Our Story Wasn’t Over

Repair, Love, and Fifteen Years of Motherhood

Every day, at around 8:05 a.m. I would hear his body squiggling around through the monitor.

That was his routine. Just around 8 a.m. was his wake-up time.
He was quick to cry and let me know he was ready to be in my arms.

I, on the other hand, could barely get out of bed. Nor did I want to.

Nighttimes were rough. My son did not like to sleep and he made it known to me. 

He was prompt to wake up every 2 hours for what felt like a whole year.  It was more like 8 months. 

Every night I would wake up to feed, change his diaper and at times I would smile through it because of handwritten messages that our friends and family had written on them. Some nights, those little phrases were enough to keep me going. Other nights, I wanted to throw them at my husband, who was often sound asleep. Envying him, while feeling extremely upset. 

The Early Years

It was a rough first year.
And two.
And three.

My son fought to sleep. He didn’t want to miss out on the world.

I needed sleep and was okay to miss out on the world.

During those early years, I often found myself feeling sad, overwhelmed, and angry. Each emotion existed for different reasons. I battled postpartum depression and intrusive thoughts that spiraled into overwhelming anxiety and anger that I just couldn’t seem to get a hold of.

I was angry at my own emotions. I felt like I was failing this little child. I worried constantly about his future, imagining a life shaped by a mother who barely had the energy to get out of bed. I was living in a darkness that only those who have been there truly understand—desperately wanting out, but not knowing how.

The Weight of “Knowing Better”

What made it even harder was that I was training to be a therapist. The guilt and shame were loud. Between the frustration, sadness, and anger, I was convinced I was ruining his life forever.

Even being a Christian mother felt haunting. There were no prayers that felt authentic or correct, no joy, no time or energy for God. The only thing I could offer were small Bible stories I read to him; those moments became my bread of life too. And even then, they came wrapped in guilt, and a deep belief that I was not doing enough.

For years I struggled and did not seek help. Support was limited and no one knew what I was going through. My husband did not understand and as Mexican parents our conflict was on the rise trying to live up to our culture’s expectations. I finally went to therapy when my son was 3 years old and let me tell you, the battle to healing was difficult. Yet, possible.

The Future

Fast forward to today—15 years later.

My son and I recently celebrated something that, in my Mexican culture, is a big deal: his 15 years of life.

But you know what else we celebrated?

15 years of being his mother.

The years were challenging.
The years were also a gift of growth and grace.
Years of healing.
Years of growing into my motherhood.
Years of building a beautiful relationship that I can celebrate.

So what do I want to tell you with this?

I believed I was ruining my child. And yet, repair, love, healing, and grace taught me that our story was not over.

Even as a therapist, it was easy to worry about the damage my postpartum experience might have caused. Truth be told, I still have those wondering thoughts. It doesn't help to be a therapist sometimes. Yet, during the celebration of my son’s 15th year, I found myself in tears as I witnessed the person he has become.

Those first five years, which I consider the hardest of my parenting journey, are also the years that taught me the most and shaped me into the parent I am today. I am by no means perfect. Please know that. Nor is my child. 

But what I do know is this:
Repair is crucial in our relationships.
Attunement is crucial.
Grace toward yourself is crucial.
Healing wounds is crucial.

Is it exhausting in the middle of parenting?
Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent yes.

And still, it will be worth it.

Because one day, you will look back and see just how much it mattered.

For the Mother Reading This

My son and I have celebrated 15 years of life together, and God willing, we will have many more. We still have lessons to learn. We still work on repairs often.

What I know now is that I can look back at those early years and give myself a hug that says:

“You are doing the best you can with what you know, with the energy you have, and with what you are aware of. You are surviving. And that truly matters. You will survive this, because you love deeply, no matter what your thoughts are telling you.”

Mama, I share this because you may be right there, right now. I know 15 years can feel like forever. Just trying to get to 1 year felt like forever for me. I carried that weight too, longing for the hard moments to pass quickly. Hoping the next stage would be easier.  

One day, you will be in the future. For now, come back to the present.

Ground yourself in this truth: you are doing the best you can today. 

What keeps you going is the deep love you have for the little one in your care.

I encourage you to seek help.
To accept help.
To receive support.

You deserve to experience motherhood with light shining on it—even on the hard days.

Celebrate your first month.
Your six months.
Your one year.
Your fifteenth.

Every year brings learning, growth, and opportunities for grace, mercy, and forgiveness, especially for what you believe you missed or messed up on.

With so much hope, grace and love for you and your season,

Your therapist,
Esmeralda Cardenas, LPC, PMH-C

“Helping mothers find healing and growth through faith-integrated, evidence-based, and creatively inspired therapy—guiding them toward resilience, connection, joy, and peace.” -Esmeralda Cardenas, LPC, PMH-C