First of all, I want to thank everyone who wished me a happy birthday.

I’m going to be as transparent as possible here. I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday this year because I barely made it through the holidays sane. I’m heart sick and feel empty most days. I only have enough emotional and mental energy for my son and husband, and even then, I feel drained. For the past two and a half months, I’ve been trying to figure out why I feel so empty. I have no reason to complain—my husband is healthy and has been a rockstar to me, and for Gideon, my son, is perfect and meeting all milestones, and he’s the happiest baby I’ve ever seen. I’m relatively healthy, and I know the Lord is good!

I think it was the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s that it finally clicked. On Thanksgiving Day, I got my first period since having Gideon. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but postpartum is a real challenge! That’s right, I experienced another wave of postpartum depression and anxiety due to hormones. It probably didn’t help that the holidays coincided with this flare-up—grief layered on top of all the usual holiday anxieties.

I was not in a good mood. Also, time doesn’t slow down for anyone, including postpartum moms who want to keep their babies small forever. Watching my little man grow has been my greatest joy, but it’s also brought me so much grief, knowing that one day he won’t need me anymore.

Please understand me: I want my son to grow up as self-sufficient as possible, but also entirely dependent on Jesus. However, my heart and mind aren’t always on the same page. For example, I’m so excited about my little guy turning one, but I’m also extremely sad because that’s when I’ll have to stop pumping. Now, let me tell you something—I HATE pumping. But I love pumping for Gideon.

I know I’m not alone when I say I’m so excited and proud of my 9 1/2-month-old, who is crawling and starting to stand on his own, but I also miss my little bundle, who would just let me sit there and stare at him all day.

This is my daily battle now. Most days, I feel like I’ve been beaten black and blue, but there are moments when I look at my husband and my baby boy, and I see the goodness of God. That’s what I choose to hold onto! I refuse to feel broken.

I may be bruised pretty badly, but there’s a light at the end of this tunnel—His name is Jesus—and I know all I have to do is reach out, and He’ll take my hand.