Violet Day will always be my New Year's Eve celebration

A Love Letter to the Girl Who Changed Everything

Nine years ago, I was standing at the height of my hair career.

I was booked. Creative. In my element. My hands were my livelihood, my artistry was finally being seen, and for the first time, my dreams felt tangible. I had momentum—clients who trusted me, visions that stretched beyond the chair, and a future I was actively building strand by strand.

And then, everything shifted.

I found out I was pregnant on the edge of a new year, and suddenly survival mattered more than dreams. Ambition took a backseat to responsibility. Passion paused—not because I stopped loving it, but because motherhood required something deeper than desire. It required sacrifice.

I became a single mother overnight—not in title, but in reality.

There were days I didn’t eat so my daughter could. Nights I stretched meals, prayed over my empty wallet, and trusted God to multiply what little we had. Moments where I worked multiple jobs—not to get ahead, but just to stay afloat.

I learned how to calculate life in diapers and dollars. How to carry exhaustion like a second skin. How to keep going even when my body was running on faith alone.

And still—God provided.

Over and over again.

He sent angels in human form. Unexpected resources. Timely groceries. Bags of clothes when seasons changed. Diapers when I didn’t know how I’d afford them. Help that arrived exactly when pride had been stripped away and surrender had taken its place.

My faith didn’t just comfort me—it carried me.

And it still does.

The Moment That Changed Everything

That version of me didn’t feel brave. She felt small in a very big world—holding a pregnancy test and wondering how she would protect a life when she was still learning how to protect her own heart. I didn’t yet know the words Soldier Mom, but the calling had already been written into my bones.

Every New Year’s Eve, while the world counts down and celebrates what’s ahead, I quietly honor what already arrived.

I call it Violet Day.

Because nine years ago, on the brink of a new year, she chose me.

Becoming Her Mother Meant Becoming Myself

Motherhood didn’t soften me—it forged me.

It taught me how to rise without a safety net. How to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other. How to survive seasons that would’ve broken the woman I used to be.

I’ve written before about generational trauma—about how pain echoes through bloodlines until someone decides to stop it. Becoming a mother made that truth undeniable. Healing was no longer optional. It was a responsibility.

I wasn’t healing just for me anymore. I was healing for her.

Every wrong turn became wisdom. Every scar turned into strength. Every moment I thought I was failing was actually shaping the woman—and mother—I was becoming.

Violet Day Is My Sacred Pause

Violet Day isn’t loud. It isn’t performative. It isn’t wrapped in perfection.

It’s sacred.

It’s me sitting with the woman I was nine years ago and whispering, You survived. God sustained you. God within you has more power than you ever knew. Look what you built.

It’s honoring the nights I cried in the dark so my daughter could sleep peacefully. The prayers whispered over her while pretending everything was fine. The moments where faith was the only thing keeping me upright.

On Violet Day, I reflect on how love taught me endurance. How compassion became louder than fear. How forgiveness—especially toward myself—freed me in ways nothing else could.

A Legacy Rooted in Faith

Nine years in, I know this to be true:

I am not raising my daughter to be small. I am raising her to be anchored.

Anchored in faith.

Anchored in truth.

Anchored in the knowing that God provides—even when logic says otherwise.

We are still here because He carried us. Because angels showed up. Because love multiplied what scarcity tried to steal.

So tonight, while the world cheers for midnight, I’ll be celebrating something holier.

The girl who made me a mother. The God who never let us go hungry. The faith that carried me then—and will carry me forever.

Happy Violet Day, my love.

You didn’t just change my year. You changed my entire life.

A Violet Day Prayer

God, Thank You for choosing me to be her mother—even when I doubted myself. Thank You for carrying us through seasons where faith was all we had. For the meals that appeared when my wallet was empty. For the clothes, the diapers, the hands that helped when I couldn’t do it alone.

Thank You for the angels You sent—seen and unseen. For strength when my body was tired. For courage when fear tried to silence me. For provision that arrived right on time, again and again.

Bless my daughter. Cover her with wisdom, confidence, and peace. Guard her heart. Strengthen her voice. Let her always know she is deeply loved, divinely protected, and never alone.

Heal what came before us. Break every cycle that no longer serves our lineage. Let our legacy be faith, resilience, compassion, and truth.

And God, continue to carry me—As a woman, As a mother, As a daughter of Yours.

May I always remember that You are our source. Yesterday, today, and always.

Own Your Light,

Soldier Mom