black love – Adulting & Motherhood

Coming Home to Myself

I found my purpose not in saving others, but in finally choosing myself

I used to wake up every day and pour myself out for everyone else. My purpose was stitched together with the needs of my family — their dreams, their survival, their peace. First it was my parents and siblings. Then, when I began to suffocate under the weight of that, I started telling myself I was doing it for my future children. That somehow made the pain more noble. Gave it a pretty frame. But inside, I was hollow. My wins weren’t mine. My labor, my sacrifices — never mine to enjoy. The fruits were handed over, and I was expected to smile through the starvation of my spirit.

Then I had my daughter.

And for the first time in years, I felt life breathe back into me. She gave me something to fight for. Something to anchor me. But still… there was a hole. I couldn’t name it. Couldn’t describe it. It would quietly creep in at night or in the quiet moments. I had love around me — kind of — and yet this emptiness kept knocking. Loud. Unrelenting.

I thought I was loving myself. I had confidence. I could make people laugh, put myself together, show up. But now I know — confidence isn’t the same as self-love. Self-love is not just smiling in the mirror. It’s not just buying yourself flowers. It’s standing tall and saying: I am worthy. I deserve good things. I don’t need to perform to be loved. And anyone who thinks otherwise can get the hell out of my way.

This year, something shifted.

I looked around and realized I’d skipped the most important lesson — me. I’d skipped learning how to be my own home, my own source of joy. I thought love had to come from giving. That I had to earn it. Prove it. Bleed for it. But now I know — I already am it. I am love. I am enough. Every single version of me, even the messy ones, especially the messy ones.

I used to believe what I was told growing up: that I was too much and not enough at the same time. That no one would ever love me unless they were passing through. That I could win a hundred medals and still be losing. That dreams were dangerous because disappointment was guaranteed.

But no more.

I’m done shrinking. Done swallowing my worth. Done bending backwards for people who only know how to take. I am not a sacrifice. I am not an extension of someone else’s life. I am my own.

I am effin loveable. Anyone who gets to be loved by me is lucky. I’m the prize. The damn treasure. A queen, a goddess, dripping in gold, wrapped in grace, and rising with fire. The little girl who used to stay up all night studying, desperate for approval — she was always more than enough. She is extraordinary. And I see her now. I hold her close.

I can’t rewrite my past. But I’m rewriting my future. Today. With every breath. Every boundary. Every time I choose me.

I don’t just want love anymore. I am love.

And when love comes knocking again — real love, warm love, love that sees me — I’ll be ready. Because it’s just coming home to where it already lives.

To My Precious Daughter

She is the dream I carry in my heart—and the blessing I choose a thousand times over

From the moment I first held you, I knew my life had changed forever. You are my greatest gift, my biggest blessing, my entire universe. Each day I spend with you—whether we’re laughing, playing, or just lying quietly side by side—is a reminder that I’ve been trusted with the most beautiful soul to ever exist.

You are a little explorer with a wild, creative spirit. You paint the walls with your imagination, fill our home with your joy, and remind me every day to see the world through softer, brighter eyes. I am in awe of you. Watching you grow is the most sacred honour I’ve ever known.

I want you to know that no matter what, my love for you is endless and unconditional. It’s not based on what you do or how quickly you learn—it’s just there, wrapped around you like a warm blanket you’ll never outgrow. Even in death, I will always fight for you, protect you, and whisper your name with pride from beyond.

I pray for the strength and wisdom to raise you with gentleness, understanding, and kindness. I want you to grow into a woman who is resilient but soft, independent but loving, confident but respectful. You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to be you. And that will always be more than enough.

Your father and I may have walked different paths, and though he hurt me deeply, I will always show him kindness because through him, I received the gift of you. For that, I am forever grateful.

You are my galaxy, my heart, my purpose. You own every beat of me.

With all the love in this world and beyond,

Mama

Breaking the Silence: A Journey of Healing and Strength

Three years ago, I met the man of my dreams—or so I thought. He seemed kind, thoughtful, and everything I could ever want in a partner. For a while, I believed in the idea of us, in the possibility of building a life together. But even then, there was this quiet voice in the back of my mind telling me that love alone wouldn’t be enough. I wanted a child. I really did. But the reality of my situation, the weight of my debts, made me wonder how I could make it all work.

