Modern motherhood is often romanticized, but my experience has been anything but idyllic. When I say my children are mine, it is because the journey into motherhood did not come with helping hands or comforting voices. It began in a hospital room where I labored alone, my phone pressed to my ear as I negotiated deadlines with my boss between contractions.

That day still feels like a fever dream. I was bringing life into the world while juggling the expectations of a job that couldn’t wait. Nurses and doctors did their work around me, and I did mine, answering calls and typing replies even as my body strained. When the time came for the delivery, there was no partner’s hand to squeeze. There was only me and a surgeon’s knife. The moment they cut me open is seared into my memory. It should have been followed by rest, by time to heal. Instead, I was expected back at my desk almost immediately. I went because there was no one else to shoulder the financial weight. I went even while the stitches were still fresh and my body ached. I never took a break because I chose to be responsible for everyone who depended on me, and, in some strange way, I didn’t mind. Work was the one area where I felt in control.

In the years since, I have continued to make choices that others question. I rarely share photos of my children and I keep them close. It isn’t because I’m ashamed or indifferent; it’s because I know firsthand how little protection the world offers. The silence on my social media doesn’t mean I am absent from their lives. It means that my love for them is expressed quietly, in the early mornings and late nights, in the steady hum of work that keeps us afloat.

My children are mine because, from the moment they entered the world, I have been the one to keep them safe. I have been the one to work through pain and fatigue to ensure they have what they need. I have been the one to stand between them and a world that was unkind to me. That fierce protectiveness isn’t born of possessiveness but of experience. It comes from knowing how it feels to be alone when you need someone most and refusing to let them feel the same.

And here’s what many don’t see: I am a mom and I love every second of it. Even when the days are exhausting and the wounds still throb, even when people who have no idea what I actually do choose to attack me from every side, I wouldn’t trade this life. Most of those voices weren’t there during the hard times. They don’t know what it means to hide your children from the world because you’ve fought and sacrificed to give them peace. That privilege, to keep them mine and only mine, is the result of working so hard to protect them. People can aim their words and judgments at me all they want, but they don’t get to hurt my children. That line is one I will never let anyone cross.