from the reluctant healer —

I never wanted to be a nurse or a caregiver, those titles were thrust upon me when life demanded it. As a mother navigating the chaos of medical caregiving, every moment is a delicate balance of love, vigilance, and exhaustion. These roles are heavy, unrelenting, and ones I never asked for, but I carry them all for her. Because she needs me to.

from the silent mourner — 

In the stillness of midnight, accompanied only by the rhythmic patter of rain and the hum of my child’s sound machine, my thoughts unravel. Grief and love intertwine in ways I never expected, reshaping everything I thought I knew about life, motherhood, and the weight of emotions too big to hold. As the rain falls, so do my reflections—on love’s power, grief’s permanence, and the unyielding beauty of both.

From the quiet dreamer –

In the stillness of 3 a.m., I find a fleeting sense of freedom. These stolen moments, though quiet and unremarkable, are a lifeline—a connection to a version of myself that feels so far away. Even as exhaustion waits for me in the morning, I cling to the rebellious sacredness of this time. Because in these wakeful nights, I’m not just stealing hours; I’m holding on to pieces of who I am.

from the heart of a fellow traveler —

“This morning, I stepped outside into a world untouched by the day, quiet, still, and blanketed in fresh snow. It felt sacred, almost like the earth itself was taking a deep breath before the chaos of life began again. In that peaceful moment, I found myself reflecting on how much life has changed, how grief and parenthood have reshaped me in ways I never imagined.”