My wilted roots are shadowed by the most beautiful, blooming flowers.
I wish in my early postpartum days I could’ve been a better version of myself. A version of myself that didn’t find every reason to hate me. It was the way I looked and felt. It was the emotional variability. It was feeling over-touched and under-loved. It was feeling worthless and constantly worrying if I was good enough. Then, it was being disappointed in myself when I realized the only person I wasn’t good enough for, was me.
I hardly want to talk about it, but it’s worth being said. You see, I had such a fragile body and mind, yet 0ne that could endure an extraordinary amount and carry on. Though never away, time pressed on. My brain clouded the joyous moments that surrounded me, and the days became harder to face. I needed my candle relit, but it was me that kept blowing it out.
...
Stay bold my baby,
your colors are not faded.
Your heart is so fresh,
you're clever, and simply the best.
Mama's petals have fallen,
one-by-one.
I’m like a wildflower,
surviving with only some sun.
My roots have been wilted,
I’ve risen from moments of fear.
Mama will continue to rise,
but time be still, my dear.
...
People tell me that this season will pass. The season where I frequently overthink and worry. My mind is one step ahead and constantly tracing back. And as the tears roll down my face, a smile will appear, because two little boys will always need me here.
So, for now, I'll work to remember that even on the darkest days the moon still shines.
