For fourteen years, I built my life around my family.Not in a poetic, movie-montage way, but in the quiet, exhausting rhythm of real life.I woke before sunrise to pack lunches and stayed up past midnight, folding clothes that never seemed to end.I memorized dentist schedules, school spirit days, and which child hated crusts, which one needed their socks turned just right, and which one cried if their sandwich was cut the “wrong” way.
I scrubbed dried food out of car seats, signed permission slips with one hand while stirring pasta with the other, and learned to function on coffee and determination.Somewhere along the way, I stopped noticing myself.And somewhere along the way, my husband stopped noticing me, too.
