Some moments in life are meant to make us. Others come to break us wide open.
I’ve lived through more of those moments than I care to count. For a long time, I believed every one of them was sent to break me — like relentless waves crashing into a fragile shell, chipping pieces away until nothing of me would be left.
You might wonder what any of this has to do with motherhood. With whom I am now.
It has everything to do with it.
Because the secrets we carry from our past quietly shape the women — and the mothers — we become.
Every night I cried myself to sleep in a stranger’s house, feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. Every time I braced myself for sharp words that cut deeper than any knife, every time I wondered if love was something you had to earn — those moments are still inside me. They are written into my bones. They are part of my story whether I like it or not.
But here’s the thing: we always have a choice.
We can stand tall through the moments that were meant to shatter us, or we can let them crush us into someone we barely recognize.
Somewhere along the way — maybe quietly, maybe defiantly — I chose to stand tall. That doesn’t mean I haven’t stumbled. I have. Over and over again.
What no one tells you is how exhausting it is to break the chains of generational pain. How heavy it feels to build the kind of home you never got to grow up in. You pour so much of yourself into being the mother you needed back then, that sometimes you forget the woman you were before anyone called you “mom.” You tuck her away — her wild dreams, her quiet hopes — promising yourself you’ll come back for her someday.
But someday keeps slipping further away.
Motherhood is both beautiful and brutal. It’s like standing barefoot in a garden full of roses and thorns — feeling everything at once. You love so hard it almost hurts. You give all of yourself to raising children who feel loved and seen, but you risk forgetting that you deserve to feel loved and seen too.
For years I convinced myself it didn’t matter. That if I could be everything for everyone else, that would be enough.
But it’s not enough.
Because life was never meant to be lived in fear — fear of becoming our parents, fear of wanting too much, fear of failing. Life is meant to be lived fully. Boldly. As yourself.
So I’ve made a promise.
A promise to stop hiding the pieces of my story that are hard to think about. The memories that haunt me quietly in the spaces no one sees. I write them down now, not just for me — but for you.
Because I believe that by sharing my journey, I can help someone — maybe you — find your voice again. We can find ourselves again, together.
My hope is that my story inspires you to rise too. To unlearn the lies you’ve been told about who you are. To reach for the parts of yourself you thought you lost.
Because if my life has taught me anything, it’s that you can break and still bloom. You can falter and still rise. You can love others without abandoning yourself.
So here I am. Still standing. Still learning. Still choosing to live — fully, fiercely, unapologetically.
And I hope you’ll stand with me.
P.S
In the coming weeks, I plan to open up and share with you pieces of my past — the hidden truths that once tore me apart but also shaped the woman I am today. These are the quiet battles that have left their mark, the stories that built me, broke me, and ultimately taught me how to rise.
Masked Mom
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