Protecting Others

The Lullaby Still Lingers

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Written from a moment I didn’t want to let go.

Last night, I rocked Beckett a little longer.
Not because he needed it —
but because I did.
It was Thursday.
The end of the week’s stretch.
The end of my energy.

I held him close and sang our song.
The one I’ve been singing since he was in my belly —
and the one I always return to when the world feels loud.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

I sang it slowly.
Letting the words settle in the quiet between us.

I knew the house would be still today.
And I guess I just wanted to carry the sound a little longer.

I’ve been thinking about how much I try to earn rest —
like I have to finish everything first.
Like I can only stop once I’ve proven I’m doing enough.

But last night reminded me…
rest doesn’t wait for everything to be finished.
It waits for me to say enough for now.

And maybe that’s what that moment was —
me choosing stillness.
Choosing to breathe.

Just me, my baby, and the soft sound of a song
that feels like home.

And now, the house is quiet.
The lullaby has faded.
But the love —
it lingers.

And maybe…
that’s all I need to rest today.

When the Past Shows Up Without Warning

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

From one anonymous woman to another

I saw a face today— not in person — but I didn’t expect to see it.
And something in me froze.

I thought I had moved past it — or at least moved far enough away from it.
But some memories don’t knock before they come rushing in.

They don’t care if you were having a good morning.

They don’t care if you were feeling strong, or grounded, or even just okay.

One photo. One name. One echo.
And suddenly, you’re back in a moment you never wanted in the first place — much less to revisit.

It didn’t last forever. The wave passed.
But I felt it — the weight in my chest, the lump in my throat, the questions I’ve already answered a hundred times:
“Was it really that bad?”
“Should I have done more to protect the future women who meet him?”
“Why am I still shaken by this?”

And then I did what I could.
I shared what was safe.
I used my voice — anonymously — to protect someone who might not know what they’re walking into.
Not out of anger.
But out of care.
Because I would’ve wanted someone to do the same for me back then.

And now… I’m looking down at this perfect little face, as I rock my baby for a nap.

His breath slows against my shoulder.
One hand curled against my chest, the other on my back.
The room quiet.

And just like that — I am back in this moment.

One that’s steady.
One that’s safe.
One that’s mine.

I don’t owe the past my silence.
And I don’t owe it my presence either.

I’m here now — in this soft, still place where healing is allowed to happen.
Where I have found my voice.