A couple months ago, I wrote a post about my children ruining me. And it’s completely true. We are totally ruined physically, mentally, emotionally. We know the cost of motherhood, and we choose it over and over again. It is as rewarding as it is exhausting. It makes us proud and oh so humble at the same time.
Motherhood breaks us, and it builds us back up. We grow this human, and our body breaks to bring it into the world. Or our heart breaks as we wait time and time again to get the call that a birth mom has chosen us. We break, and then we are remade into these beautiful creatures. We are given hearts that love unconditionally. Hands that protect and guide. Words that build up our children.
Like a mirror or a beautiful piece of pottery that is shattered, smashed, crushed to bits, and slowly over time, the pieces are put together to make a stunning mosaic; we, too, are pieced back together to create a piece of art that reflects our story. We are made into a new jar meant to hold memories, secrets, hearts. We are rebuilt to hold every memory of their tiny features, the feel of their hug, recall their jokes, hold their love. We are meant to protect these children and allow them room to grow. Our old jars were too small to hold these magnificent creatures.
There are times when we feel horrible. Like we are getting everything wrong. Like the best of us is just buried in the dirt. And no one sees us here, nor do we want anyone to see us like this. It takes a few tears and some light shining on us for us to bloom into this life.
To the mother who wishes she could sleep, but faithfully wakes and rocks her screaming baby several times a night. Completely aware of the bags under her eyes. Spending hours wondering why her baby won’t stop crying.
To the mother who had to leave her newborn baby in the NICU. Not knowing when or if that new baby would get to come home. Wondering what she could have done to prevent this.
To the mother washing bed sheets every morning, questioning if their child will ever stop wetting the bed.
To the mother whose child is having a fit in public. Conscious of everyone’s eyes on you and your sweet child that cannot handle the outside world as well as others.
To the mother struggling to cook for her child with many allergies. Researching, experimenting, worrying about every meal cooked. Trying to find the right foods to fill their belly without hurting their gut.
To the mother who is doing it all and struggling with questions of, “Where’s daddy?” And knowing that your heart longs for him, too.
To the mother whose child has completely shut her out. Something is wrong and you just want to be there for them but they won’t let you in.
To the mother who loses a child in an accident, because of addiction, a medical condition, or otherwise….
You feel broken. Ready to wave your white flag. Like you can’t possibly come out on the other side. But I promise you can.
And you will bloom.
You will become stronger, better, and a beacon of light and hope for others struggling. The reflection of your story will be a beautiful testimony for those who are still in the dirt.