My daughter was the death of the weakest parts of me and the birth of the strongest

I used to think that having a child would be the death of me.

In a way, it was.

I'm not who I once was and I will never be that version of her again.

This was after I taught at a workshop in Alabama. 

Maeve had traveled with me, and my husband, because she was still breastfeeding and I didn't want to leave her for five days.

She stood in the back of the room and watched me give my presentation to a room full of artists. 

I had a sense of pride and accomplishment that went so far beyond teaching.

My daughter was witnessing that she could have it all, even though it takes sacrifice and support.

My daughter was the death of the weakest parts of me and the birth of the strongest. 

I gave her life, but I owe her mine.