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CITM (acronym - slang/fictional)
A person, often in a romantic or familial context, who is trapped between two conflicting parties-typically someone torn between loyalty to family and their own desires or relationships. In this c...
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June 10. 1996 LA. California Lante and pac's Calabasas home
I sat on the couch, feeling the weight of my body settle as Josiah, my son, snored lightly in my arms. His little chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and I couldn't help but smile at the peacefulness on his face. My hair, still damp from my quick shower, hung loose around my face, curls falling in soft waves. I was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally. Everything had changed so fast.
Afeni sat nearby, her eyes soft with concern. She had brought me a warm bottle of milk for Josiah, and I could see the way she looked at me — not just as her son's wife, but as a woman who was clearly worn down by the weight of motherhood.
"You haven't talked to your mother today?" she asked, her voice gentle, almost probing. I could feel the weight of her question, but at the same time, there was no judgment. She genuinely wanted to know.
I shook my head, my gaze falling to Josiah as his tiny hand twitched in his sleep. "Not today," I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended, and definitely more tired.
Afeni studied me, her gaze drifting from Josiah to me and back again. There was something in her eyes that made me feel like she could see right through me. "You look exhausted, even after your nap," she said, a note of concern threading her words.
I sighed, leaning my head back against the couch. "I am, but... I won't complain. This is what I wanted. It's worth it, but yeah... some days are harder than others."
She didn't say anything for a moment, but her silence was comforting in a way. She let me sit with my exhaustion, not trying to rush me, not making it seem like I had to be anything other than what I was in that moment.
"Motherhood is beautiful," Afeni continued, her tone softer now, almost as if she were reassuring herself too. "But it's also a lot of work, Lanny. A lot of emotional work. You need to be gentle with yourself."
I couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh, the sound a little hollow. "I don't know if I know how to be gentle with myself anymore," I said, my voice almost breaking as I spoke. "I'm trying, but it feels like I'm always running behind."
