Sunrise. Just get to another sunrise. It is the only time I am myself. Exhaustion punishes me as I place one foot in front of the other and rise from my bed. You can do this. My reflection looks back at me, skepticism scrawled all over the features of the woman in the mirror. Who was she? I could have sworn I knew her once, yet the old lady looking back at me was not the idealist, social work major fresh from an evening of partying with her friends, all of us convinced we’d save the world. No, the woman looking back at me was set for a day of Linkedin corporate training webinars, looking through resumes of the recently graduated hopefuls, and starting correspondence with “I hope this email finds you well.”

Nothing ever found me well.

At sunrise I was still me. I was not a corporate stooge. I was not a mother of children who only ate half their lunches and came home “starving” from school. At sunrise there was still a chance that this day would be different.

It never was.

It never would be.

It would end the same way all the others did, with me crawling into bed, painted in layers upon layers of expectations. I would drown in all their expectations one day. Pour into me all your concerns, memos, blame for cutting your sandwich the wrong way, guilt for not earning enough, being educated enough, savvy enough to navigate this world I never asked for. Be the receptacle for all their dreams and agendas. What was that? You are tired? Why not just get more sleep? Ha!

Nose to the grindstone. The American dream will be yours one day. One day the sun will rise and you will bloom into who you should have been all along. You’ve only been playing a character so far. This can’t be your life. This can’t be my life.

I want to go home.

The world will keep turning without you. Who needs you? No one. This sunrise isn’t for you. Blink and you can be replaced. No one would miss you.

Footsteps in the hallway feel like weights settling around my feet, dragging me under. The sun was risen and it was time to start another day.

“Mama?” A small voice and its small little arms wrap around me. One more day. He brings me out of my room. I can do this. One of his small steps at time. I can do this again.

I would do this again. And again. And again.

But one day, the sunrise would be mine.