A realization: left in the dark.
A deep shadow cast across who she once was.
Cut in half, her heart in two places at once.
She loves to be informed, plan, be in the know.
Motherhood doesn’t offer her that.
There is no handbook.
If there was, she knows it wouldn’t say it.

And now she knows no one talks about it.

Grieving what once was.
She knows there are parts of herself that are in hibernation.
Awaiting the day when she can wake them up.
And now she knows no one talks about it.
Until one day, she sees.
Another mother shared her truth.
She is not alone in this.

No one talks about it, but many feel it.

Imagine this: you’ve just changed the 15th diaper of the day, you stepped on a piece of LEGO on the way to the garbage can, the dog is barking, and the baby is scavenging to find one more thing to put in their mouth. Your hair is falling out of its bun, partly because the baby has yanked on it, but also because you haven’t had time to fix it. It has been chaos from the moment everyone got up for the day. When is bedtime? 

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The diapers, endless diapers. Some go straight in the garbage, and some you must rinse, wash and repeat. The cloth diapers save you money, but they don’t save you in time. The messthere is always a mess. The floors have to be swept daily, otherwise, the baby will eat the mystery items that linger under the kitchen table. You’re always running around, from one side of the house to the other. By the end of the day, you feel like you have run a marathon, and you know you will do it all again the next day. 

As mothers, we often get caught in a cycle.

Our days blend together, and we can sometimes forget that we are people too. Occasionally, we get a reminder of who we were before our new identity of mother was created.

The day our children are born, we are born too. First-time moms have an intensity that is hard to forget. Labor feels endless, yet so quick, and then suddenly you are both born. At the same time, within seconds, new life has entered the world and another layer of your identity has emerged.

But still, no one talks about it.

Within seconds two individuals have come together earthside, building an even stronger bond than what has already formed from the womb. We begin the process, and figure it out as we go. Months pass, and we feel an overwhelming amount of love. We think to ourselves I made this bundle of love.

But still, no one talks about it.

The reality is some days you grieve what once was, but this grief is mixed with an overwhelming amount of gratitude for what is.

It is a constant paradoxa vicious circle.

But still, no one talks about it. 

Motherhood tugs at your heart, it leaves you feeling helpless, yet full of life.

Some days feel repetitive. Another load of laundry. More dishes. Picking the toys up. Feeding. Diapers. Naps. Bath time. Bed. Let’s do it all again tomorrow. 

But the mundane, the repetitive . . . this is where the magic happens. Your little one is watching you and learning from you. They will model you when they understand. Even if at the moment it feels insignificant, I can promise you there is a purpose to it. As parents we are their whole world, it is up to us to prepare them for the world, and help them develop into loving and respectful individuals. 

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The chores, the playing with blocks on the floor, the singing and dancing, the teaching, the cleaning, the routinesit all matters.

All of it is important.

You can’t have one without the other. 

So when you feel burned out, remind yourself that all of it is important work even the diapers. 

And from one mother to another: share your truth because we are not alone in this. 

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So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Ann Wallace

As a writer, I have always believed in sharing from the heart. I let my hands type or pen glide and often the words that flow out are not what I had tried to plan. Leading from the heart is almost always more authentic. I love that a piece of writing can mean something different to every person who reads it because not everyone shares the same perspective. Writing has been part of my life for many years, and I have worked hard to grow into this identity. As a creative spirit: when I can't speak, I write. 

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