Journal Series: Life – The Struggle is Real**

Entry 1: The Day Everything Changed

11/23/25

I can still feel the chill of that room. The fluorescent lights hummed above me, too bright, too harsh, like they were exposing every flaw I had ever tried to hide. The air smelled sterile—like bleach and paperwork—and yet it carried the weight of something heavy, something final.

When they said the words—*“We’re removing the children”*—it was like the oxygen vanished. My ears rang so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. My hands trembled against the cold metal chair, nails digging into my palms until they burned. I wanted to scream, to throw myself in front of the door, to make them see that I wasn’t a monster—I was a mother. But my voice wouldn’t come. My throat was dry, my chest tight, my heart pounding like a drum in a war I was losing.

I remember their faces as they walked away. My babies. Their eyes were wide, searching mine for answers I didn’t have. Their little hands are clutching stuffed animals like lifelines. The sound of their footsteps fading down the hall was the loudest silence I’ve ever heard. That was the moment I broke not just as a mother, but as a person.

Entry 2: The Weight of Judgment

11/24/25

Judgment doesn’t whisper, it screams. It echoes in every corner of my mind. You failed. You weren’t enough. You lost them because you’re broken. Those words became my soundtrack. I replayed every mistake like a movie stuck on repeat. The smell of coffee in the morning reminded me of the mornings I rushed too much. The sight of toys scattered on the floor haunted me because now the floor was bare.

People didn’t have to say anything, I could feel it in their eyes. The way they looked at me was like I was a headline, a cautionary tale. And maybe they were right. Maybe I was everything they thought I was. That belief became a prison, and I locked myself inside.

Entry 3: Isolation

11/25/25

The silence in this house is deafening. No laughter bouncing off the walls. No tiny feet running down the hallway. Just me and the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock, the ache in my chest. I sit on the couch and stare at the empty space where they used to play. The smell of their shampoo still lingers on their pillows, and sometimes I press my face into them to feel close.

I avoid people now. I can’t bear the questions, the pity, the judgment in their voices. I tell myself I’m protecting my heart, but really, I’m hiding. Hiding from the world. Hiding from myself. I scroll through pictures of my kids and wonder if they think I abandoned them. If they know how much I love them. If they feel the ache I feel every second of every day.

Entry 4: The Turning Point

11/26/25

One morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back. Hollow eyes. Skin pale from too many sleepless nights. A broken spirit. And I thought, if I stay here, I’ll never get them back. I’ll never get myself back. That was the day I decided to fight not against the system, not against the judgment, but against the voice inside me that said I wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. Healing feels like climbing a mountain barefoot, every step cutting into me. But every tear matters. Every moment I choose grace over judgment matters. I remind myself daily: I am their mother. I am worthy. I am enough, even when I’m messy, even when I’m broken.

Hope

11/27/2025

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if the scars will ever fade. But I know this: my love for my children is stronger than any judgment, any isolation, any pain. And that love gives me hope. Hope that one day, they’ll understand. Hope that one day, I’ll forgive myself. Hope that one day, the struggle won’t feel so heavy.