I think the reason I stopped writing about motherhood as much is because I’m so fucking in it. The kind of “in it” where deep reflection can seldom happen because coming up for a breath of air is hard enough.
It’s all consuming. And this toddler stage is absolute mayhem. I joke about it but the reality is at least once a week you can find me sitting on the kitchen floor crying into my hands, because sometimes, I honestly don’t know if I can do it.
And there I am, my heart full, yes, but also being pushed to the edge of where I think I can exist.
The real twist is I already know that when I’m a reminiscent old lady I’ll say these times, the times I’m living right now, were the best years of my life. There’s a sweetness and incredibly complicated simplicity that I don’t think I'll every experience again.
Nova’s existence in the world forces me to grow. And although growth is messy and painful at times I stand firm in the awareness that this period is propelling me into something greater. Something not fully understood yet, but something I have been deeply longing for.
Motherhood is thick in transformation. It’s right there at every moment from the time you pee on that stick. It demands change, deserves respect, and is humbling beyond compare.
If the only way that you can truly show up for someone else is to show up for yourself then, for me, motherhood is the greatest test there is. But how exactly do you put yourself first when you have someone relying on you for everything?
I think the reason I stopped writing about motherhood is because it got really hard. I try to be kind to myself because the times we are living in are extraordinary, but it seems, for a while anyway, the sour outweighed the sweet.
Motherhood has thrust me into a realness I had no idea was even possible but in the face of its stark reality what I’m finding is my truth.
I think the reason I stopped writing about motherhood is because I was scared of that reality and what it meant to expose it. But if my truth lies in my ability to express vulnerability, then I must continue to use my voice. When I’m really showing up for myself, I feel this to my core and that old familiar sting of worthlessness fades away. No matter how big or small my impact might be, my experiences matter.
I matter.
Photos by: Ilfredo Amaya
@ecce_mujer
