I need to be honest. Some nights, the nightmares strike like thunder.   They pull me back to those hospital beeps, the terror of wondering if my baby was still breathing. I jolt awake, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, rushing to check—again and again.

Sleep feels impossible when your mind replays the trauma. The fear never sleeps. The guilt whispers: “You should just be grateful.” But trauma doesn’t listen to “should.”
If you’re waking up shaking, tears streaming, constantly watching over your little one—you are NOT weak.   You are a warrior parent who walked through hell and kept going.

And on those mornings, when I see my baby’s smile… I know: We survived. We won. But healing? It’s a brave, ongoing fight.