“No One Has Time to Like My Picture… But I’m Still Here, Trying to Survive.”

No one seems to notice me. No one stops to look. No one has the time to like my picture or read my story.
I’m just another face in a crowded shelter, another number on a kennel door, another mother no one asked about.
Yet here I am — tired, hungry, cold — doing everything I can to protect the only thing that matters: my babies.
I don’t ask for much. Just a safe place. A little warmth. A quiet corner where my babies can rest without fear.
But even that feels like a dream in this cold shelter, where the echoes of barks and the silence of forgotten animals mix in the air.
Love feels like a distant memory here. Hope flickers like a weak flame, fighting against the wind of time running out.
Still, I curl around my little ones every night, shielding them with my body, warming them with my breath, refusing to give up.
I don’t care that I’m exhausted. I don’t care that I’m hungry. I only care that they live — that they make it out of here.
I was once someone’s baby too. Maybe once, I knew the feeling of gentle hands and kind words. But now, I’m just invisible.
It breaks my heart that something as simple as a photo — a single moment captured — might be my only chance.
And yet, most scroll past me, too busy, too numb, too distracted to see the quiet desperation in my eyes.
But what if someone stopped? What if someone liked? What if someone shared?
Sometimes, that’s all it takes — a single gesture, a second of your time — to give us a voice.
To give my babies a chance to grow up in a home, not a kennel.
To remind the world that we matter. That our lives are not disposable.
A “like” won’t fix everything. But it might be the first step toward something better.
A share won’t change the world overnight. But it might change our whole world.
So here I am, a mother without a home, asking for just a little compassion in a world that has turned away.
Not for myself. But for the tiny lives I’m trying so hard to save.
If you see this — don’t scroll past. Don’t let us fade into the background.
Let this be the post that changes something. That gives us a voice. That leads us home.
Because we’re still here. Still hoping. Still waiting.
And sometimes… hope is born in the smallest acts of kindness.