Becoming a mother five weeks ago filled my life with love and sleepless wonder. But the joy was clouded by constant tension at home. My mother-in-law “moved in to help,” yet the house turned into a revolving door of visitors while I staggered through feeding schedules and sink-fulls of dishes. I stayed quiet to keep the peace, telling myself it was temporary, even as I skipped meals and felt increasingly invisible.
One evening, after a long stretch of nursing, I came out hoping for a warm plate and a warmer smile. There was no food saved for me, and my hunger turned into hurt when I was told they assumed I wasn’t hungry. Words we’d both been swallowing finally spilled out, and the strain in our home became impossible to ignore. Feeling dismissed and overwhelmed, I took the baby and stayed at my mother’s for the night, where calm and rest finally found us.
