Nobody warned me that juggling work and motherhood would feel like living two full lives in one body.

In the morning, I’m rushing, packing bags, dressing a sleepy baby, calculating time like a mathematician.

Then I get to work and pretend everything is normal, even though my mind is split between emails and “Did she eat well? Is she okay?”

Some days I sit at my desk, smiling professionally, while secretly fighting tears from pure exhaustion.

Other days I’m rushing home, praying I won’t miss another milestone.

And in the middle of all this chaos… I remember how my mother did it.

Effortlessly. Quietly. Without ever complaining.

Now, whenever I finally collapse on my bed at night, body tired, heart full, I realize something:

I’m not just working.

I’m not just mothering.

I’m becoming the kind of woman I used to admire without even knowing the weight she carried.

It’s hard.

It’s overwhelming.

But somehow, every day… I still show up.