The Christmas I Bought Magic on Credit—and the One I’m Building Now

There’s a Christmas memory that lives rent-free in my heart.

My oldest baby was three years old. She wanted the Barbie Dream House. The big one. The one with the elevator, the tiny furniture, and the promise of a whole imaginary world inside a pink box.

What she didn’t know was that I was a single mom counting every dollar, choosing which bills could wait, and staring at my bank account with that familiar knot in my stomach. What she didn’t know was that I took out a payday loan to make Christmas happen. What she didn’t know was how close I was to breaking—financially, emotionally, spiritually.

All she knew was that Santa showed up.

And when she tore that wrapping paper off and her little face lit up, it felt worth it. Every late fee. Every pushed-off responsibility. Every silent panic attack. Because in that moment, I wasn’t broke—I was a mom who pulled off magic.

That’s the thing about survival seasons. You don’t always make “smart” choices. You make loving ones. You make desperate ones. You make the ones that let your child believe the world is safe, warm, and full of possibility—even if behind the scenes you’re duct-taping life together.

I look back now and I don’t feel shame. I feel compassion for that version of me. She was doing the best she could with what she had. She wasn’t reckless—she was protective. She wasn’t irresponsible—she was determined. She refused to let her circumstances steal her child’s joy.

Fast forward to now.

I’m a single mom again.

Different chapter. Same heart.

This time, I’m building Christmas magic without a payday loan. This time, I’m not choosing between gifts and groceries. This time, I’m not holding my breath every time my phone buzzes, wondering if it’s another bill collector or overdraft alert.

And I’m so deeply, overwhelmingly thankful.

Not because life is perfect—it’s not. Not because the journey was pretty—it wasn’t. But because I can see the distance between where I was and where I am. Because I survived the mess. Because I learned. Because I grew. Because I didn’t give up on myself even when everything felt stacked against me.

There were years of rebuilding. Years of healing. Years of unlearning survival mode and relearning self-trust. Years of showing up exhausted but still showing up. Years of faith when logic said quit.

And now, standing here, I feel gratitude in my bones.

Grateful for the woman I was who sacrificed quietly.

Grateful for the woman I am who no longer has to.

Grateful for my children who never knew how heavy it was—and never needed to.

Grateful for the reminder that progress doesn’t always look flashy; sometimes it looks like peace.

To my Finding 40 community—especially the single moms, the women starting over, the ones holding it together with grit and prayer—please hear this:

Where you are right now is not where you’ll always be.

The season where you’re just trying to make it through does not define your future. The choices you made to survive do not disqualify you from thriving. And the magic you’re creating for others, even when it costs you, matters more than you know.

One day you’ll look back—not with regret—but with gratitude. Gratitude for how far you’ve come. Gratitude for the strength you didn’t know you had. Gratitude for the fact that you kept going.

This Christmas, I’m thankful for growth.

I’m thankful for resilience.

I’m thankful for lessons learned the hard way.

I’m thankful that my children still get magic—and I get peace.

And most of all, I’m thankful that even through the mess, I kept believing there was more waiting for me on the other side.

Because there was.

And there is.