INFJ Diary, Journal

Motherhood Is Like A Prison

This internal dialogue struck me to the core. It’s like someone has splashed a cold water on my face which bolted me up from my deep slumber.

Similar to Georgia, the heroine in the story, there were many times when I was desperate for space, like I was drowning and gasping and I needed some air.

As a full time mom, Yesha is always there, like we are inseparable, like we’re siamese twin. We sleep together every night and afternoon nap time; we take a bath together most of the time; wherever I am, there she will always is. And at 3 years old, Yesha can be a handful. It’s suffocating. Smothering, even.

I couldn’t recall how many times I demanded for ME-time. Personal time is okay. Personal time is good. But at times it’s like I can’t get enough, like I’m craving for more.

Sometimes I yearn for the freedom that I once used to enjoy. I found myself griping because I couldn’t do all the things and all the hobbies that I want to do.

Sometimes I think motherhood is like a prison.

But after being taken to this fictional world, after immersing myself to the pain and struggles of this mother who lost her child, I couldn’t help but empathize and relate to her feelings.

They said that no agony compares to the agony of a grieving mother who lost a child. The burden is so heavy; the anguish, unbearable. And that the passing of time can only do so much.

People have a tendency to only realize the significance of their loved ones when they’re gone. But we don’t have to wait to experience it firsthand.

So now, I am welcoming this absence of space; I am embracing this invasion of freedom. Yesha will only go through this stage at one point of her life, so I might as well enjoy it while she’s this little.

I’m going to relish this stage with my daughter. I’m gonna savor every smile, every laughter. I’m gonna bask in her presence, drown myself to her smell that goes through my heart. I won’t try to get out. I won’t go anywhere. I’m gonna stay for as long as she wants me to, for as long as she needs me to.

I’m her captive, and I’m imprisoned in her lovely little arms. And I’m loving every moment of it. This is my sweet sweet prison.

sweet

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