When the Water Rises

Tonight I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time the raw, unfiltered flood of emotions that come when everything gets quiet. When I can’t mask my emotions. When the world is still, and I’m left with myself.

I’ve been letting go of fear and control, but no one talks about how terrifying that actually is. How it feels like standing in the middle of an ocean with waves hitting from every direction loss, grief, responsibility, memories, guilt, love, fear for my children, fear for myself.

There are moments when I feel myself slipping under.

Moments where the water feels too heavy, too high.

Moments where I feel like a mother drowning in everything she never had, everything she’s trying to give, and everything she’s lost.

I miss my daughter.

I miss what my home used to feel like.

I miss the version of motherhood where all my babies were under one roof.

And yet…

Even when I feel myself sinking, something always reaches for me.

My husband’s steady hands.

My children’s arms pulling with all their strength.

Their love stubborn, grounding, determined pulling me back toward the surface.

Sometimes healing looks glamorous.

Sometimes it looks like meditation and candles.

But tonight?

Healing looks like choking on saltwater and grabbing the hands that refuse to let me go.

I’m learning that I don’t have to be in control to be safe.

I don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And I don’t have to drown alone.

My family is my lifeline.

And even when the water rises,

I am still being pulled toward the shore.

With deep love ,

Luna