The Chrysalis

The Chrysalis

Motherhood undid me,

like a storm stripping branches bare.

There was a time

I looked at my baby

and felt only distance,

a shadow over love.

But even in the wreckage,

I held my child.

Even in the numbness,

I showed up.

Strength can look like survival.

Healing can begin in silence,

in asking for help,

in starting again.

Now joy returns in fragments -

the smallest rituals

began stitching me back together -

a walk, a flower, a breath.

This is recovery:

not sudden,

but slow -

a returning

to myself.

Motherhood broke me open.

And in the breaking,

I met a truer me.