I’ve been thinking about a moment from my first pregnancy. My due date had passed, and everyone told me to wait. But after experiencing a loss before, waiting didn’t feel right to me. So I chose a C-section. What stayed with me wasn’t just the decision, but the idea that there was a “right way” to do things; a stronger way, a better way. But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about expectations. I was thinking about safety. Mine and my baby’s. And that choice gave me both. It

Many years ago, I came home from work and saw my baby boy reach out, not for me, but for our nanny. My heart sank. He had been with her since I returned to work when he was four months old. My first son had gone to childcare even earlier. It wasn’t new; but this time, it hurt more. I was juggling a full-time job I didn’t enjoy, commuting, pretending to be okay, and quietly questioning everything: my choices, my motherhood, my worth. We had moved across the country for my husb