Twelve years ago, I was a mother in survival mode—feeling like I was drowning. I had let go of two nursing jobs an hour away, had just been in a car accident, and was pushing myself through night shifts while trying to care for my 14-month-old son. I was overwhelmed, uncertain, and looking for something—someone—to save me.
That’s when I met him. It felt like fate had placed him in my path. But looking back, I can see how much I ignored the red flags. I was afraid, too deep in my own struggle to make rational decisions. I was clinging to anything that felt like hope, and he came in at the right moment.
Our marriage was brief, but in that time, I conceived my daughter. Our separation, though, was far longer than our marriage. It was a chaotic time that drained me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I had to find a way to hold it together, not just for me, but for my children.
During the chaos, I leaned heavily into my spiritual practices. It was what helped me cope with the intense anxiety I felt when my daughter was away from me. I worked with a mentor who guided me through past life issues that felt impossibly heavy. Slowly, I came to realize that I had to trust the process—trust that my children and I were safe, even when we were apart.
Over the years, I learned how to set boundaries with my ex-husband. We had a custody and access agreement, and for years, I abided by it—thankful for the structure it provided us. I found peace in silence and communication only when absolutely necessary. I thought this was the best way to maintain peace.
But my daughter is getting older. She has become more vocal, more independent, and more clear about her wants and needs. And something inside me has begun to shift. The silence I had once used to keep the peace isn't serving us anymore. It's time to break free.
Recently, seven weeks ago, I left a toxic relationship I had been in for two years. That moment of finding my voice was transformative. In a way, it accelerated my healing. The same patterns I had seen in my marriage—silencing myself to keep the peace, people-pleasing, overgiving, and trying to convince others to love me—reappeared in this relationship. But this time, I couldn’t stay silent anymore. I had enough. I screamed, and in that loud, fierce moment, I reclaimed my voice and myself. Since then, I haven’t been the same. I can’t stay quiet anymore, not with myself, and not about my truth, or my children's truth.
I reflect back on that woman 12 years ago.
She didn’t know how much she’d have to fight for peace—not just around her, but within her.
For a long time, I stayed silent thinking it was the path to peace.
But silence isn’t always peace. Sometimes, it’s self-abandonment.
Now I know better.
Protecting my energy, my children's well-being, our emotional safety—that’s not me being 'difficult.'
That’s me being a mother. That’s me being whole.
I’ve outgrown silence.
My peace lives in truth now.
And I’m raising children who will know what safety feels like—inside and out.
What I’ve come to realize through this journey is that boundaries are not just a form of self-protection; they are an act of self-love and respect. They are necessary for healing, for both myself and my children. This path of motherhood has taught me that it’s okay to speak my truth—even when it’s difficult, even when fear tries to creep in.
I am no longer waiting to be saved. I’ve learned that peace isn’t about avoiding conflict or silence—it’s about standing firm in who I am and what I believe is best for my children and me. I’ve outgrown the old patterns, and in doing so, I’m creating a space for all of us to thrive.