moments spent in darkness

heart pounding.
head throbbing.
unable to get a breath of air.
eyes are hot, the tears bursting to the surface.
my hand grasping my mouth, holding in the scream that so desperately wants to escape.
my internal dialogue coaching me.
replaying the message that i am bigger than this.
it will be over soon.

it is 10:30 at night.
on the bed between two children that seem unable of sleeping.
i feel smothered.
spent.
overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood.
of too little money.
of unfulfilled dreams.
of feelings i am not enough.
of cold, dreary weather.

in that moment i cannot see how i will ever lift the fog.
i am a fish out of water.
frantically wriggling on the sand.
unable to fill my lungs with life.

surrender crosses my mind.

then, with the stroke of my baby's hand across my cheek and the question,
mama, you o-tay?
or, the little son snuggling my back and whispering,
why are you so sad?
and the darkness that was so stifling seconds earlier slowly releases it's grip.

i am laying between them.
listening to the calm waves of rhythmic breathing.
their closeness no longer feels like an invasion.
it feels like a nest.
and i am in the center of their love.