Learning to Be a Mother While Falling Apart Inside...

The first night I came home from the hospital, everything felt quiet.

Too quiet.

I was holding two tiny babies in my arms and suddenly, I realized something no one ever teaches you:

I was a mother now.

But I didn’t know how to be one.

There were no instructions. No preparation. No pause.

Just two small lives depending on me.

I felt happy… but at the same time, I felt overwhelmed in a way I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t panic. It was a quiet fear sitting inside my chest, whispering:

“What if I’m not ready for this?”

Luckily, I wasn’t completely alone.

My mom was there.

She became my strength in those first days. She showed me everything " how to change diapers, how to clean them, how to carry them properly." Simple things… but for me it felt like learning how to live all over again.

Even the nights were confusing.

My daughters were good babies. They didn’t cry much. They would sleep, wake up, drink milk and sleep again.

But even in that calmness, I was exhausted.

My body was still in pain from the surgery. I could barely walk. Every movement hurt. My stitches reminded me that I wasn’t healed yet… but life didn’t wait for healing.

I still had to be a mother.

Breastfeeding became another struggle.

My body wasn’t ready. My milk didn’t come properly. My nipples became swollen, painful and red. Every time I tried to feed them, it felt like my body was breaking again.

But I kept trying.

Because they needed me.

Eventually, I had to give them formula milk too. And even that made me feel guilty… like I wasn’t doing enough, even though I was already giving everything I had.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, they would cry after feeding. Their tiny stomachs couldn’t digest the milk properly, and I didn’t even know what to do.

All I knew was:

They were crying…

and I didn’t know how to fix it.

So I held them.

I walked slowly, even though my body was still in pain.

I whispered to them.

I stayed awake.

And slowly… I started to feel lost.

My life had completely changed but I didn’t know where I was going anymore.

Financially, everything became heavier.

I depended on him but deep inside, I knew it wasn’t enough. Not for two babies. Not for the future we needed to build.

He tried.

He worked, came home and helped where he could.

But reality didn’t change.

We were struggling.

And I could feel that pressure growing inside me every single day.

Sometimes I cried quietly.

Sometimes in front of my mom.

Sometimes when no one was watching.

I remember telling her:

“I can’t depend on this… I need to do something. I need to work. I need to find a way.”

I wasn’t thinking about myself anymore.

I was thinking about my daughters.

My mom told me to wait.

“To heal first,”

“Give yourself 45 days.” She said

But those 45 days felt like forever.

Because every day, my mind was full of questions:

How will I survive?

How will I raise them?

Where do I even start again?

And at the same time… something else was quietly changing.

Between me and him.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t sudden.

But I could feel it.

We were both exhausted.

He was tired from work.

I was tired from being a new mother, from pain, from pressure, from everything.

And somehow, in the middle of all that, our connection started to fade.

We didn’t fight much.

We didn’t talk much either.

It was just… quiet.

But this silence felt different.

This silence felt cold.

Sometimes, we would lie in the same room, with our two daughters sleeping between us…

but it felt like we were far away from each other.

I could feel the distance growing.

His presence was there…

but his heart didn’t feel close anymore.

And I didn’t know how to fix it.

I didn’t even have the energy to try.

Because I was already trying so hard just to survive each day.

So I stayed silent.

I kept everything inside.

Because at that time, my life was no longer about love… or emotions… or relationships.

It was about survival.

Still, in the middle of all that confusion… there were moments.

Small, quiet moments.

When I looked at their tiny faces.

When they slept peacefully beside me.

When they held onto me without knowing anything about the world yet.

And sometimes, when I was alone, I would gently touch my belly… remembering the days when they were still inside me.

I used to talk to them back then.

I used to say:

“I’m sorry if I cannot give you everything…

but I promise I will try my best.”

Now they were here.

Real. Breathing. Alive.

And depending on me.

In those quiet moments, something inside me slowly became stronger.

Not because I had answers.

But because I knew one thing for sure:

I couldn’t give up.

Even if I felt lost…

Even if I felt tired…

Even if I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like…

I had to keep going.

Because now, my life was no longer just mine.

But what I didn’t know at that time was this—

The real challenges…

the real changes…

and the moments that would break me and rebuild me again…

hadn’t even started yet.