THE SILENCE OF MOTHERHOOD

Sometimes words exist, enough to spill the heaviness out…but they scatter before reaching my lips. I never signed up for this version of me, yet somehow, here I am found in a place I never searched for.

If time had handles, I would turn it back to the day I held him in my arms, 3.1 kilos of quiet beauty. He never cried. None of them did…2.9 kg, 3.6 kg, all silent beginnings to a journey that has been anything but.

Motherhood: no direction, no handbook, just a path carved by trembling feet. Every dawn I whisper, “It will get better." I wait for the echo to return true.

Sometimes I envy my nephew, and I ask God to forgive me. The hurt sits deep, burns where no flame can be seen. I tell myself, cry it out… gather again… breathe again. But how much can one heart carry? How far can one soul stretch before it frays?

I am told to swallow my storms, to soften myself, to be stronger, quieter, but I am human too. There are feelings that remain unnamed, pain she will never understand.

And inside, I am dying a little, in ways words cannot fully wrap around. Explaining myself is exhausting, so I choose silence instead, not weakness, but preservation. A way of holding back the flood when the dam is already cracked.

Motherhood, a road with no map, no compass, just moments you learn through, ache through, grow through. Our journeys are not the same, and that, that is where the weight and the wonder both live.