Every
morning when I wake up, I see what I want to be in my son's eyes. I am put on a
pedestal and honoured like a hero who knows no fears and boundaries. Becoming a
mother changes you forever in so many ways. But contrary to expectations, all
of it is not pleasant. And yet we choose to hide it away. Put it inside a box
forgotten and forgiven for what it has done or is doing to us every single day.
My pregnancy was rough. I would have said horrible,
but may get chastised for it, so will stick to rough. I would never know why I
was chosen but then I’m not looking to place blame. Many a times in life you
don't get answers. And it's okay.
It's been a
long time since I did something for myself. So, today as I turn an year older, I’m
writing. Almost entirely for myself. To finally meet all the emotions that I had
disowned while I was out there fighting for our son. And let them peacefully sit
in this space. On my birthday
it's a gift I deserve.
1 comment:
Dear Pragmatic Pencil,
We miss your posts.
A flair for writing is a gift so rare, and you make us a part of your world so effortlessly.
Please continue this blog, we are waiting :)
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