Page 108 of The Golden Hour

Honey pressed her mouth in a flat line to keep herself from speaking her thoughts about her cousin’s husband, none of them nice.

Ryan was older than Fia by about eleven years, a pilot with a wandering eye, and Honey had never liked him. Not since Fia met him as a flight attendant when she was twenty. Four miscarriages over five years before they finally had Jamie three years ago. Fia cried to Honey after every single one.

Ryan seemed to bury his grief in work. She wished Fia lived closer to her, so that she could maybe help her cousin see what she sees, but she knows that you can’t try to yank someone out of a bad situation, or you run the risk of them digging in.

Case in point—herself.

“I’m doing well,” Honey replies to Dr. DeNunez. “Daisy is sleeping longer through the night. She’s latching easily, her doctor is so pleased with her development, and⁠⁠—”

“Honey,” Dr. DeNunez has a funny smile on her face, like Honey just proved a silent point she was making. “I’m so happy with your daughter’s progress, but I’m not her therapist, I’m yours. So, how are you doing?”

The floodgates open, and it all pours out of Honey unbidden.

“I feel lost,” Honey admits, “and I hate that I feel lost because I feel like I should have it all together. I have a plan in my head for every single day—feed Daisy, change Daisy, clothe Daisy, bounce Daisy, tummy time with Daisy, bathe Daisy. It’s all the same every single day. I have so much help around me with my parents, my in-laws, and my hus⁠⁠—”

Honey stumbles over the word and the doctor scribbles something on her note pad.

“Daisy’s father,” Honey amends, “but… I lay in bed at the end of the night and feel… blah.”

Dr. DeNunez’s eyes crinkle as her smile widens.

Honey winces. “I know that’s kind of silly to say.”

“It’s not,” Dr. DeNunez says, shaking her head. “Blah really can encompass it all. Especially with many postpartum mothers I treat. It can get to the point where you feel like you’re adrift in an ocean—the same thing every single day.”

Honey nods in agreement.

“I don’t know how to fix that feeling.”

Dr. DeNunez relaxes further into her chair and tilts her head.

“Well, for starters—what are you doing for yourself?”

“I…” Honey opens her mouth to answer, before snapping it closed.

Every single thing that appears in her mind that she thinks she’s doing for herself, is actually more for her daughter.

Dr. DeNunez smiles like she’s a mind reader.

She probably is, to be honest.

“But that’s how it’s supposed to be, right?” Honey says weakly. “We sacrifice for their children. We live for our children.”

“True,” Dr. DeNunez says with a nod. “We live for our children, but that doesn’t mean your identity should only be motherhood.”

Honey swallows hard and fidgets in her seat. Her fingers tangle together in her lap, pulling and squeezing and grounding herself in this uncomfortable moment.

Her eyes flicker toward the art on the wall above Dr. DeNunez’s head. Not a generic motivational poster, this one is painted bright and the message sinks into her chest.

Growth is made through discomfort.

“But… I feel like if it’s not,” Honey admits, her gut twisting. “Then I’m a bad mother.”

“No. You’re a bad mother if you neglect your child. You live for Daisy, Honey,” Dr. DeNunez says, eyes softening. “But you also need to live for yourself. Motherhood is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. Don’t let it swallow you whole.”

“How do I… not let it?”

“What are things that you like to do?”