Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

It didn’t happen all at once.

It wasn’t one big moment, one obvious wall being built around us.
It was slower than that. Softer.
It came dressed as love.

It started with conversations — casual at first — where every road somehow led back to one thing.

“When are you going to have a baby?”
“You know, you’re not getting any younger.”
“I saved your husband’s christening gown — it’s waiting for your firstborn.”

Each comment wrapped in a smile, a nudge, a knowing glance.

At first, I laughed it off.
We were still so busy, still in the thick of residency, barely able to sleep let alone raise a child.

But the hints kept coming, until they weren’t hints at all.

One day, I came home from work to find a bassinet sitting on our front porch.

It was antique — an heirloom from my mother-in-law’s own babies — now outfitted with freshly sewn bedding, lace trimmings and all.
There was no note. No call asking if we wanted it.
Just the silent, heavy message:
“Prepare yourselves. It’s time.”

Another time, she appeared with an armful of baby name books.
Pressing them into my hands, smiling that particular tight smile that was less an invitation and more a command.

I felt the walls closing in.

Every holiday was another link in the chain.
When I suggested spending a Thanksgiving with my family — hours away — there were sighs.
Guilt.
“But we’re right here. It’s so much easier.”
“Your mother will understand.”

And so we stayed.

Christmas, Easter, birthdays — they all became rituals at his family’s house.
Vacations, too.
Quick weekends that could have been spent exploring, relaxing — always spent instead with them.

I told myself it was practical.
That it made sense.

But the truth was, little by little, our world shrank to just them.
Friendships drifted away. Invitations dried up.
There was no time left, no energy left, no space left — except for his family.

And I didn’t see it fully then, but now it’s so clear:
Isolation isn’t always a locked door. Sometimes it’s a carefully built maze you don’t realize you’re trapped inside until you’re too exhausted to find the way out.

What felt like family at first was becoming a cage.
And I was already losing pieces of myself inside it.