For months, I brushed off every cruel comment my husband made about my appearance. I convinced myself he didn’t mean anything by them. I told myself he was stressed, unemployed, and going through a difficult period.
Looking back, I should have known there would eventually come a moment when I simply couldn’t take it anymore.
It started at five in the morning.
The soft blue glow of the nursery clock showed 5:00 a.m., and Onica had finally settled against my shoulder. I rocked her slowly in the same worn chair where I had fed Bradley three years earlier.
My phone alarm would soon remind me that it was time to pump before taking a shower.
Then a tiny voice floated down the hallway.
“Mama? Is it morning-morning or nighttime-morning?”
“It’s shhh-morning, buddy,” I whispered. “Go crawl in with Daddy. I’ll come get you soon.”
“Daddy’s snoring.”
“I know, sweetheart. He’s very good at it.”
I heard tiny footsteps disappear down the hallway.
Then came a small thump.
Silence.
I closed my eyes for exactly four seconds.
Onica hiccupped awake.
By seven, I was in the kitchen, pumping beneath my blazer while stirring oatmeal with my free hand. My laptop sat open on the counter, already loading a marketing presentation for my 9 a.m. meeting.
This had become my normal.
I’d returned to work only weeks after having Onica because my husband, Carl, had been laid off during his company’s “downsizing.”
I was exhausted, but I kept telling myself that this was temporary.
My husband needed time.
Our family needed stability.
Marriage meant supporting each other when things got difficult.
At least, that’s what I believed.
Carl eventually shuffled into the kitchen, his hair sticking out in every direction and his phone already in his hand.
“Coffee ready?”
“You’ll have to make it,” I said.
“Rough one?”
“She was up at two, four, and five.”
Carl grunted.
He scrolled through his phone and tilted the screen away whenever I glanced in his direction.
Sports highlights, probably.
Or a job board.
I decided it had to be the latter because believing anything else required more energy than I had.
“Alice dropped by yesterday,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “She brought chicken casserole and said I looked exhausted. But she said it nicely, you know? Like she actually meant it.”
“Yeah,” Carl replied absently. “Alice is good like that.”
“Steve got lucky.”
“Mm.”
He kept scrolling.
I glanced at the hallway mirror while grabbing Bradley’s shoes.
Stained hoodie.
Ponytail from yesterday.
There had once been a woman who wore heels to Friday dinners and put on lipstick just to take out the trash.
She was still somewhere inside me.
I just wasn’t sure when I’d last seen her.
I dropped the kids at daycare, rushed to work, made it to my meeting with thirty seconds to spare, and repeated the same thought I’d been using to get through every exhausting day.
I’d carried Carl through his rough patch.
Now it was my turn to lean on him.
That’s how marriages were supposed to work.
That night, after finally getting both children to sleep, I collapsed onto the couch beside my husband.
He was watching television.
“Long day,” I said.
“Yeah, mine too. Job stuff.”
“How’d it go?”
“Slow.”
Then he looked at me.
“Hey, babe. Not to be a jerk, but once things settle down, maybe you should really think about going to the gym. You’ve gained a lot of weight lately.”
I turned my head.
“Sorry?”
“I just mean, Alice makes it look so easy. The classes and everything. Might be good for you.”
Alice was Carl’s new sister-in-law and Steven’s wife.
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because if I didn’t laugh, I was going to cry into a throw pillow that still smelled like baby spit-up.
I was overwhelmed by work, exhaustion, a newborn and a three-year-old. There was always laundry, cooking, cleaning, bottles, diapers and something else that needed to be done.
I’d stopped taking care of myself because there simply wasn’t enough time.
I’d forgotten what going to the gym felt like.
I’d forgotten what it was like to wear makeup, heels or a dress without a practical reason.
