When I tell people I started ghostwriting eight months after leaving an abusive relationship with my 4-year-old, they look puzzled. "But did you write before?" they ask:
"What's your background?"
The honest answer is: I didn't have one. I wasn't a writer before I became a single mom. I became a writer because I became a single mom.
Here's how necessity, survival, and an unexpected discovery of my own voice led me to a career I never saw coming.
I Had to Find My Voice to Save My Life
Before I left, I had spent years making myself smaller. Agreeing when I disagreed. Staying quiet when I should have spoken up. Apologizing for things that weren't my fault. In an abusive relationship, your voice becomes a liability—something that causes problems rather than solves them.
But when you're responsible for a 4-year-old's entire world, you can't stay silent anymore. I had to learn to advocate for us both. I had to find words for concepts I'd never needed to explain: why we moved, why things changed, why some behaviors aren't okay.
Those early conversations with my son—fumbling for age-appropriate explanations of complex adult realities—taught me something crucial about writing: clarity isn't just helpful, it's essential. When you're explaining to a preschooler why their life just changed completely, every word matters. There's no room for vagueness or sugar-coating that confuses more than it helps.
This skill translated directly to client work once I discovered ghostwriting. When I write email courses about setting boundaries or overcoming limiting beliefs, I remember what it felt like to have no words for my own experience.
I write for people who need the same clarity I desperately needed.
I Learned to Communicate Under Pressure
Single parenthood is a crash course in high-stakes communication. You're constantly explaining, reassuring, negotiating, and problem-solving—often while exhausted, overwhelmed, and figuring things out yourself.
"Why can't we go to the old house?" "Where's Daddy?" "Are you sad, Mommy?"
These questions come at you in the grocery store, at bedtime, in the middle of meltdowns. You learn to respond with honesty that's both truthful and appropriate, comforting but not dismissive.
This training in real-time, high-pressure communication prepared me for ghostwriting in ways I never expected. When a client needs content that addresses sensitive topics—trauma recovery, relationship struggles, parenting challenges—I don't panic about finding the right tone. I've spent months calibrating my words for the most important audience I'll ever have.
I Discovered I Had Stories Worth Telling
Before becoming a single mom, I thought my life was unremarkable. I didn't have dramatic achievements or interesting adventures. I definitely didn't think I had anything worth writing about.
Then everything changed overnight, and I realized I had been living stories all along—I just hadn't recognized them as such. The small moments of rebuilding became material: the first time my son laughed in our new apartment, the pride of assembling furniture by myself, the specific terror of a fever at 2 AM with no backup parent.
More importantly, I discovered that other people wanted to read these stories. When I tentatively shared our experiences in single mom Facebook groups, the responses surprised me. "This is exactly what I needed to hear." "You put words to what I'm feeling." "How do you always know exactly what to say?"
I realized I wasn't just documenting my experience—I was translating it for others going through similar situations. That's when I understood what ghostwriting actually is: taking someone's expertise or experience and making it accessible to their audience. I had been practicing this skill without knowing it.
Financial Necessity Forced Me to Get Good Fast
I wish I could say I chose ghostwriting because I had always dreamed of being a writer. The truth is, I needed income that could work around single parenting, and traditional jobs felt impossible with a 4-year-old and no reliable childcare.
A friend mentioned that someone she knew made money writing email courses for coaches. I had no idea what that meant, but I was desperate enough to figure it out. I spent naptime researching, took on my first client for embarrassingly low rates, and learned by doing.
The financial pressure was terrifying but also clarifying. I couldn't afford to spend months "finding my voice" or taking classes to build confidence. I had to deliver results immediately, learn from feedback quickly, and improve with each project.
This sink-or-swim approach taught me skills that creative writing classes might not have: how to write in someone else's voice, how to meet tight deadlines, how to take criticism without taking it personally, and how to produce quality work consistently rather than waiting for inspiration.
My Emotional Range Became My Superpower
I used to think being emotional was a weakness, especially in professional contexts. I tried to keep feelings separate from everything else.
