Inside the Trenches: The Weight We Carry Quietly

Medical motherhood is strange terrain.

It’s not linear.
It’s not tidy.
And there’s no map that tells you where the next drop-off is.

Some days, you go from scheduling therapies to arguing with insurance to Googling symptoms you wish you didn’t have to learn.

Some days, you’re balancing medications, braces, appointments, fatigue, and pain — all while trying to keep the house running and act like you’re okay.

And some days, you’re not okay.

There are mornings when I watch my son struggle out of bed with leg pain that has kept him up all night.

Afternoons when his head hurts so badly that he has to lie down.

Evenings when his head shakes, or his pulse is racing so fast from nothing, and I feel that familiar panic in my chest.

You carry it all.
The fear.
The hope.
The responsibility.
The exhaustion most people will never understand.

People see the strength.
They don’t see the weight.
They don’t see you fighting to remember every detail because someone might ask:

“How long has this been happening?”
or
“Are you sure it’s not anxiety?”
or
“Let’s just wait and see.”

They don’t see you standing your ground when your voice is shaking.

They don’t see the nights you watch them sleep because today scared you more than you admitted.

Medical motherhood is not a battlefield we chose — but it’s one we show up to every day, without armor, without backup, without training.

And if no one has told you this in a while:

You’re doing impossible things on ordinary days.
You’re carrying more than anyone realizes.
And you’re not alone in it anymore.

If this hit you today, you can join me in the trenches — my weekly letter is where I share the moments between the moments.