SECOND BIRTH - by Big Dee

The world celebrating Mother’s Day. Some of us mothered ourselves. A mother carries a child for nine months. The body stretches. The breath grows slow. Bones make room for a life that has not yet spoken. Then the child arrives. And the world claps for the miracle. But growing up is longer than nine months. It is the years that follow quietly. The slow unfolding of a person. The first time the body feels unfamiliar. The questions that form but never quite leave the mouth. The day blood appears and you are not sure who to tell. The silent confusion about your changing shape. The fear of doing something wrong without knowing why. We wished we could point to those moments and say, “Something feels different today.” Some of us could not. Not always because she did not care. Sometimes life had already filled her hands. Bills waiting on the table. Work that never seemed to end. Younger mouths to feed. Worries she never spoke about. Some mothers were surviving storms we were too young to see. So somewhere along the way we began to mother ourselves. We studied the world quietly. We learned from books, from friends, from silence. We held our own trembling hearts. We sat with sadness until it softened. We wiped our own tears and whispered, “You will be alright.” People say it lightly sometimes. “I raised myself.” But there is nothing light about that sentence. Mothering yourself is quiet labour. It is choosing not to let pain spill onto those who walk behind you. It is swallowing harsh words you once heard so they do not become the language of the next generation. It is learning tenderness while you are still learning how to stand. And truthfully, it is exhausting. Still, many of us try. Not perfectly. Not every day. But with a quiet determination that tomorrow will be softer than yesterday. And perhaps our mothers were once daughters doing the same thing. Perhaps they too were growing without someone larger to hold their fears and guide their becoming. Perhaps they were mothering themselves long before we arrived. So this is not blame. It is simply the story of how some of us grew. And if you are someone who had a mother or a guiding figure who stayed close, who listened to every small change, every confusion, every trembling question, cherish her. Hold that love carefully. Some of us had someone who gave us life, and for that we remain grateful. But we have made a quiet promise to mother earth. That those who come after us will not have to grow alone. Not spoiled. Not hardened. But guided with patience and care, until they grow into kinder humans, and one day, perhaps better mothers too.

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