Deleted Scene: A Mother's Secret Journal Entry
I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
I know who I was, but I’m not sure who I am any more.
This person is different.
I don’t look like me.
This isn’t me.
My boobs are different. My legs are swollen. My face is tired. My eyes are empty.
I can’t even look into them.
It’s like looking into someone else’s home, only they’re not there, so it feels like spying.
I feel guilty for all of it.
For feeling like an alien.
For mourning my previous life.
I can’t sit up on my own.
I can’t roll over.
I can’t sleep through the night.
My favorite clothes don’t fit.
But no one cares.
No one else is mourning the life of a girl trapped inside a body that’s no longer familiar to her.
I’m ashamed to even have these thoughts.
My depression runs on shame, pulling me deeper into the abyss of lost souls.
I want my daughter to be born into an environment of peace and love.
I want her to feel nothing but loved.
How can I give her that when all I feel is nothing?
That’s not true.
I feel confused. Guilty. Grateful. Ashamed. Happy. Lost. Excited. Sad. Hopefully. Heavy. Powerful. Different. Terrified.
I feel it all.
I feel like a monster.
So many out there pray for this.
And here I am, with the audacity to release this deleted scene.
They don’t show you this part.
They cut it from every movie, skipping straight to the joy.
I can’t be the only one.
I can’t be alone in this.
I’ve loved being pregnant.
The little kicks.
The tiny clothes.
The sound of her heartbeat.
Yet somewhere along the way I lost myself in the process.
It took so long to find myself the first time.
To love me for me.
To embrace all of my flaws.
To step into my power unapologetically.
I’m working on my new identity.
Peeling back layers and processing traumas I didn’t know were deep inside.
I’m figuring it out, how to love my body for the miracle it’s creating.
I’m doing okay.
I’m hanging in there.
I’m still powerful.
I’m still beautiful.
I am loved.
Worthy.
And enough.
I am me, and I’m a mom.