The words that changed everything ❤️‍🩹

It was November 3, 2023, exactly a month after Rahaa was born. That day, we had her first doctor’s appointment since her discharge from the hospital. It was meant to be just a routine checkup, nothing alarming, nothing to worry about. Rahaa was sleeping well, eating well, pooping well… all the boxes ticked. So, we walked into the clinic with light hearts, not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

We met Dr Rathi, who gently examined Rahaa. He smiled and said, “Everything is perfect, Rahaa is perfect.”

Those are the exact words we wanted to hear and were enough to make us breathe easier. We shared a bit of lighthearted chitchat with the Doc, and, like all first-time parents, Nikhil and I bombarded Dr Rathi with a dozen questions about breastfeeding, sleep patterns, burping techniques, and everything in between. He answered them all with such patience, never once making us feel silly for asking.

We were about to leave the room when Dr. Rathi looked at me and said, “Richa, I must tell you something, you are doing an amazing job and you are an amazing mum, Rahaa is so lucky to have you.”

And just like that, I broke.

I didn’t even make it out of the room gracefully. I mumbled a “Thank you,” turned away before he could see my face crumple, and walked — fast — until I found a corner near the exit, half-hidden behind a column. I stood there and sobbed inconsolably, one hand pressed against the wall. The world kept moving & someone called a name at the reception desk, a child laughed somewhere down the corridor, and I just stood there, falling apart in the most ordinary hallway in the world. It wasn’t pain. It was relief, pure, unfiltered relief flooding into every corner I hadn’t realised was hollow.

Nikhil stood there, bewildered. “What happened? Why are you crying? Nothing was wrong…” And he was right, nothing was wrong.

But neither of us could fully see, in that moment, what those words had unlocked. The truth is, I hadn’t known I needed it until it arrived. I hadn’t known how much weight I’d been quietly carrying, not until someone named it, and the weight suddenly had somewhere to go.

“You are doing an amazing job.” That was the validation I didn’t know I was yearning for.

Being a first-time mom is like walking through an endless maze, blindfolded. Every cry, every feed, every moment of sleep (or the lack of it) feels like a test you’re bound to fail. The love for your baby is overwhelming, but so is the self-doubt.

At 2 am on day nineteen, I convinced myself that Rahaa wasn’t latching properly and that she was slowly starving, even though she’d gained weight at every check. I Googled it, then I ChatGPT it. Then I lay there in the dark next to a perfectly fed, perfectly sleeping baby and her father, certain I was failing her in some invisible way I hadn’t figured out yet. That’s the thing nobody tells you, the fear isn’t always loud. Sometimes it just hums underneath everything, a quiet, constant static.

Until that moment in the clinic, I hadn’t realised how much I was seeking validation from Nikhil, from my mum, from my mother-in-law, from anyone around. I just wanted someone to say, “Hey, it’s been tough, but look at you, you’re figuring it out. You’re doing such a great job.”

And when Dr Rathi said it, it hit me like a wave, a wave that washed away the silent insecurities I had been carrying for weeks. I was being a good mum, and I was enough for her.

So, here’s my heartfelt shoutout to all the husbands, partners, parents, and friends. PLEASE tell the new mom in your life that she’s doing an amazing job. While everyone is busy admiring the newborn, as they should be, don’t forget the woman who is quietly navigating the most vulnerable, exhausting, and beautiful transition of her life. She is holding herself together with love and willpower, and while warm meals and extra sleep help, nothing steadies her like a few honest words: “You’re doing amazing, and your baby is so lucky to have you.”

Maybe that’s all any of us need, to be seen, just once, by someone who isn’t guessing at our worth the way we are.