Especially her, the Mother, this new identity I felt lost inside. ‘I’m still here, still Jennifer,’ I’d say to myself, even though all evidence of that was to the contrary.
It took years for me to cast aside all the ill-fitting narratives and warped expectations thrust on me by Motherhood.
I was shocked at how easily ideals I thought I’d never embraced had lain there, dormant poisonous seeds, just waiting for the right conditions to germinate, grow, and make me doubt everything I thought I knew.
Where did these toxic tropes come from? How did maternal perfection ideals affect me?
The further I waded into the mire, the more I saw how the lie of perfection continues to affect all women.
I am a Mother and a Woman.
While All the Book Writing is Happening, Blurb-ology is in Hiatus
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