Cap And Crown

I didn’t just earn a degree

I found myself,

Inbetween nappies and deadlines,

tucked into lunchboxes and long nights,

stitched into nursery rhymes and lecture notes.

 

I am a mother of three;

a walking symphony of chaos and calm.

While some were chasing dreams in silence,

I was chasing them while someone cried in the background,

and someone else needed juice.

 

My study breaks were breastfeeding,

My alarm clock was a baby’s cry.

Group chats? I missed them.

Late night essays? I smashed them,

between stories and sleepy eyes.

 

I read books with one hand,

wrote papers with the other,

while my children watched

and learned

what resilience looks like

in heels and house shoes.

 

They say it takes a village;

but sometimes,

it just takes a mother

who refuses to fold.

 

I was told I couldn’t do it.

That I was too busy, too tired, too late.

But they forgot:

We birth nations.

Of course we can birth new futures.

 

This cap on my head?

It’s more than fabric and thread.

It’s a crown I forged in fire,

one sleepless night at a time.

 

To every mother still pushing,

still climbing with babies on her back,

know this:

There is no timeline on purpose.

You are not behind

you are becoming.

 

So today,

I don’t just graduate.

I rise.

And my children rise with me.