Yes, I am a mother. But I am also human.<\/p>\n\n
I have the right to be tired.I have the right to say I\u2019m afraid, confused, disoriented.I have the right to admit that sometimes I feel nothing\u2014except the need for silence.That deep silence that cannot be asked for or explained, only lived.I don\u2019t want pity, and I carry no regret.I just want my heart to be seen as it is\u2014full of love, yet also weary. <\/p>\n\n
\n<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n
I have the right to be tired.I have the right to say I\u2019m afraid, confused, disoriented.I have the right to admit that sometimes I feel nothing\u2014except the need for silence. <\/pre>\n\nNo, I do not regret my children.But I am sad that I forgot myself.Sad that I felt I had to be everything, all the time, for everyone\u2014except for me.And today, as I write these words, I feel as though I am breathing for the first time in a long while\u2014like I am reaching out to that forgotten version of myself and whispering: \u201cI am still here\u2026 I haven\u2019t disappeared, I was just trying to survive.\u201d <\/p>\n\n
I am a mother.But I am also human. And perhaps admitting that is the first step to loving myself as I love my children\u2014with honesty, with patience, and with an open heart. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
No one told me that motherhood could be harsh.They said it was a blessing, one of the greatest human experiences, and that the moment I gave birth to my daughter, I would melt in love for her and feel as though I\u2019d been born anew. But no one told me that, after leaving the hospital, I would feel like a stranger to myself.That I would smile in front of everyone while inside me a quiet but piercing question lingered: \u201cAm I truly happy?\u201d Yes, I am a mother. But I am also human. When I held my baby girl in my arms, I didn\u2019t feel that magical emotional rush the books talked about.I didn\u2019t cry.I didn\u2019t feel the urge to sing.I was exhausted, dimmed, as if I were resisting an invisible internal collapse.I searched for myself in mirrors, in the eyes of those around me, in the faces of visitors blessing me with \u201cCongratulations for the mother and baby\u2019s safety,\u201d but I couldn\u2019t find me. When I held my baby girl in my arms, I didn\u2019t feel that magical emotional rush the books talked about.I didn\u2019t cry.I didn\u2019t feel the urge to sing.I was exhausted, dimmed. Breastfeeding?I thought it would be a moment of spiritual connection, but it turned out to be more of a test of patience. I didn\u2019t feel that instant tenderness they talk about.Instead, I felt a weight pressing on my heart before my body\u2014like I was giving a part of myself without being ready.Old feelings I had buried long ago came rushing back without warning: shyness, tension, that uneasy relationship with my own body\u2014they all resurfaced at once.I needed someone to tell me: \u201cIt\u2019s normal to feel this way. It\u2019s okay.\u201d And society?It expected me to look grateful, smiling, radiant.But the truth was, I was acting. I laughed so no one would say I regretted it, or that I was weak, or that I didn\u2019t deserve this blessing.I put on a mask of strength every morning, hiding my exhaustion in a cup of coffee and a quick glance at the sky. Yes, I am a mother. But I am also human. I have the right to be tired.I have the right to say I\u2019m afraid, confused, disoriented.I have the right to admit that sometimes I feel nothing\u2014except the need for silence.That deep silence that cannot be asked for or explained, only lived.I don\u2019t want pity, and I carry no regret.I just want my heart to be seen as it is\u2014full of love, yet also weary. I have the right to be tired.I have the right to say I\u2019m afraid, confused, disoriented.I have the right to admit that sometimes I feel nothing\u2014except the need for silence. No, I do not regret my children.But I am sad that I forgot myself.Sad that I felt I had to be everything, all the time, for everyone\u2014except for me.And today, as I write these words, I feel as though I am breathing for the first time in a long while\u2014like I am reaching out to that forgotten version of myself and whispering: \u201cI am still here\u2026 I haven\u2019t disappeared, I was just trying to survive.\u201d I am a mother.But I am also human. And perhaps admitting that is the first step to loving myself as I love my children\u2014with honesty, with patience, and with an open heart.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":17,"featured_media":12189,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[340,416,339,414,447,338],"tags":[347,343,344,450,431,448,430,449],"class_list":["post-13197","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog","category-human","category-opinion","category-voices-from-the-margins","category-we-and-society","category-we-women","tag-lebanon-en","tag-mental_health","tag-motherhood","tag-parenting","tag-sexual-and-reproductive-health","tag-society","tag-women-en","tag-womens-rights"],"blocksy_meta":[],"acf":[],"rttpg_featured_image_url":{"full":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false],"landscape":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false],"portraits":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b-150x150.webp",150,150,true],"medium":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b-300x167.webp",300,167,true],"large":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/whatsapp-image-2025-05-11-at-16.18.50_56337f8b.webp",900,500,false]},"rttpg_author":{"display_name":"\u0625\u0633\u0631\u0627\u0621 \u0647\u0627\u062f\u064a","author_link":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/author\/esraa-hady\/"},"rttpg_comment":0,"rttpg_category":"Blog<\/a> Human<\/a> Opinion<\/a> Voices from the Margins<\/a> We and Society<\/a> We, the Women<\/a>","rttpg_excerpt":"No one told me that motherhood could be harsh.They said it was a blessing, one of the greatest human experiences, and that the moment I gave birth to my daughter, I would melt in love for her and feel as though I\u2019d been born anew. But no one told me that, after leaving the hospital,…","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13197","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/17"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13197"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13197\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12189"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13197"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13197"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/silatwassel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13197"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}