Then I found out I was pregnant. Despite the financial challenges, there was a rush of excitement. I wanted to be a mother, and the news filled me with a sense of purpose, even though the world felt heavy. I wasn’t prepared in the way society might expect, but in that moment, something shifted inside me. My daughter gave me purpose. She gave me life, a reason to keep fighting. I felt strength and courage I didn’t even know I had, and suddenly, I was standing on my own two feet, ready to bring this beautiful soul into the world.

Before I got pregnant, I had already been struggling with depression. I had taken time off work, trying to find some sense of balance, some way out of the darkness. But when I found out I was pregnant, I also found a new reason to fight. It wasn’t just about survival anymore; it was about living for someone else, someone who needed me more than anyone ever had.

The early days of pregnancy were filled with uncertainty. Despite the love I felt for my unborn child, I couldn’t shake the weight of my debts and the fear of what the future might hold. But I pushed through. I had to. I started to feel something deep inside me—a shift, a quiet confidence that I would find a way to make this work. My daughter was going to be my everything.

When she was born, the reality of motherhood settled in. There were sleepless nights, moments of doubt, but also immeasurable joy. I had the baby I’d longed for, but things weren’t as simple as I’d imagined. His family, ever present, began pushing their own expectations on how we should raise our daughter. I wasn’t ready to bend, but he didn’t step in. He didn’t defend us. And the tension between his family’s demands and my desire to parent the way I thought best created a constant strain.

As the weeks turned into months, it became more apparent that his inability to set boundaries with his family was taking a toll. I felt alone in the battle. Alone in my desire to protect my child and create the family I envisioned. Every argument, every disagreement seemed to revolve around them. I couldn’t understand how the man I loved and trusted could prioritize their needs over mine, over the family we were trying to build. It hurt. Deeply.

There were moments when I thought I could walk away, when I felt like I was losing myself. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. I took time off, went home for a month, hoping to find some clarity. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, I’d return to a different situation. But when I came back, things hadn’t changed. The cracks were still there, and I was still hurting.

The turning point came with the new year. I was in a deep low again, my depression creeping back into my life. I took time off work, hoping for some support, for him to step up. But instead, he pulled further away. He lived his life, as if nothing was wrong. When I confronted him about it, the gaslighting began. He made me doubt myself, made me believe I was asking for too much.

Then, I found out the truth. The man I had loved, the father of my child, was cheating. The pain of it hit me like a wave, pulling the ground from beneath me. I told my family. I told my friends. But I didn’t confront him—not yet. I had to make a plan. I had to leave, but I wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. Not with the debts and financial strain weighing me down.

The more I watched him, the more I saw the lies, the deceit. I checked his phone and confirmed what I already feared—he was still seeing her. They had planned a trip together, and there he was, complaining about having to care for our baby. It wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt; it was the way he showed no respect for our daughter, for me. He let her cry, when we had both agreed we wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t just infidelity—it was cruelty, selfishness, and disregard for the family we’d created.

I was done. I knew in my heart that I couldn’t keep going like this. No matter what happened, I wasn’t going back to him. Even if the world ended, I wouldn’t go back to a man who had betrayed me, who had hurt me and our child. I was focused on what was next, on building a better future for us. I started to take it day by day, pushing forward for the sake of my daughter, for the sake of my healing.

I’m still healing. The sadness comes in waves, and some days it feels like the weight of it all is too much. But there’s also this strength I didn’t know I had—this fierce love for my daughter that keeps me moving. I’m focused on my future. I’m focused on what’s next. I’m working toward financial freedom, searching for a role that will give me the stability I need. And through all the hurt, through all the pain, I know that I’m stronger than I ever thought I was. I’m fighting for us. I’m fighting for me.

When Protecting Your Peace Means Letting Go of Old Patterns

Today broke something open inside me.

Not in a loud, messy way — but in the quiet, aching way that tells you something has shifted for good.

For a while now, I’ve been feeling the edges of it:

Small things, piling up like tiny stones pressing on my chest.

The way my home doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

The way decisions about my child are made without me, around me, over me.

The way “help” starts to feel more like control.

