Mina Rumi

Unexpected Transition by Rebecca Tillett

For as long as I can remember, to my very earliest memories and forever since, so often my first thought each morning after being jarred out of sleep by an unforgiving alarm was “Dear god, I’d rather be dead then ever have to get out of this bed again.” And ashamedly, it was not meant to be a humorous desire or a silly exaggeration. Sleep has always been my favorite part of every day, my reprieve.

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You Are a Motherf*%$ing Force by Rebecca Tillett

As of today, it’s been one whole entire huge tiny long quick gigantic short surreal transformative passionate trying wonderful exhausting year since I first got to look into your big eyes, baby
I am still gobsmacked by the strange magic of it all. Strange, shiny, messy, beautiful, incomprehensible magic.

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There is Only Light by Rebecca Tillett

I am much more protective of my feelings on motherhood than anything else in life. I am still working on unraveling just why exactly. I suspect because they are not always overwhelmingly exuberant, which I feel mothers rarely see mirrored or represented outside the darkest recesses of our minds. We are inundated with nothing but the happy wonderfulness so there is a built-in shame in feeling anything but, perhaps.

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Moments of Doubt and Darkness by Rebecca Tillett

Lately I’ve drowned in thoughts and anxieties that shout the words: why-is-this-so-fucking-hard & why-aren’t-I-stronger into my own echo chamber and then I remember something I read recently that really resonated: Sleep deprivation is an actual kind of torture. It is. and needlessly, I had surrendered to moments of doubt and darkness about the strength of my family and our resolve and our indestructibility as a unit but especially about mine and my husband’s status as a team. But only because I did not truly respect the intensity of the obstacles we’ve faced. And cleared.

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Eternities Exist Between Dawn and Dusk by Rebecca Tillett

his sweet babe is 5 months old today. Time passes so quickly, I’m always left with the tragic relentless feeling that I’m not fully appreciating or as present for every precious moment as I should be. For her, the days are still long enduring intervals in which eternities exist between dawn and dusk. For me, it feels as if every morning I have awoken from a long coma and she seems so much older than the baby I put to sleep the night before. It’s one of the hardest parts of motherhood for me.

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