On Motherhood

To those walking tenderly through the fire of truth—your voice is sacred. Your story is medicine.

Maybe you’ve sat alone in a room filled only with a child’s feverish breath, days stretching on in silence. No one to call, no one to help.

You wonder if you belong anywhere at all.

I have lived that loneliness. I’ve felt the ache of invisibility—watching others move through life supported, while I carried it all alone.

And yet—motherhood has been my teacher. It taught me the courage to speak. To unravel silence, to say, “This is hard. I need help. I matter too.”

The Stories I Tell Myself: The Liberation of Self-Expression

Even when words failed, my hands found language—through fabric, through paint, through the aching poetry of my body’s movement.

Expression became liberation. And in sharing my story, I invited others to share theirs. Together, we built a quiet revolution made of whispers, colors, and open hearts.

Because when we gather like this—story by story, pain by pain, love by love—we begin to stitch together something the world desperately needs: Belonging.

The more we share our stories , the more we invite others into the dialogue, and the more we invite others into the dialogue the more we have a chance to create communities with those who walk on similar paths as we do, and the more we create communities the more we open space to facilitate our individual and collective healing and well-being while moving beyond stigma, prejudices, shame and fear.