
The Man I Finally Buried
Dear You,
Fuck you.
I don't know how else to begin this because I am tired of dressing up my anger in mature language.
A heartfelt space for my journey as a mother — the lessons, the dreams, the hopes stitched into everyday moments. Here, motherhood is sacred, raw, powerful, and full of magic.

Dear You,
Fuck you.
I don't know how else to begin this because I am tired of dressing up my anger in mature language.

I used to operate under the quiet assumption that good mothering meant playing defense against the world. But on an ordinary Sunday afternoon, I gave my son a simple card and pen, asking him to write his wishes. Looking at his six handwritten marks changed everything I thought I knew about safety and legacy. Moving from survival to building a real future.

Motherhood doesn't always come with a picture-perfect plan, a white picket fence, or a "ready-made family." I wrote "You Were My Yes" as a deeply personal letter to my son, and to every single mother who has ever cried in the dark out of guilt for the things they couldn't provide.

I don’t want you raised by pressure.
I don’t want you raised by survival.
I want you raised by me.
And I want to be okay while doing it.
That is the tension.
That is the ache.
Because loving you is not the problem.
Loving you is the easiest part.
Holding everything else at the same time is what terrifies me.

So she began tending to herself the way a mother tends to her child. With patience. With consistency. With presence.
She started feeding herself love in small, steady doses, choosing meals that nourished her body, not punished it. Choosing silence when the world demanded noise. Choosing sleep over endless scrolling. Choosing softness over performance.

Adriel, my son, my sunrise,
I bless your hands,
that whatever you touch will prosper.
I bless your voice,
that it will carry wisdom, truth, and joy.
I bless your mind,
that it will stay sharp and full of wonder.
I bless your heart,
that it will always know how loved you are.
I bless your steps,
that every path you take will lead to good things.

Happy Mother’s Day Love.
Yes, I’m talking to you.
To the girl who was still becoming a woman
when life whispered “You’re going to be a mother.”
You didn’t run — though you trembled.
You stood — though your knees buckled.
You said yes — even when fear screamed no.

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