Dear Mums

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When my son entered my world, he made my world new. All I could see—feel—was him: In him, all was true. Little one, you’re my world now. You’ve made love bigger somehow.
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This love consumed me. There was no more me. This love eclipsed my spark. Lost in love’s wilds, my world fell dark.
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Before motherhood, I felt infinite: I was galaxies. In motherhood, I felt suddenly finite. Like the window to me was closing. The cosmos of my body collapsing. Hair in clumps. No longer my own. My passions like glass in a black hole of stones.
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I envied mums who danced in light. While they became music, I became night. Little one, I love you—in you all is true. Your mum is afraid, she feels little too. I crawled across shadows. Cheeks streaked with tears. I took it out on my husband: “Why can’t you be like them?” Little one, why can’t I?
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This is hard. Is that okay? This is so hard. Am I okay?
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At last—in darkness—I saw the stars. Like fireflies come from near and far. Mum, in you all is true. You’re okay. I want you to be you. Hearing him, I heard me. Little one, I want you to know all of me.
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The window to me opened. My guilt for loving things other than my son began to vanish. I envisioned him—decades on—passing something I created down to his kids. So, I learned to write. I wrote a children’s book. This is hard. My world is light. I am light.
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I was me—all. I flew and danced and ran through walls. Little one, making room for more of me gives me more to give you. Mum, I see you. In you, all is true. My husband and I laughed instead of crying. I wrote poetry and essays; bright dreams and ventures awoke. I embraced parts of me that’d never surfaced or spoken. My world had never been bigger—love too. I am infinite. I am true.
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Mums, I love my son. I love other things too. The window is open. In you, all is true.