CervivingMom

When life turns loud and messy, when the news overwhelms, and even my own thoughts feel like a knot I can’t untangle—I’ve learned that staying sane doesn’t mean blocking it all out. It means holding on to the quiet, steady things that remind me who I am. For me, the chaos isn’t abstract. Being a cancer survivor and a toddler mom, the noise hasn’t just come from outside—it’s lived inside me too. But somehow, these are the small, gentle things that keep me grounded, human, and here: Walks with my son Slow steps, tiny hands in mine, and the wonder in his eyes reminding me how to look at the world anew. Crazy songs and shared laughter My husband and I play the silliest music—and our son dances along. In those moments, life feels lighter, louder in the best way. Art, writing, and yoga These are my breathing spaces: where I can pour out what weighs heavy, stretch what feels tight, and paint my thoughts in softer colors. Music, always Whether it’s a soulful track on qu...

I wrote this poem in a moment of deep emotion—a letter to my son, on the day he was born. That day brought me the greatest joy of my life and also a life-changing cancer diagnosis. At the time, I needed to put my feelings somewhere, so I poured them into these words. Then, as life moved forward, I tucked the poem away—forgotten, like things we set aside when survival takes up all the space. It was only because of this bloghop that I remembered it. And now, reading it again, I know: if I tried to write this today, it might not come out the same. Not because the love has faded, but because that moment was its own—pure, fragile, and full of truth. Though written for my son, this is a letter we all might want to leave behind. A message for the ones we love most. A quiet reminder that even if we’re no longer in sight, we never truly leave. We are always with them. Always with you … My dearest boy, the day you came, The world around me changed its frame. Your cry, your breath,...