Motherhood is beautiful—but it can also be unbearably heavy.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being just me, and became whatever my children needed. My world now orbits their moods, their meals, their growth, their joy. And while I would never trade the love I have for them—not for anything—I’d be lying if I said there hasn’t been a quiet grief beneath it all.
This post is late because I didn’t know how to write through the tears. I’ve been crying on and off for two days. Not for any one reason, but for all the little reasons that keep piling up. For the exhaustion I can’t shake. For the moments I feel invisible. For how hard it is to hold everything together when I feel like I’m coming undone.
We don’t talk enough about what motherhood takes from us. The solitude. The sleep. The spontaneity. The parts of ourselves we used to nourish before we were too busy pouring into others. At some point, “Mum” replaced my name, and I’ve been trying to remember who I was before I became everything to everyone else.
Lately, I’ve been catching glimpses of burnout in the mirror. The kind that creeps up slowly. The kind that looks like skipped meals and forgotten showers. The kind that smiles for the kids even when the heart behind it is crumbling. I make sure they’re fed, washed, tucked in—and then sit alone in the quiet, too tired to care for myself.
And I’m scared. Scared of what happens if I truly break. Scared of the day when I can’t smile through the sadness. Because if I fall, who will catch me? And more painfully—who will catch them?
Mental health isn’t a luxury for mothers like me—it’s a matter of survival. And I’m learning, little by little, that taking care of myself is not selfish. It’s necessary. It’s sacred.
So I’m trying. Trying to carve out small pockets of space for me. To eat when I remember. To breathe when it feels safe. To cry without guilt. To admit when I’m struggling. To ask for help even when it feels hard. Because I deserve care too. Not just as their mum—but as a woman. A soul. A human being.
They don’t need me to be perfect. They just need me to be whole.
And so do I.
✨ Reflection
It’s okay to admit that this is hard. It’s okay to feel like you’re losing parts of yourself while trying to hold your family together. You’re not weak for feeling exhausted—you’re strong for carrying this much for this long. What would it look like if you gave yourself even just five minutes of care today? A deep breath. A warm drink. A gentle word spoken to the mirror. You deserve to be nurtured too.
🌸 Affirmation
I am not just surviving—I am slowly finding myself again.
My healing matters. My needs matter. I matter.
Signed,
The Comforting Mum
The Comforting Mum 
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