07/19/2026
3 AM
A tiny voice in my bedroom: “Mommy, I don’t feel good.”
My husband, trying to protect my sleep, says gently, “Come here and lay down with me.” Half-asleep, I murmur that she may need to throw up. Call it mother’s intuition. Call it straight intuition. Or call it a pattern that has happened before — and will happen again.
We all close our eyes and try to drift back to sleep. Then she coughs. There it is. He grabs her, jumps out of bed, runs to the bathroom, and she expels whatever it is her little body needs to let go of.
I pull out the extra mattress, already prepared with a pad and a sheet. I lay it on the floor and get her snuggled into a blanket. My husband gets a bowl, because we both know it isn’t over yet. We lie down, and just as we drift off to sleep, she’s sick again. And again. And again. Every thirty minutes, from 3 AM to 7 AM.
Finally, we decide it’s time to leave this room. I am exhausted. My nervous system feels on edge. My whole body, mind, and spirit are tired. How do I choke back the tears? How do I keep showing up for my daughter — lovingly, kindly — as the day begins? The sun rises; there’s no stopping it. It’s time to get up. It’s time to move.
I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. My nervous system learned long ago to stay alert while sleeping, just in case a little one needs me. The moment I’m up, adrenaline takes over. Mama bear mode. Even when I try to go back to sleep, I fall into the old pattern: I’m just going to get woken up again, so what’s the point? Why even try?
But here is what’s different now.
I have the awareness to watch my nervous system — to notice when I’m not at 100% and to be careful with how I react, how I respond. Sometimes I simply place my hands on my heart and tell myself to breathe. And I breathe. And I breathe. And I breathe.
Because this body of mine isn’t broken. Fifteen years of listening for tiny voices in the dark — that vigilance is love, worn deep into my nervous system. I don’t have to fight it anymore. I can thank it. I can place my hands over it and remind it: She’s okay. I’m okay. We made it to morning.
The sun is up, and so am I. Tired, tender, and still here.
And that is more than enough. 💖