Single motherhood made that impossible. When you're processing your own trauma while helping a 4-year-old navigate massive life changes, emotions aren't something you set aside—they're the primary material you're working with daily.
This emotional intensity, which I initially saw as a challenge, became my greatest asset as a writer. When I craft content about overcoming obstacles, I'm not reaching for generic inspirational language. I know exactly what hope feels like at 6 AM when you've made it through another hard night. I understand the specific exhaustion of being strong for someone else when you're falling apart inside.
Clients in the personal development space tell me their audiences respond differently to content I've written. The difference, I think, is authenticity.
When you've lived through real transformation, you can write about it in ways that resonate with people who are still in the middle of their own difficult changes.
I Learned to Write in Impossible Circumstances
Before single parenthood, I thought writing required perfect conditions. Quiet space, uninterrupted time, the right mood.
Single motherhood laughed at those requirements and handed me fifteen-minute windows between daycare pickup and dinner prep. Twenty minutes during Bluey episodes. Ten minutes before exhaustion won the battle.
Learning to write in these stolen moments taught me that consistency matters more than perfection. I couldn't wait for inspiration or ideal circumstances. I had to show up with whatever mental energy I had and produce something useful.
This skill made me invaluable to clients with tight deadlines. While other writers might need days to craft the perfect email sequence, I learned to deliver quality content quickly because I had to. Necessity became my best teacher.
I Discovered My Niche by Living It
Many new writers struggle to find their niche. They try to write about everything and end up connecting with no one. I stumbled into my niche by accident: I lived it.
When clients need content about single parenting, overcoming relationship trauma, building resilience, or creating stability from chaos, I don't have to research those topics. I've experienced them. I know what questions people actually ask, what fears keep them up at night, what small victories feel like huge triumphs.
This lived experience gives my writing credibility that can't be faked. When I write an email course about setting boundaries, readers trust it because they sense I've had to set some difficult boundaries myself.
I Learned That Imperfect Published Beats Perfect Unpublished
Pre-single-mom me would have agonized over every sentence, revised endlessly, and probably never finished anything. Current me has learned that good enough is actually good enough most of the time.
When you're parenting solo and running a business, perfectionism isn't just impractical—it's counterproductive. I learned to trust my instincts, hit publish, and improve with the next piece rather than spending forever polishing one project.
This shift toward action over perfection made me more productive and, paradoxically, a better writer. I got more practice, received more feedback, and learned faster than I would have if I'd waited until everything was perfect.
The Confidence I Never Expected
The most surprising discovery was that I'm actually good at this. Despite having no formal training, no writing background, and no clear path into the industry, I found something I excel at.
Clients renew contracts. Readers engage with content I've ghostwritten. My rates have increased steadily as I've proven my value.
None of this would have happened if I hadn't been forced by circumstances to try something completely outside my comfort zone.
Writing Became My Lifeline
What started as financial necessity became something more meaningful: a way to process my own experience while helping others navigate theirs. Every email course I write about overcoming adversity, every piece about personal growth, every article about parenting challenges—they're all part of making meaning from the hardest period of my life.
Writing gave me purpose beyond just survival. It transformed my experience from something that happened to me into something I could use to help others. That sense of purpose shows up in the work and makes it more than just a job.
The Writer I Became Without Trying
I never set out to become a writer. I set out to survive, to build a better life for my son and myself, to find work that could support us both. Writing found me in the middle of that survival story.
The skills I needed to navigate single parenthood—clear communication under pressure, emotional honesty, efficiency, resilience, empathy—turned out to be exactly the skills that make someone a good ghostwriter. I just didn't know it at the time.
Now, when people ask about my background, I tell them the truth:
“ I became a writer by becoming a single mom. Everything I needed to know about authentic communication, I learned by having the most important conversations of my life with a 4-year-old who deserved honest answers to impossible questions.”
That's not a traditional path into writing, but it's the path that led me to work I'm genuinely good at, clients who value what I bring to their projects, and a career that fits around the life I'm building for both of us.
Sometimes the best qualifications aren't the ones you plan for—they're the ones you earn by living through something difficult and discovering you have more strength, voice, and wisdom than you ever imagined.
