My Wonderland

I didn’t fall gently into this life, I tumbled in what felt like a headfirst direction. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole. Only my Wonderland isn’t filled with tea parties and curious cats. It’s filled with appointments, assessments, and a boy named Kaedyn who changed everything.

Becoming a mum was always going to change me. But becoming his mum spun my world on its head. Up was down. Right became left. Nothing looked the way I’d imagined it and it never would again.

In this Wonderland, time bends, and stretches into waiting rooms and then disappears in the flash of a smile. Some days are painted in technicolor joy, others in the grayscale of sheer exhaustion.

I lost pieces of the woman I once was: a career woman with places to be and plans to keep. I said goodbye to my polished world and traded it for stretchy waistbands, late-night research, and navigating systems no one ever prepares you for.

I celebrate things differently now. A moment of calm. A meltdown avoided. Tiny victories that bloom like wildflowers in unexpected places.

Some days I sugarcoat the hard stuff. Because the truth can feel too heavy to carry out loud. Other days, I let it spill. Because in this world, you learn that grief and gratitude walk hand in hand.

In my Wonderland, the path is rarely smooth. We avoid stores with narrow aisles, not because we’re fussy, but because Kaedyn’s wheelchair can’t fit. He rarely sees the inside of a gas station, the IGA, or those quick pop-ins others take for granted. Nothing is impulsive here. Everything is planned, prepped, predicted.

And sometimes, I buy the precut carrots. Not because I don’t want to chop them myself, but because the days are too long to find joy in peeling. This version of motherhood is layered in logistics.

It’s turned my world upside down. My map, once neat and reliable, now redraws itself daily. I’ve learned to navigate by feel, by instinct, by heart.

But in the chaos, I’ve also found clarity. Fierce, protective love. Strength I didn’t know I had. Advocacy that roars when it needs to.

This Wonderland has taught me to see differently. Other mums on the same path—our eyes meet in waiting rooms, in parking lots, online. We don’t need to speak. We already know. I see their tired pride, their silent bravery. And in them, I see myself.

To those mothers, I say: you are not alone. We are rewriting the story together.

This journey is hard. It’s full of questions answered with shrugs and apologies. Full of grief that sneaks in quietly and stays longer than welcome. But it’s also rich with wonder. The kind that isn’t loud, but deep. The kind that changes you.

I used to believe strength meant not breaking. Now I know it means rising again after you do.

So here I am, still falling, still learning, still growing,

not lost in Wonderland,

but building one where Kaedyn can belong.

And somehow, that’s where I’ve found myself, too.