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“I wasn’t just putting myself last, I wasn’t even putting myself in LINE.”
It’s the revelation I had in a specific moment in early motherhood when I’d hit my breaking point. With my back against my kitchen island, I sat on the floor curled in a ball — and I. just. sobbed into my breastmilk-stained sweatshirt.
On the other side of the island, my four- and two-year-old toddlers were quietly playing with blocks, and my couple-months-old baby was finally nursed to sleep in her bassinet. The lack of sound was a stark contrast to the chaos of meltdowns that had filled the air that entire morning.
When I walked into my kitchen, the heaviness jolted me like the sound of a surprise thunder strike.