I became a mother…

I became a mother…

I became a mother…

And with that, I feel like my entire identity shifted.

From the moment of conception, my body was preparing for what felt like the ultimate test of patience, strength, surrender and survival; physically, mentally and emotionally.

Pregnancy changed me forever. Not just on the outside, but internally. It rewired me in ways I’m still trying to understand.

And that’s the strange thing about motherhood. It is both deeply personal and completely universal. An experience that can feel so isolating, yet so many women quietly carry the same thoughts, fears, love and grief.

This page is dedicated to that.

To the honest parts of motherhood.

The soft parts.

The heavy parts.

The parts we whisper about, but don’t always say out loud.

Because you can love your child more than life itself, and still hate the thought of ever being pregnant again. You can be grateful, and still traumatised. You can be blessed, and still changed by what it took to get here.

This is an open space for motherhood, marriage, womanhood, books, lifestyle and all the little pieces of me I’m slowly learning to meet again.

Welcome to my little corner🤍 I’m glad you’re here!

Let’s break down pregnancy.

Some women have it easy.

Some women glow, float through it, and look back on it as the most beautiful season of their life.

And some women don’t.

I fit into the latter.

For me, pregnancy was not soft. It was not glowing skin, cute cravings and peaceful days. It was survival.

Hyperemesis gravidarum.

Constant anxiety.

Pre-eclampsia.

Insane itching.

A body that no longer felt like mine.

A mind that was constantly bracing for the next thing.

And the strangest part is, even though pregnancy is such a universal experience, it can feel so lonely when your version of it does not look like the version everyone romanticises.

I loved my baby from the beginning.

But I did not love being pregnant.

And I think more women should be allowed to say that without guilt.

The beauty of becoming a mother is so deeply entwined with anxiety.

And when you have known loss before, that anxiety lives in you differently.

It sits quietly in the background of every appointment, every scan, every symptom, every silence.

One day, when I am strong enough, I will tell my story.

But for now, I will say this.

Pregnancy after loss is not just excitement. It is hope wrapped in fear. It is loving someone so deeply before you have even held them, whilst being terrified that love may be taken from you again.

Every night, you whisper a prayer to make it safely to the morning.

And every morning, you wake up only to be met by a new wave of worry.

At first, the little flutters feel magical. You wonder what your tiny baby is doing inside you. You smile at the thought of them moving, growing, existing.

Then the kicks become stronger. Familiar. Reassuring.

Until suddenly, the absence of a kick feels like the ground has disappeared beneath you.

You find yourself waiting. Counting. Holding your breath.

Trips to MAU.

Last-minute Dopplers ordered from Amazon.

Asking your husband to use his stethoscope, just in case he might hear another heartbeat.

Trying to stay calm while your whole body is begging for reassurance.

No one really prepares you for how daunting it can be.

How motherhood can begin long before birth.

In whispered prayers.

In anxious nights.

In waiting rooms.

In tears you do not always have to explain.

In loving a tiny life so fiercely, while praying every day that you will get to bring them home.