If I’m being honest, I don’t know how I did it.
But I do know why.
Mia.
Being her mom through all of this—
through grief, trauma, awakening, and becoming—
has been the most humbling and holy thing I’ve ever done.
She saw the cracks.
The panic attacks.
The silence I couldn’t explain.
The days I was barely holding on.
With her fierce little heart.
With her truth-teller soul.
With her stubborn sassy sparkle that reminded me I was still alive.
I didn’t just survive for me.
I survived because she was watching.
And she deserved a mom who didn’t stay buried in grief. I promised Cameron while he laid in the casket… I would be better, do better.
She deserved a mom who healed—out loud.
Who showed her that strength isn’t hiding the pain…
it’s walking through it with your hands still open.
She didn’t get the mom I wish I could’ve been.
She got the mom I became because I refused to give up.
Because I chose to fight for something better—for her, for me, for us.
Being Mia’s mom through all this means
apologizing when I mess up.
Laughing when we want to cry.
Loving her the way I wish I’d been loved.
And showing her, every damn day,
that she was born from a FUCKING WARRIOR
And so was I.