There was a season in my life where I gave everything.
Not a little. Not what was convenient.
Everything.
My baby needed me.
My son needed me in a way that required more patience, more presence, more intention than I had ever known before.
My daughter was growing, watching, learning… needing me in ways only a mother understands.
And I showed up.
Every single day.
I showed up in hospital rooms.
I showed up in therapy routines.
I showed up in long days that had no clear ending.
I showed up for my sister during one of the most difficult seasons of her pregnancy.
I showed up for everyone.
But somewhere in the middle of all of that…
I disappeared.
I didn’t notice it at first.
Because when you are needed that much, you don’t stop to look at yourself.
You just keep going.
My body started changing.
I gained more weight than I ever had in my life.
My skin changed.
My hair began to fall.
And I remember looking in the mirror… and not recognizing who I was.
Not just physically.
But deeply.
I felt like I had become a shadow—
moving, serving, giving… but no longer being.
And I told myself it was okay.
I told myself this is what love looks like.
Until my body said otherwise.
I remember the moment so clearly.
I tried to bend down… and I couldn’t.
I couldn’t even lift my leg properly to wear my own shoe.
My husband had to help me.
And something in me broke.
Not in a dramatic way.
In a quiet, undeniable way.
Then came the hospital visits.
The fevers.
The trembling.
The exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.
And lying there, I wasn’t thinking about myself.
I was thinking:
Who is taking care of my children right now?
Are they being understood?
Is my son being corrected with patience?
Is my daughter being cared for the way I would care for her?
And that’s when it hit me.
I cannot be everything for everyone…
if I am nothing for myself.
That was the moment everything began to shift.
Not instantly.
Not perfectly.
But intentionally.
I started small.
With help.
With resistance.
With days where I wanted to quit before I even began.
I went to the gym… and it humbled me in ways I cannot fully explain.
I couldn’t run.
I couldn’t lift.
I couldn’t even keep up with the simplest pace.
And for a moment, I felt like I had gone too far to come back.
But I didn’t stop.
Because even though I had lost myself…
I hadn’t lost my reason.
My children.
They were still my why.
And slowly…
very slowly…
I came back.
Stronger.
Clearer.
More aware.
I have now lost over 36 kilograms.
But more than that…
I found myself again.
And the most beautiful part?
I am a better mother now.
Not because I give more…
but because I am whole enough to give from a place of strength.
This is not a perfect story.
And it is not a standard.
It is simply my truth.
And if there is anything I have learned, it is this:
You deserve to exist in your own life too. 🤍
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