Love letters

Fun little nugget about my life: My husband and I spent almost a full year writing post it notes to each other each day. We would read them before bed, or strategically post them around our apartment. They ranged from heartfelt to hilarious and its an activity I highly recommend.

Before I go any further let me say this clearly: If you are doing this alone - the caregiving, the appointments, the meltdowns, the decision fatigue, the "I haven’t eaten in eight hours but everyone else has" chaos - I see you.

You are superhuman. And not in the cutesy “hashtag strong mama” kind of way, but in the “this is impossible and yet somehow you're doing it” kind of way.

This post is not here to rub anything in your face.

It's acknowledging how I cannot even imagine doing this solo and I think you're a freaking rockstar, and also it's a love letter to my literal soulmate. Because I know damn well that without him? I'd be a shaky-handed, overcaffeinated, emotionally fried husk of a person (okayyyy... I am that, but I am like, marginally more functional because of him).

He is my co-pilot in this caregiving madness and the true calm to the storm. He is one who doesn’t treat parenting like a part-time gig or “help out” like he's doing me a favor. He’s all the way in it every day, every night, every messy, exhausting, gut-punch moment. And I cannot overstate what that has meant.

This man? He doesn’t just get in the thick of it.

He dives headfirst in it.

He’s the guy who can tell when I’m on the edge just by the way I grab a paper towel. He's the one who grabs my hand during the hard appointments. The one who says, “Go nap, I’ve got it,” and actually has it  - no guilt trips, no martyr energy.

He’s never made me feel like this entire weight was mine to carry.

He holds our children when they’re sobbing, and he holds me when I am. He has seen me at my absolute worst (I mean, we're talking crying-yelling-on-the-kitchen-floor, ugly moments) and he still reaches for me with patience and tenderness.

He's this unwavering presence that says: “You don’t have to do this alone" and means it.

I married a man who made a choice to show up again and again - even when it’s hard. Even when he’s tired. Even when I’m too exhausted to appreciate it in the moment.

So yeah, I gush. Because in this caregiving life, where burnout is the background noise and resentment is always waiting in the wings, having a partner like him feels like some kind of miracle. A real one.

To the solo caregivers, I mean it when I say: your strength is staggering. And I hope whether it’s through a partner, a friend, a sibling, or a community, that you get the kind of support that doesn’t just make the job doable, but makes you feel held and seen, too.

And to my husband - my favorite human, my rock, the reason I still have a sense of humor and most of my sanity: thank you. For being all in. For being gentle with me when I couldn’t be gentle with myself. For making this life feel less like survival and more like love.

I adore you more than hot coffee, quiet mornings, and 10 uninterrupted minutes in the bathroom.

xoxo

Madi