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.
Today, my mother said something that set my soul on fire. She told me that in the future, she never wants to be involved in any “drama” again. That I should have my own place, that my man should have his own, and that I shouldn’t stay with a man unless he marries me.
And just like that, I felt her judgment once more. The familiar sting of her criticism, the belief that my choices were wrong. She said I needed to retrace my steps—go back, reassess what went wrong, and see how I ended up in this situation. It’s always easy to say “you should’ve done this” or “you should’ve done that.” But she doesn’t see the full picture. She doesn’t know the pain of walking through life always second-guessing yourself, always thinking you’re not enough, but still finding the strength to keep going.
When she said living together before marriage was a mistake, I couldn’t help but wonder: What’s next? Are you going to say I had the baby too soon, moved in too quickly? She said, “No, the baby isn’t a mistake,” and I wanted to believe her, but the words she didn’t say hit harder. I’ve never thought for a second that my daughter was a mistake. She saved me. She gave me life when I was standing on the edge. My daughter taught me what it means to truly fight for something, for someone.
But even when I said that, when I explained that every decision I made was based on the information I had at the time, she still couldn’t see. How could she? How could anyone understand the complexities of a situation when they’ve never walked in your shoes? I didn’t need to retrace my steps, because I’ve already done that a thousand times. What I needed was support, not judgment.
And when she accused me of punishing myself for him, that’s when the weight of it all started to feel unbearable. I’m not punishing myself. I’m taking a break—for me. I need a break from everything: from relationships, from heartache, from pressure. I need space to heal, to focus on my daughter and what’s best for her future. I’m not obsessed with finding a steady guy, and I told her that. If one comes along, great, but if not, I’ll be fine.
But of course, she couldn’t hear me. She just shut down, pretended to sleep, and left me with nothing but her silence.
I hate that she made me feel like I’m the one who’s failed. Like I’m the one who’s to blame for everything. I know she’s judged me for being with him—he’s not rich, not highly educated, doesn’t live in a big modern house. She’s always seen what he’s not, never what he is. But here’s the truth: I’ve sacrificed so much for her, taken care of her without hesitation, no questions asked. I’ve never sought recognition, never asked for anything in return. All I’ve ever wanted is empathy, support, and for someone to stand by me when I’m broken.
I’ve carried so much on my shoulders, for so long, that sometimes it feels like I’m drowning. I’ve given everything—time, money, energy—without a thought for myself. And now, when I need someone to just be there, when I’m exhausted and depleted, she turns away.
She’ll never be proud of me, I know that now. But what I can’t accept is how she judges me, how she belittles the choices I’ve made, when she’s been stuck in her own cycle of pain for so many years. She stayed in a marriage where she was constantly cheated on, a marriage that tore her apart, but she never left. She stayed because of what people would think, because of the shame, the fear of judgment. And yet here she is, telling me I should’ve done things differently.
I see it for what it is now—I am not her, and I don’t want to be. I won’t stay in something for the wrong reasons. I won’t make the same choices she did.
My daughter has shown me the kind of strength I never knew I had. She’s taught me what it means to fight, to stand tall, even when it feels impossible. I’ll keep fighting, for her and for myself, no matter who tries to bring me down.
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.
Its been two months since I found out the man I thought I was building a life with had been cheating on me.
The heartbreak wasn’t just emotional — it felt like a thousand swords stabbing my heart all at once, over and over again.
Since then, I’ve been trying to exist inside a nightmare I can’t yet wake up from.
On the outside, it might look like I’m holding it together — navigating my complicated relationship with my mother, managing my home, raising my daughter — but inside, I’m still fighting waves of pain that come without warning.
Some days, like today, I even find myself laughing and smiling around him.
Not because the pain is gone — but because survival sometimes looks like choosing not to bleed in front of the person who wounded you.
I think back to the times when I would have curled up next to him on the couch after putting our daughter to bed.
But now, even in fleeting memories, the betrayal slices through any warmth I might feel.
I’ve moved on — I know that. I don’t want him back.
But moving forward? That’s the part that feels impossible some days.
Not because I’m stuck in love, but because the practical steps — finding financial stability, building a way out — take time.
It’s torture living under the same roof, watching him prepare himself for other women, watching him glow for them the way he couldn’t even pretend to for us.
And yet, every morning, I wake up and fight.
Because I have a little girl who deserves better.
I fight not for him, not even for the version of myself that he broke —
I fight for her.
Because if something were to happen to me, I need to know that I did everything in my power to protect her from a future where someone like him could ever hurt her.
Some days I feel like he’s a cancer, draining the very soul out of me.
I know that no simple stitches will fix what he’s done — my healing needs surgery, chemotherapy, an entire rebirth.
And still — I survive.
I breathe through the heartbreak.
I resist the urge to engage in his cruelty.
I choose silence when silence is safer.
I choose peace when my spirit aches for justice.
I’m carrying more than heartbreak.
I’m carrying the weight of breaking generational curses, of healing patterns that run deeper than anyone sees.
It feels like everything, all at once — and still, somehow, I float.
I survive.
I endure.
I keep showing up.
Not because it’s easy. Not because I don’t cry behind closed doors.
