The night I realised I was not alone
It was three in the morning.
My youngest, just one year old, was sleeping no more than an hour at a time.
My eldest, three years old, had woken up crying from a dream.
And I was holding one of them and the other was calling for me — and I was crying too.
It was not the first night like this.
But it was the night I understood something that changed everything.
That I did not need to keep trying to manage everything the same way.
It was not about my children.
It was about me.
I was surviving… but I was not living.
And, for the first time, instead of asking myself "how do I do all this?", I asked something else:
"How can I do this in a lighter way?"