The Martyr

A poem about making room for yourself within motherhood.

A good mother

is a martyr

she learns

not to feel

the thorns

as they cut her.

So, on the outside,

she is a rose

a beautiful picture

of what it means

to love unconditionally.

I became a martyr

until the sacrifice

was myself.

I'd catch glimpses

in the mirror,

but I wasn't in it.

I saw tired eyes

fear, shame

and someone

I barely recognized.

I had shrunken

beneath the weight

of society’s advice.

I had to step back

so I could hear

myself think.

What I concluded

was that my

greatest calling

isn't being everything

to everyone

it's beingmyself

while also

being his mom.