A Morning That Held Me: The quiet rituals that ground me as I try to raise my child differently

Some mornings don’t look like healing—but they feel like it.

Today I woke up at my normal time - how refreshing. A small but powerful win for someone who’s working hard to care for her nervous system. My son and I had a slow start—just cuddles and play. Those quiet moments remind me: this is the kind of motherhood I longed for. One where love isn’t loud or urgent, just present.

I dropped him off at daycare and went to meet a friend for a workout. We added new explosive drills to prep for our sports league. I’m one of the older players—but honestly? I’m still keeping up. Some days, I’m leading.

I push my body because it’s mine—not because I’m chasing youth or approval. I train to feel strong, yes, but also to feel safe. Movement clears out what my childhood once stored—anger, confusion, tension I never got to release.

This part of healing is physical. I wasn’t raised to prioritize my wellness. I wasn’t shown how to regulate or rest. But now I’m showing my son a different version of strength—one that listens to the body, not punishes it.

It wasn’t just a good morning. It was a cycle-breaking morning.