Casey's Bloom

The first night home from the hospital. My newborn son lay in the basket beside me, his tiny chest rising and falling, his existence both miraculous and terrifying. The house felt too quiet, yet my mind was anything but. Am I ready for this? Am I enough?

I lit the candle I had waiting on my bedside table, the soft floral scent of geranium filled the air, familiar and warm, like the version of me I used to be—before late-night feedings, before the weight of responsibility settled onto my shoulders. But the clary sage, earthy and strong, whispered of something new: resilience, transformation.

I breathed it in, I wasn’t the same woman I was before, and maybe I never would be. But as I watched my son stir, his tiny fingers curling in sleep, I realised—this version of me was exactly who I was meant to be.