Vogue column: An Ode to Single Mothers Building a Life in a Foreign Land

I am a columnist for Vogue and this is a piece I wrote in Dutch originally but translated to English for you guys! I hope you will enjoy this heartfelt piece.

On the morning of her citizenship exam, breakfast was already waiting on the table before 7 a.m. My brother and I sat at the kitchen table like we did every other morning. We had no idea that, for our mother, it was one of the most important and nerve-wracking days of her life.

My mother came to the Netherlands when she was thirty-two, carrying two children and the weight of starting over. She didn’t speak the language. She knew no one. She had to find her way through a country that was not yet hers.

The first thing she learned was how to ride a bicycle, because she needed to take us to school. Her Iranian driver’s license was not valid here. During the day, she attended language classes. In between, she cleaned houses to make a living. Slowly, step by step, she built a life.

She volunteered. She earned her vocational diploma, and later her bachelor’s degree. She did all of this while raising two children on her own.

But I didn’t know any of that back then.

She never let us feel the weight she was carrying.

Two months ago, I took my mother to Greece for a girls’ trip. Watching her enjoy herself so freely touched something deep inside me. I realized that I no longer see my mother only as the person who raised me. I see the woman behind the role. I see what she carried, and how she carried it.

She never made us feel like we were missing anything. She never placed the weight of her struggles on our shoulders. We grew up surrounded by the warmth and safety she created, never knowing how much strength it took from her to create that world for us.

In the Netherlands, hundreds of thousands of families are led by a single parent.
In most cases, that parent is a mother.

Every morning, countless women wake up, prepare breakfast, take their children to school, go to work, care for others, and quietly prepare for the next day. So much of what they do happens unseen.

And then there are the mothers who do all of this in a country that is unfamiliar to them. Mothers who are not only navigating single parenthood but also rebuilding their entire lives in a new language, a new culture, and a new system — often without a safety net.

This is especially true for many single mothers with a migration background. They are often described as vulnerable because of the challenges they face: financial insecurity, housing struggles, language barriers, and the absence of a support network.

But when I think of my mother, vulnerability is not the first word that comes to mind.

I think of courage.

I think of determination.

I think of a woman who created a home for her children while she was still trying to find her own place in the world.

There are things statistics will never be able to measure.

They cannot measure the way my mother gave us a sense of safety while she was still figuring everything out herself.

They cannot measure how she created a home in a place where she knew no one.

They cannot measure how she woke up every morning and kept going, making sure we felt loved and protected, even when she was carrying struggles we could not see.

The circumstances may have been difficult. But the person standing inside them was always so much greater than the word “vulnerable.”

We often call this resilience.

But even that word feels too small.

Because what does it really take to rebuild an entire life while continuing to hold someone else’s world together?

Maybe there is no single word that can fully capture that kind of strength.

My mother eventually earned her diplomas. Today, she supports women who are experiencing domestic violence, perhaps because she understands what it means to have to begin again.

She dances every week. It is one of her greatest joys.

And that image stays with me.

My mother dancing.

My mother laughing.

My mother glowing in a way I always knew as a child, but only now truly understand.

What moves me most is that she never lost her curiosity. She talks to strangers, makes new friends, learns new things, goes belly dancing, and occasionally enjoys a celebratory cocktail, experiences that once felt far away from the woman who arrived in a new country with nothing but courage and hope.

When I look at her, I see someone who refused to let hardship make her smaller.

That makes me proud.

She is my greatest inspiration.

I never heard her complain about what it cost her. But when I see her now, dancing, laughing, living, I don’t only see the woman she has become.

I see everything it took to get there.

This is for my mother.

And for every mother who has done it alone, in every country, in every language, in every corner of the world.

You built homes in places where others might have given up.

And the world is better because you did.

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