’t messaged anyone on Sunday to inform them about a minor design issue I ran into. Honestly, it wasn’t a shattering problem, nothing that needed anyone to drop everything over the weekend. But in his eyes, not alerting the team immediately was unforgivable. He told me he didn’t run a non-profit and that if he needed people to work on weekends, they would.

It was confusing.

Frustrating.

Completely disproportionate.

I had volunteered to work that weekend to help the team, not create more drama, yet I was made to feel like a villain.

The Message That Followed

After I gathered myself, I sent a message saying what any reasonable human would say:

That was incredibly inappropriate. I worked that weekend to help. I won’t take time out of my weekend going forward if that’s considered “BS dot com.” If someone else needs to handle tasks, that’s fine, but I cannot be spoken to that way.

His response? A cold, ChatGPT-written paragraph, I know because we share a work ChatGPT account, and I could see the prompt. He told me:

No one asked me to work the weekend.
My contribution was “appreciated.”
Staying silent about issues is “unprofessional.”
I was free to stay or leave.
If work is a recurring concern, we could shift to a fixed weekly model so there’s no expectation to work outside regular hours.

No accountability.

No acknowledgment.

Just deflection, ego, and dismissal.

Why I Haven’t Quit

People ask, “Why do you stay?”

Because I have a newborn.
Because diapers, wipes, formula, bills, rent, they don’t pause for feelings.
Because part-time writing gigs don’t offer health insurance.
Because I’m on contract.
Because income is income when you’re the mother of a tiny human who depends on you for everything.

Because when you’re drowning, you’ll grab whatever piece of wood keeps you afloat, even if it’s splintering in your hands.

The Weight of What Women Carry

I’m sharing this because so many women, especially new mothers, quietly tolerate disrespect in the workplace to provide for their families.

We push through tears.
We take verbal hits.
We swallow things we shouldn’t have to swallow.
We tell ourselves, Just get through the week.
Just get through the month.
Just get to the next paycheck.

We don’t talk about it because we fear losing opportunities we desperately need. But silence is its own injury, and I refuse to let this be another hidden bruise mothers simply “deal with.”

What Kept Me Going This Week

In the middle of all this, I kept seeing notifications from my baby registry, diapers, wipes, little gifts, donations.

From you.

From readers who’ve never met me but believe in me.
From mothers and fathers who understand the weight of raising a baby while fighting to stay afloat.
From people who saw us, really saw us, during a moment when I felt completely unseen.

I cried again, but this time for a different reason: gratitude.

Thank you.
For helping us.
For easing the pressure.
For making me feel human again after being spoken to like anything but.
For reminding me that kindness still exists, even when some workplaces fail to show it.

Where I Go From Here

I’m still deciding my next steps.
I’m still trying to navigate motherhood, work, writing, and survival.
I’m still figuring out how to set boundaries while also trying to keep my family safe financially.

But sharing this is step one.

Because if there’s one thing motherhood taught me, it’s this:

Silence doesn’t protect you. It only protects the people who hurt you.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for supporting my baby.

And thank you, truly, for being here while I rebuild the courage to demand better.

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UPDATED BIO:

Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.

In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.

Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our miracle baby.

If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.

Donate here — Venmo

Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.