Hey sister, I see you. Holding your precious new baby, tears of awe and terror streaming down your face. I see you, wondering how on earth you got here and when this heavy, agonizing pressure on your chest is going to go away. I see you, struggling to breathe as you bring baby, once again, to your breast. 

I see the way your heart both explodes with love and shatters with grief each time you kiss his sweet head. I see the way you drink in his smell, willing yourself to just be here in this moment, begging yourself to breathe and trust in God. I see the way your eyes have changed, the way you have shifted and morphed into this person, this new role. I see you, trying out your new legs as you walk, like a newborn yourself, into this vastly unfamiliar and foreign new world. 

I hear the way you laugh in wonderment as baby searches for your familiar scent and the way you cry in fear as you wonder if you really have what it takes to keep this little one alive. I hear you as you pray, over and over to God, to help you breathe, to help you relax, to help you enjoy this chapter. I hear you as you wonder to yourself if this is as hard for anyone else. I see you comparing yourself to the moms around you, as you assess their smiles looking for a sign that you are not the only one. I hear the way you convince yourself that asking for help is not OK, that you can get through this alone, that nobody needs to know. 

I hear your footsteps as you pace the floor with him, singing through tears and grasping for comfort from the hymns of your childhood. I feel you as you pick your exhausted and weary bones up, time and time again in the dark and wee hours of the night. I see the path you are treading in the darkness, back and forth back and forth, from baby’s bed to yours; putting in the thankless and noble work of keeping him both fed and safe. I see how you hold him. How you sing to him and rock him and care from him even when nobody else is watching, even when you are all alone and it feels as if the loneliness could eat you alive. I hear you as you cry out to God, wondering where He is. 

I wish I could come back in time somehow, hold you, tell you what I know now. I want you to know that this will not last forever. I want to whisper that God is always, always, always with you, even when you can’t feel Him. I want to sing those hymns with you and promise you that God loves you and He will not waste this. I want to tell you to breathe, to pray, to trust in Him. I want to hug you until you’re forced to give up some of that control. I want you to understand that you are not supposed to have it all together.

I want to hold your hand and bring you outside, to show you that the world is still there and you are not alone. I wish I could dial up your sister and give you the phone, help you find the words to say as you explain the heaviness and emptiness inside of you. I want you to know that your husband loves you so much and that you guys are in this together. 

I want you to know that motherhood is hard and challenging and these tears of grief you cry are nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to know that someday you will hold your baby against your chest and great big fat tears of happiness will saturate his head as you feel the wonderment and grace of motherhood without anxiety. I want you to see him now. Today, the way he looks at you and says “I love you momma” in that sweet raspy little voice of his. The way he runs to grab a diaper for his little brother and the way his eyes light up when he sees the snow falling. I want you to see him as he runs and climbs and jumps, the way his smirk makes your heart stop and the way the bond between he and his daddy brings tears to your eyes. 

I wish I could send you a picture of him in church last Sunday, as he looked up at his daddy’s arm around your shoulder and reached his chubby little fingers up to rest on your neck too, just like daddy. The way he looked up at you with glowing eyes and as the congregation sang you bowed your head and shed tears of immense gratitude for the love and mercy of Jesus. 

I wish you could see yourself now, too. The way you have begun to fill these new shoes. The way your heart explodes with love for your husband and the way it feels to watch your two boys giggling and playing together. The way you pick yourself up, time and time again, and the way your family and friends rally around you and cheer you on. 

I wish you could see, even just taste, the life that is beginning to unfold for you. The way your dreams and hopes make your heart beat louder and the way you’ve blossomed as you continue to let go and trust in God. I want you to know that this chapter of your life, the sleepless nights and the intense anxiety, are molding you into the person God wants you to be. 

I want you to hear me when I say that the only way out of this is through it and you have what it takes. You were made for this, all of it. None of it is a mistake and you are doing such a good job. I want you to know that you are not alone and the bravest thing you can do is ask for help. I want to tell you to keep singing those songs, to keep looking for God, to cling to what little faith you have left. I want you to trust that someday you will look back and feel so thankful for every single tear you are shedding right now. 

I want to come back and walk through this with you. Oh how I wish I could come hold your hand, but I know this is not God’s will so instead, I will sit and watch and wait for you as you stumble your way through. I will stand here and shed my own tears as I watch in wonderment at the way this chapter is unfolding for you. 

I will stay here and love you, me, this former shadow of who I am now, and I will make you this promise. If I can, if God so wills, I will take what I have learned, these words and lessons I want to give you, and extend them to the women around me now. I want to promise you that I will not let these lessons go to waste and that together with God, we will try to be even a little beacon of light for some other struggling mama. 

I love you.

Carry on, I will see you on the other side.

Love, Me, You, Us.

Originally published on the author’s Instagram

You may also like:

Dear New Mom, You’re Doing It Right

5 Hard Truths About Motherhood That New Moms Learn

God is in the Midst of Messy Motherhood

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Cari Aho

I live in Michigan with my husband and two boys, 3 years old and 10 months old. I am certified in Massage Therapy as well as Health Coaching and while I do enjoy both, my heart is in writing. Since as far back as I can remember, I have found magic in the keyboard. Words have a profound effect on people and I've always been enamored by those who write from the trenches of their hearts. After going through post partum depression and anxiety not once, but twice, I have found my calling in writing to mothers. Bringing hope, love, and the promise of redemption to fellow struggling souls.

