To the Mother Who Feels Like She’s Disappearing 

To the Mother Who Feels Like She’s Disappearing —and still holds the line anyway:

I didn’t collapse into clutter.
I didn’t lose myself in sleep deprivation or chaos.
I held the line.

I made sure my son knew how to clean up after himself.
I made sure my partner knew that my sleep was non-negotiable.
I kept our home minimal so I wouldn’t lose my mind to plastic noise and piles of crap.

I mothered with intention, not autopilot.
I made choices I knew would protect my sanity.

And I still found myself behind a locked door,
hugging my knees,
screaming into a pillow
while listening—always listening—
to make sure my son hadn’t opened the front door,
or punched a hole in the wall,
or broken something else I’d have to fix when I could finally breathe again.

I didn’t lose myself in the usual ways.
I lost myself in the pressure of being better.
Of doing it differently.
Of breaking cycles without breaking apart completely. 

✖️ The Break

No one checks in when you look like you’ve got it handled.
No one offers help when you’re “the strong one.”
They see a clean floor, a calm tone, a child learning consequences—and they assume you’re fine.

But they don’t see what it costs.

They don’t see you gritting your teeth through another outburst,
resisting the urge to scoop him up,
to coddle him,
to erase the moment for both your sakes. 

Because you know he has to feel this.
You know he has to learn now—
or he’ll break later when it’s harder, crueler, and no one gives a damn.

But holding back from rescuing him?

That’s its own kind of ache.

🔥 The Burn

I didn’t collapse because I was unsupported.
I collapsed because even with support, I’m still the one who holds the blueprint.

And when I rest,
the system stutters.
When I step back,
the cracks show.
When I let go for just one hour,
I wonder if it’ll all unravel—and if I’ll be blamed for asking for space in the first place.

There’s no badge for this kind of parenting.
No medal for raising a child with emotional regulation instead of obedience.
No one claps when you stay calm instead of exploding—
but your body still feels the explosion inside. 

And no one sees the bruises you don’t leave.

🛠 The Forge

This isn’t gentle parenting.
This is warrior parenting.
This is holding back a tidal wave of generational damage with one hand,
and teaching your child to breathe with the other. 

I’m not disappearing because I’m failing.
I’m disappearing because I am carrying more than anyone ever taught me how to hold.

And I know I’m not the only one.

🕯 The Invitation

If you’re mothering differently—
and still wondering why you’re so fucking tired—
this is for you.

If you’ve found yourself locked in a bathroom,
or swallowing your own scream,
or watching your child spin out while you hold the line and wonder
am I breaking him or just breaking myself?
this is for you.

The Ember isn’t a workbook.
It’s a place to burn.
To remember.
To start where it hurts and make something real from it.

👉 [Download The Ember]
This is where you begin. Not because you’re broken—but because you refuse to be erased. 

—
Magui