My Armour Is an Apron – Part 6

Apron

A homemaker’s quiet strength in the face of daily battles

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They say warriors wear armour

Iron plates. Shields. Helmets

Mine?

It’s soft cotton, tied loosely at the back,

Stained with haldi, oil, and the story of ten thousand meals

An apron😊

Nothing grand—but it guards me more than they know

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Every day, I walk into the battlefield of routine

Not to fight anyone, but to fight through monotony

Mood swings,

Milk boiling over,

Unexpected guests,

And moments where I want to scream but smile instead

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This apron has seen me at my worst

It’s caught my tears when I couldn’t hold them in

It’s wiped hands that were trembling from tiredness

It’s covered my anxiety like a cloak—so no one else had to feel it

And yet, every morning, I wear it again

Willingly

Bravely

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This is not surrender. This is service

Not forced. Not small

But chosen

Because feeding a family, holding emotions, balancing bills,

Takes more courage than most people understand

When the pressure cooker whistles,

When the child cries,

When the phone rings with “What’s for lunch?”—

I hold my ground

I hold my calm

I hold my home

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My apron is not pretty. But it is powerful

It holds the memory of birthday cakes and burnt curries,

Fever nights and festival mornings

It holds me—

When no one else does

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I may not march into war

But I fight for peace

In the kitchen

In the living room

Inside my own mind

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So yes, I wear an apron. But make no mistake..

It is my armour

And every day, I walk tall in it..😊

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until next time, keep smiling

much love .. stay happy .. stay blessed .. always

SMITHA