Dear ,

This is a letter you will never see. And would never believe. Because it’s not something you can understand yet, though I think you’re beginning to get some idea, as that baby grows inside you.

When Hubs and I decided to start a family, we were giddy and uncertain. We weren’t sure the time was right. But there’s never a right time. We weren’t sure we would be perfect parents. But there’s no such thing. What we did know was that we wanted to celebrate this beautiful love we shared by increasing it. Multiplying it. So we set about multiplying.

It took forever. Tears, and heartbreak, and month after month of disappointment. And then, a miracle. I carried that baby in my belly like I was Mary herself, with the original miracle of all creation tucked into my size tens. (Yes, I was a size ten back then.) I laid awake night after night feeling his every hiccup, his every stirring. And in the meantime, something else was growing inside me, slightly up north in the heart region. Like the Grinch, my heart was now two sizes too big. Literally. I ended up on a halter monitor for part of my pregnancy. But metaphorically, the same thing was happening. For the first time in my life, someone else was the most important person in the world. Someone else’s needs were first. Their happiness more paramount. Their soul worth more than my own. And that was how I knew that I was ready for motherhood. And that my baby was going to be okay with me as his mom. My physical heart went back to normal the day he was born. But my metaphorical heart will never, ever be the same.

The path that came before was rocky. I went through a lot psychologically and emotionally before I was ready to be a good partner to anyone, much less a mom. I had childhood trauma to work through, family drama, and my own issues to tackle. We are, none of us, perfect beings. I still struggle day to day with some of this, but I am mature enough now to see that these issues pale in comparison with the mammoth task of raising my children. Sad is sad, and I will deal with sad, but my ultimate responsibility is to these people who never had a choice about their parentage. I owe them everything because I brought them here. And I am ready for this. I do it everyday, and it has never been a sacrifice. I never even thought twice about it (though I miss those size tens and my pre-baby body) because the payoff is so huge. If parenthood had come for me in the time while I was slogging through the darkness? I’m not certain I could have been as good of a mother.

But I can see you, and I know that you are not ready. I know that the moment of birth will not bring that growth. You need help for your heart, and your mind. You need to be in a better place, to become more of your potential self. You need to be the most important project in your life until you can be well. But your baby deserves to be the most important thing. So he should be with someone who is capable of mothering him, putting him first, and making him the center of the universe.

Last night you made some choices and voiced some things that fully illustrate that you are not in a psychological place to have a baby in your life. I wish that I could plead with you to do what’s right. But you would never believe that my love is for you, and for this baby. That it comes from a true place, borne of being a mother myself. So I will say nothing to you about this, but I am not capable of saying nothing to no one. Hence this letter.

There are many, many people in this world, and in your life, yearning to raise the baby growing inside you. Who are ready to give what it takes, and ready to love him with their whole selves. And I hope that somewhere in that head of yours, that is a mess and hurting you and everyone around you, that you are aware that this is an option. While there is no perfect time for a baby, no perfect situation, no perfect parent…

Maybe you know something I do not. But from the outside, looking in, it is the best option. You are not well. Even though it would hurt like hell, it’s bound to hurt less than screwing this up. Risking taking him down with you. You are not ready to be a mother. Admitting that does not make you a bad person. This world is full of people who are not ready to be mothers—or who never should be. Is the worse thing to go ahead with it anyway and pretend it’s not so, punishing the innocent child and resenting their whole lives? The world is full of these “mothers.” And I know you want better for this baby, because those people are not truly mothers.

The moment you sacrifice your own heart to do what’s right for your child? That is the moment you become a mother. Even if it means letting go. And putting your baby’s needs first? It is the ultimate sacrifice that each of us go through, whether we get to see those beautiful children each day. Or not.