But because my daughter deserves a mother who fought for both of them.
I pray every day for a lifeline — for the day when someone sees the battle I’m fighting and says,
“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. We see you. We are here.”
The first day we came back home with our baby girl, my partner’s family came over excited to meet the baby. As my mother was still awaiting her visa (long story about my abusive dad for another day), my partner’s mom agreed to come and help us for the first few weeks. The first two days with the baby were easy as she slept most of the time. I followed the doctor’s guidance and every 3-4 hours woke her up for a feed as well as a diaper change.
My biggest struggle was mobility as I was still in excruciating pain from the c-section birth. We have a one-bedroom flat, so my partner’s mom slept in the bed with me and my partner in the living room. During the day he would bathe me, wash the baby’s clothes, feed me (although I had little to no appetite) as well as help with changing the baby’s diaper. During the night he would sleep, and I would take care of the baby. At first, his mom would sleep through the night, but after a few days (word from her son), she began waking up to take the baby out of her crib, hand her to me for a feed, then change her diaper, burp her as well as try to rock her to sleep. This seemed to alleviate my pain of bending to take the baby out, and I appreciated the help.
By the end of the week, his whole family once again came by to see the baby, during this time they offered to hold her, which I was not ready for as I wanted to just bond with my baby. I asked that they help with chores such as cleaning and laundry, but to no avail. I needed help with these as previously mentioned, my partner did a lot of caring for me during the day and his mom rested at this time. I wanted the house to look decent before my mom arrived, and I get anxious when my space is untidy.
After this experience, I realized that a lot of other new moms probably go through what I went through and might be shy to express how it made them feel. I felt unheard and unsupported. I felt like everyone pretended to be nice, but when the time came, all they did was enforce their ideologies on me. No one seemed to respect what I wanted. After all, I was the baby’s mom, and there is no formula; otherwise, we would all be perfect parents.
Looking back, in the first few weeks postpartum, this is what I would have appreciated:
No visitors during the first week – this is the time new parents can use to bond with their new bundle of joy. We were filled with overwhelming emotions, and all we wanted to do was just watch her, hold her, admire her, as well as thank God for this gift of life. Guests bring anxiety because kids want to hold the baby (they have germs, they are too young, the baby is not a toy, shall I go on?), they also bring noise (I just needed to rest, I had a c-section), and need to be hosted (it’s hard to entertain if you just gave birth).
If you do visit, please help the new parent with the chores, such as doing the dishes, laundry, sweeping and mopping, taking out the trash, anything else you think we might need help with.
Bring snacks and packed meals for the new parents. Most days we had no cooked meals, and I ended up buying takeout. After 9 months of eating terribly (cravings are no joke), I just wanted cooked meals but could not do it due to the nature of the birth. Frozen meals are a dream as we can just reheat and eat them on days no one is able to cook.
Give advice only when asked. This is a major one for me after helping with chores because I really did not appreciate it at all. There were times I would tell his family thanks but no thanks to advice, and they would proceed to go directly to him with the same advice and instruct him to tell me we should try it. Their advice would include keeping the house cool, letting the baby cry it out so she is not spoiled, not buying too much or too expensive stuff for the baby, and the list goes on. I appreciate it worked for them, but it does not mean that I have to do everything they did with their kids. I am my own person, and I would appreciate making my own mistakes. All I needed was for people to respect my decisions, even if they did not believe in them. The same with my family, I directly told them to lay off the unsolicited advice as it makes me feel a type of way, and they did. When I do need advice, I always ask.
Ask to hold the baby and always wash your hands. A lot of times, everyone did this, and I appreciated it a lot!
Visitors should be mindful of how long they spend. A lot of times, we had guests for half the day (midday till 9 pm). This is super exhausting, my feet would be swollen, and I would be tired. It also messes up the rest of the week. It’s a tiny person who only feeds and needs a diaper change. An hour or 2 at most, longer is just too much.
Stock up on groceries. Post-birth, I had groceries delivered, and this was great as I needed snacks and drinks. If you are a guest, you could ask if the new parents need this. Most times they do but do not have time to pick these up.
Be kind. If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. These words are crucial. A lot of people have zero self-awareness. Postpartum, your emotions are a rollercoaster, and people do not realize how hurtful things they say can be and where they take you mentally. During one of the visits, my child was called small and compared to another baby in the family. I was made to feel like I had done something inferior. Over the course of more visits, her weight was a constant side comment as well as her lack of smiling (which she would only do with us) and being told she looks constipated (broke my heart). In addition to this, I was told a c-section isn’t bad, I should be ok in a week, by people who never experienced it. It minimized my pain and made me feel unsupported. Even typing it out makes me feel sad to think I went through all this in a time I should be enjoying my newfound joy and happiness.
With that said, I am grateful for the love and support I received. It may not have been how I would have liked it, but it still existed, and for that, I am grateful. I am eternally grateful to my partner, mother, and brother for the love, sacrifice, and overwhelming support they gave me. I will never forget what they did for me. I am grateful to myself for being able to accept that I was struggling and going to therapy to heal.
Finally, I hope this helps other moms and support structures out there.
Adulting & Motherhood 