I Forgot About Me...and Now I Remember

I remember the moment it hit me. I was folding baby clothes, sipping cold coffee, and listening to the hum of a monitor when it occurred to me—I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror that day. Not really. Not past the quick glance to check for crust in my eyes or whether the bonnet was still hanging on.

I couldn’t remember the last time I took a deep breath and didn’t rush to the next task. I couldn’t remember the last time I asked, “How am I doing?”

See, as Black women, we wear the cape. We mother. We manage. We hold it all together. But somewhere between birth and bedtime, we start fading from our own story.

And yet, we are still here. Beneath the stretch marks and expectations, there is a whole woman. One who dreams. One who cries. One who deserves joy—not just survival.

So today, I took a walk. No stroller. No diaper bag. Just me and my healing. I stood in the sun and let it kiss my skin. And I said out loud,

“I remember you. And I’m coming back for you.”

This blog is my journey to do just that. Not to abandon the baby. Not to stop being Mama. But to finally make space for Me—without apology.

Sponsored by Chocolate Mama Gifts

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