Sandy Esprit

I never got to do extracurriculars as a child. No sports, no music lessons, no dance recitals. My childhood was about survival—sometimes even without a home to call our own. I promised myself that if I ever had children, I would give them the childhood I never had. One filled with opportunity, stability, and joy.

Now, as a mom of three, I’m realizing how heavy that promise really is.

The Dream vs. The Reality

When I chose to homeschool, I thought that would be enough. I wanted to be present for my children, to pour myself into their education, and to build a safe and nurturing environment. I thought staying home, even while navigating uncertain income as an entrepreneur, was the sacrifice worth making to give them more than what I had.

But then come the sign-ups. Soccer. Dance. Art. Music. All the things I dreamed of for them. And with each activity comes the fees, the uniforms, the equipment, the costumes, the travel. One class turns into hundreds of dollars. Multiply that by three kids, and it feels like a mountain I’m always climbing but never reaching the top of.

The Loneliness of Carrying It All

Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying it alone. The rising cost of living doesn’t slow down for a parent’s heart. Groceries, bills, gas—it all stacks up. And then there’s this added financial and emotional weight of wanting to say “yes” to every opportunity, while quietly worrying if I’ll have enough to cover the basics.

It feels isolating. Like I’m on the outside looking in, watching other families seem to move effortlessly through these seasons while I juggle every dollar, every hour, every ounce of energy I have.

And the guilt creeps in. If I say no to an activity, I feel like I’m failing them. If I say yes, I feel the stress of stretching beyond what feels safe. Either way, the weight sits heavy.

Why I Keep Going

Still, I keep pushing. Because I remember what it was like to go without. I don’t want my children to only know survival. I want them to laugh at practice, to shine on stage, to feel like they belong. I want them to have what I didn’t—and that desire is what fuels me, even when I feel drained and unseen.

But if I’m honest, it’s hard. Harder than I imagined. And sometimes, I need to say that out loud.

What Really Matters

I remind myself that even if my kids don’t get every activity, they are not lacking in love. They have a mom who shows up, who fights for them, who chooses them every single day. Maybe they won’t do it all, but they will know they were enough.

And maybe that’s the childhood I didn’t have—but they will.