16/10/2025
This is one of the realities of being a VA mom like me — struggling to compete in this field.
To my son,
I knew this time would come when I’d have to make a hard decision. But before I tell you the details, let me share something first: quitting my job in a well-known company after six years was one of the greatest and bravest choices I’ve ever made. Not because I wanted to escape corporate life, but because you became my top priority.
As a first-time mom with no backup plan and limited financial resources—aside from your dad’s help with the major bills—I still felt no remorse. It’s deeply fulfilling to be your mother and to spend every day with you. You being born premature gave me the strength and courage to take that bold step.
It was hard letting go of a company that allowed me to dream—where I could plan vacations a year ahead, buy our home, and grow in ways I never imagined. Yet despite all that, I have no regrets. You are the blessing I’ve prayed for all my life.
But this joy came with a heavy price—financial struggles I could no longer hide. Since I stopped earning, I’ve accumulated debts while relying on your father’s income. Behind my smiles this past year were days filled with anxiety, stress, and exhaustion. Three banks call me from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., and I can’t even answer because I already know what they’ll say. I’ve always been a responsible payer, but right now, I feel powerless.
I’ve gone on “vacations” with empty pockets, only to come home the same way. I’ve lost control over our finances—barely able to buy groceries, personal needs, or even little things for you. And today, I made one of the saddest decisions of my life: to return to onsite work.
I started part-time work in May this year, just seven months postpartum. At four months postpartum, I began taking classes for SMM and VA work. I was so full of dreams and excitement—grateful to earn from home while being with you. But I didn’t expect how tough the competition would be. Working two hours a day, ten hours a week, earning fifteen thousand pesos a month—it wasn’t bad, but with inflation and growing expenses, it still wasn’t enough to feed three mouths, not even counting you.
Every night, I pray for your safety and health. And every night, I also shed quiet tears—carrying the weight of tomorrow’s worries.
Soon, I won’t be there to keep you warm through the night. Please, don’t cry when you wake up and I’m not beside you. Soon, I’ll only see you for a short while in the morning before I sleep for the day, and when I wake up, I’ll be leaving again to work through the night.
My presence will be less than before. I might witness your milestones only through CCTV footage or photos your Tita sends me. Still, I’m thankful I can come home daily. I write this as if I’m leaving for abroad—but that’s exactly how it feels. Others might say I’m overreacting, that I’ll get used to it with time. But that’s just it—time passes so fast. One day, you won’t be this small anymore. And I’ll never get back these moments I could’ve spent holding you.
Before, I would never work overtime even with extra pay. Now, I’m returning to a full-time onsite job while keeping my part-time remote work, so I can earn more and rebuild. My goal is to save, recover, and prepare for your future.
This is the painful truth of being both a provider and a mother. Every sacrifice, every tear, every sleepless night—I do all of it because I love you more than anything.
Love,
Mama
