Marta’s days were a monotonous blur of exhaustion and sadness. Cleaning other people’s houses while her nine-year-old son, Samuel, spent hours alone in front of the television had become her routine. The clock struck five, and she realized she hadn’t prepared anything for dinner. Truthfully, she didn’t have the energy. Sadness had clung to her like dampness for weeks, weighing her down and making even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable.

Samuel, sensing her mood, walked into the room with his school notebook open. “Mom, can you help me with my homework?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not now, Samuel. I’m too tired,” Marta replied, avoiding his gaze.

Samuel lowered his eyes, quietly closed the notebook, and walked away without saying another word.

Marta sank into the couch, covered her face with her hands, and let the heaviness of her emotions take over. She felt like she was failing at everything—being a mother, maintaining a home, and even living.

An hour later, her phone buzzed with a message from her sister:
“Are you okay? You haven’t answered in days.”

Marta stared at the screen but didn’t reply. She didn’t want to admit that she was struggling, that every part of her felt broken, and that she couldn’t find a reason to keep going.

Samuel appeared again, his small voice breaking the silence. “Mom, can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Samuel,” Marta said, forcing herself to respond.

“Today, the teacher asked us to draw our hero,” he began, his voice steady. “And I drew you. With a cape and everything.”

Marta looked at him, stunned. “Me? Why would you draw me?”

“Because even though you’re tired, you’re always here,” Samuel explained. “You give me kisses before bed, and you didn’t give up when Dad left us.”

Marta felt her heart skip a beat. She swallowed hard, trying to process his words.

“Is that really how you see me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Of course,” Samuel replied, smiling. “Didn’t you know that?”

No, Marta hadn’t known. She had been so consumed by her own pain that she couldn’t hear the love and admiration her son felt for her.

Sometimes, the noise of our inner struggles is so loud that it drowns out the things that truly matter.

That night, after tucking Samuel into bed, Marta sat down and picked up her phone. She typed out a message to her sister:
“I’m not okay. But I want to be. Can we talk tomorrow?”

She also wrote another message, one she didn’t send:
“Today, I almost said nothing. But my son reminded me who I am. And that it’s not too late to start again.”

The next day, Marta made the hardest decision of her life: she sought help. She called a therapist and scheduled an appointment. It wasn’t easy. During her first session, she cried, felt ashamed, and doubted herself. But she didn’t give up.

“Why are you here?” the psychologist asked gently.

“Because I’m tired of pretending everything is fine,” Marta admitted. “And because… yesterday, for a moment, I remembered that there’s still some light left in me.”

The therapist nodded with understanding. “That’s enough to start.”

Weeks turned into months, and slowly, Marta began to find herself again. She started laughing—not always, but sometimes. She caught herself humming while cooking dinner. And for the first time in years, she felt like more than just a shadow in her own life.

One afternoon, while walking through the park, Samuel reached for Marta’s hand. His small fingers curled around hers as he looked up at her and said, “Mom, now you really look like a superhero.”

Marta stopped and smiled—not the tired, forced smile of before, but a genuine one that came from deep within.

“Thank you for not letting me forget who I am,” she said softly.

Samuel, not fully understanding her words but sensing their importance, squeezed her hand tighter.

Marta’s journey wasn’t marked by grand gestures or dramatic changes. It was quiet, gradual, and deeply personal. She didn’t return to the person she had been before—she became someone braver, more honest, and more alive.

Samuel had always seen her as his superhero. What Marta learned was that she could be her own superhero, too. And sometimes, all it takes to rediscover yourself is someone who believes in you when you’ve forgotten how to believe in yourself.