Sometimes God Sends a Double Rainbow

In: Baby, Loss, Motherhood
Two sacs as seen in early pregnancy sonogram

I lay on the ultrasound table prepared to hear the worst. While this pregnancy wasn’t totally expected, it was a miracle for me. I knew with the current stress in my life and the symptoms of a miscarriage, I may have to face another heartbreak to my series of heartbreaks over the last two years. I questioned what I did wrong to deserve it all. I prayed I had been stronger in my prior life: to have made better decisions. So I lay there, I held my breath, and I waited as the tech put the cold jelly over my...

Keep Reading

When Your Baby becomes a Big Boy

In: Baby, Motherhood, Toddler
Toddler boy smiling with hoodie on

My son recently learned how to climb out of things, so I asked my husband to take the side off the crib to convert it to a toddler bed today. I snapped one last picture of my son in his crib before I hurried off to get him dressed for school. As I got to work, I saw my husband had sent me a text of the transformed crib, and it just about killed me. I know, I know . . . what even changed? It pretty much looks the same. But it’s more than just the side of the...

Keep Reading

I Know This Baby Is Our Last and It’s Bittersweet

In: Baby, Motherhood, Toddler
Woman snuggling baby by window

Three is our magic number. It always has been. It feels like the perfect number of kids for us. Everyone who belongs around my dinner table is here. Our family is complete. And yet even though my family is complete, I still find myself grieving that this is our last baby just a little bit as I pack up the teeny, tiny newborn onesies and socks. I’ve folded up swaddle blankets that saw us through the all-nighters of the newborn phase, ready to be passed along to a new baby in someone else’s family. But they won’t be swaddled around...

Keep Reading

I Wasn’t Sure You’d Be Here To Hold

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother with newborn baby on her chest in hospital bed

I stood naked in my parents’ bathroom. Even with the tub filling, I could hear my family chattering behind the door. I longed to be with them, not hiding alone with my seven-month round belly, sleep-deprived, and covered in pox-like marks. For three weeks, I’d tried Benadryl, lotions, and other suggested remedies to cure the strange rash spreading over my body. No luck. By Christmas Day, my life had been reduced to survival. Day and night, I tried to resist itching, but gave in, especially in my sleep. At 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., the feeling of fire ants...

Keep Reading

No One Warned Me About the Last Baby

In: Baby, Kids, Motherhood
Mother holding newborn baby, black-and-white photo

No one warned me about the last baby. When I had my first, my second, and my third, those first years were blurry from sleep deprivation and chaos from juggling multiple itty-bitties. But the last baby? There’s a desperation in that newborn fog to soak it up because there won’t be another. No one warned me about the last baby. Selling the baby swing and donating old toys because we wouldn’t need them crushed me. I cried selling our double jogger and thought my heart would split in two when I dropped off newborn clothes. Throwing out pacifiers and bottles...

Keep Reading

My Second, It Only Took a Second To Fall In Love With You

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother with newborn baby on chest, black and white image

You were the second. The second child who, as a mother, I wondered if I could love as much and as fiercely as my first. It’s true, I’m ashamed to admit. As much as you were so desperately prayed for, I was scared. So, so scared. I was scared I was going to fail you. You were the second. And already so loved. But, you see, your brother was my whole entire world. My everything. He made me a mother and gave me all the firsts. My lap was only so big. My heart was only so big. There was...

Keep Reading

Dear Helmet Mama, It’s Not Your Fault

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mom holding baby with helmet, color photo

I’m a helmet mama. It’s something I never thought I’d say, but there it is. And I’m not going to be ashamed of it. Of course, at first, when the doctor referred us to see a specialist for “flat head,” I thought, “Oh, please no. Not my baby.” I’ve seen those babies, and I’ve always felt bad for them and wondered how their heads got that bad. And I’ll be honest, I’d usually pass judgment on the mother of that baby. So how did I end up with my own baby having a helmet on his head? It’s called torticollis—and...

Keep Reading

Thank You to the Nurses Who Cared for My Baby First

In: Baby, Motherhood
Infant in hospital isolette, color photo

I wish I knew who she (or he) was and what she looked like. Was she young or older, experienced or just starting out? How had her weekend been? Was she starting or ending a work shift at 2:30 a.m. that Monday morning when they ran me into the surgery room? The first few days after my son was born, he was kept in intermediate care as we recovered from an emergency C-section that saved both our lives—his by just a few minutes. I occasionally managed to shuffle over to see him, but was pretty weak myself, so the nurses...

Keep Reading

Hey Mama, This Is Your Labor & Delivery Nurse Speaking

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother holding newborn baby looking up at labor and delivery nurse and smiling

First of all, mama, I want to congratulate you! Whether this is your first baby or not, I am honored to be here with you through this experience. Before you ask me, no, I do not care if you shaved your you know what. There are plenty of other things I’m thinking of, and that is not one of them. I’m so happy to be here for the birth of you and your baby, but most importantly, I’m happy to be here for YOU. It doesn’t matter to me if you want to breastfeed, it doesn’t matter if you want...

Keep Reading

My Baby Had Laryngomalacia

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother holding baby on her shoulder

Life’s funny, isn’t it? Just when you think you’ve got the whole motherhood thing figured out, the universe throws a curveball. And, oh boy, did it throw me one with my second baby. There I was, feeling like a seasoned mom with my firstborn—a healthy, vivacious toddler who was 16 months old. Our breastfeeding journey had its hiccups, an early tongue-tie diagnosis that did little to deter our bond. Fourteen months of nurturing, nighttime cuddles, and feeling powerful, like my body was doing exactly what it was meant to do. Enter my second baby. A fresh chapter, a new story....

Keep Reading