Ten Years Ago....

Ten years ago,

I became a mother—

just me and my newborn baby,

barely two or three months old.

I was tired.

I was scared.

But I was also filled with a kind of love

that cracked something wide open in me.

And that same year,

I met the man I thought I’d grow old with—

my late husband.

He didn’t just fall in love with me.

He chose my daughter.

He stepped in without hesitation

and called her his.

Later, we had two boys together,

and for a while, our world felt full.

Messy. Loud. Beautiful.

Ours.

But grief has a way of rewriting the story

without asking.

Almost four years ago,

he took his life.

And everything changed.

There are things people don’t tell you about losing someone like that.

Like how silence can be deafening.

Or how you can feel completely surrounded and still so… alone.

I remember folding his clothes long after he was gone.

Still hoping it was all just a nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

He left,

and I was left

with three children,

a house full of memories,

and a heart that didn’t know how to keep beating—

but did anyway.

Some days, I don’t feel strong.

I just feel tired.

But I get up.

Because I have to.

Because if I don’t take care of myself,

who will take care of them?

Self-care stopped being a trend.

It became survival.

It became brushing my teeth while holding back tears,

making breakfast with a hollow ache in my chest,

lighting candles at night just to feel something warm.

I keep routines,

not for perfection—

but to keep from unraveling.

And still, I smile.

I laugh.

I dance in the kitchen with my kids,

even on days I want to hide.

Because healing doesn’t mean pretending the pain never existed.

It means choosing life

even when you’re walking with grief beside you.

I’m not the same woman I was ten years ago.

But I am becoming—

softer, stronger,

and more honest about what it means to keep going, when life doesn’t go as planned.

This isn’t the life I imagined.

But it’s the one I’m fighting to make beautiful.

And every day I show up—

I honor the love that built this family,

and the strength that holds it together now.