The way the atmosphere feels heavy — like I have to apologize for existing in my own life.

At first, I brushed it off.

I told myself I was overreacting, that I should be grateful.

That having help is better than doing it alone.

But somewhere deep inside, a voice kept whispering: Something isn’t right.

Today it became impossible to ignore.

Today I realized — the help came with a price.

And the price was my peace, my voice, my right to be the mother I am choosing to be.

It hit me how much of my upbringing is being replayed right here, in front of my eyes.

How fear was used to mold us.

How tidiness wasn’t about pride, but about punishment.

How respect was demanded, not earned.

How joy was rationed and wins were never simply celebrated — they were dissected, compared, measured, used to fuel someone else’s idea of “how things should be.”

And now, it’s happening again — but this time, it’s aimed at my child.

At the little girl I carried, birthed, nursed.

The little girl I promised would know a different kind of love.

The kind that sees her.

The kind that lifts her up without crushing her spirit.

I’m not crazy.

I’m not ungrateful.

I’m not overreacting.

I’m waking up.

And today, I decided: I will protect my peace and my daughter’s peace at all costs.

Even if it means making other people uncomfortable.

Even if it means being seen as the villain in someone else’s story.

Even if it means letting go of the illusion of closeness with someone I desperately wanted connection with.

Even if it means doing it alone for a while.

Because my daughter deserves a home built on love, not fear.

And I deserve a life where my voice matters — not just when it’s convenient for others.

I’m scared.

I’m tired.

But more than anything, I’m sure.

This cycle ends with me.

Let your imagination run wild: how I see you

I remember the first time I met you, gentle yet charming, a radiant smile with a loving heart. The moment we locked eyes, I knew there was something special about you, not just how we met but what you represent. I always tell you that you reminded me that God truly exists, through the laughter and tears, it still rings true for me.

I always remind you how cheesy your lines were when we met, how I felt safe around you and how much I appreciated that you asked for consent with everything we did that magical night. Whenever I struggle with why I am still with you, I remember that early morning and my faith is renewed.

I know the depression, moving in together, the pregnancy, as well as being new parents has been tough. I pray that now that we are adapting to all the new changes we have experienced in a year, that we restore our love and make it better than the first time.

I pray that you are more understanding, caring, as well as loving everyday even when you are angry or annoyed with me. I imagine a time when we don’t fight but lead with love. I am tired of being annoyed and angry with you, I just want to always be in love with you, from the moment I wake up to the second I fall asleep.

I pray that what matters to me even if you don’t agree or understand why, matters to you as well. It breaks my heart to constantly have to explain the little bits that matter to me, because they sometimes don’t resonate with you. I want to reach a place where I no longer have to say it’s ok when it’s not. I long for the day when you will not ask me why I’m not ok but know why I’m not by just reading my body language.

I am tired of crying because I sometimes don’t recognise the man speaking to me. I wish that when I walk into the room you could light up like it’s the first time you are seeing me. Like I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. I wish you could see me the way I would love to be seen, love me in a way I recognise.

My heart bleeds because I’m always left confused, am I asking for too much or am I just a difficult person? I wonder if I dreamt the first few months of our relationship? If we moved in together too quickly? If we worked better apart than together?

My heart longs for a love that is a unit not singular with branches. I see us as a unit and I pray that you could eventually see us as that as well. You are my living dream and I’ll forever love you. I’ll keep trying, being patient, hoping the day comes when we are in perfect sync.

For now I accept that this is the adjustment stage like any other job, you have to adjust to the land and find what works best for you. I hope and pray that day comes sooner rather than later. Don’t worry for now my eyes and my mind haven’t wondered, I don’t find anyone attractive or find myself lusting for another, I only have eyes for you and pray it stays that way.

For me, when you meet the man who embodies the love you’ve always yearned for, you praise the Lord and ancestors for blessing you and everyday you appreciate that you are lucky to be blessed. I wonder how long it will last but I know not to stay in that uncertain place for too long because nothing good ever comes easy and it’s no use driving oneself crazy over the unknown.

Finally, I pray for all the good I need to come through and build a happy family made with a foundation laid with love, kindness and acceptance. I want to teach my daughter that dreams do come true and good men exist. I hope you turn that dream into a reality.