There are days when motherhood feels like a gift I don’t deserve.
And then there are days it feels like a weight I’m not strong enough to carry.
No one really tells you that both can be true.
Some mornings, I wake up ready, grateful, patient, full of love.
But on the hard days? The days when I’ve barely slept, when money is tight, when work is demanding, and everything feels one step behind… it hits differently. I look at this little human I love with everything I’ve got, and still wonder if I’m giving her enough. If I am enough.
And the guilt sneaks in quietly.
For snapping. For being tired. For wanting a break.
For thinking, even for a second, that I just want to disappear into silence.
I think about all the things I want to provide: security, joy, structure, freedom.
And then I open the fridge, do the mental math, count what’s left for school fees, for rent, for tomorrow.
And my heart breaks a little more, because I know love alone doesn’t fill bowls.
I don’t always have the answers.
Some days, I’m just surviving, one task at a time, one whispered prayer at a time.
But even in the struggle, I still show up. I still hold space for her to be a child.
I still teach her that love means staying, especially on the days it would be easier to shut down.
Motherhood doesn’t always feel magical.
Some days, it just feels heavy.
But even on the worst of them, I remind myself:
She doesn’t need perfect. She needs present.
And so I try again.
For her. For me. For the future, I’m quietly rebuilding, one tired, determined step at a time.
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