When I became a mom just after turning 18, I had no idea what I was in for. I loved my daughter deeply, but I was still growing up myself—and trying to do it all alone. A few years later, I was in nursing school, pregnant again, and just barely holding it together when I found out my son had a serious heart condition. The next chapter was full of hospital visits, sleepless nights, and moments where I honestly didn’t know how I’d make it through. He eventually passed away. That loss cracked me open in a way I didn’t know was possible. There were days I felt numb, or angry, or like I was just pretending to be okay for the sake of my daughter. Postpartum depression hit hard, and for a while, I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling. But slowly, I started asking for help. Therapy helped. So did letting people in. Now, years later, I’ve learned how to carry both grief and joy—and I try to be someone others can lean on when things feel impossible.