motherhood broke me

Motherhood broke me.
But not the way I thought it would.
And it did not happen all at once.

It happened in the silence.
In the self-sacrifice.

I became a mother during Covid.
I had complications after, but at least she was okay, right

I was not.
And that did not seem to matter.
At least that was the message I got, over and over.

We hunkered down and did our best to survive.

I was 40 when I became a mom.
It was disorienting.

I had been on a personal growth path for years.
I had worked on my limiting beliefs and trauma.
I had danced with my patterns.
I thought I had them in check.

But a different programme was being revealed.
The one only motherhood, and the generations before you, knows.

That love equals self-sacrifice.
That motherhood equals martyrdom.

I was terrified of disappearing into the very thing I always wanted.
The kind of motherhood that erased the women before me.
The kind that kept me quiet when the voice inside said no, because it was supposed to be best for my daughter, right
The kind that shoved my needs so far down I could not find them.
Feeding my family while I felt too empty to eat.

I was not just burnt out.
I was done.

The grief I postponed

When I finally let myself grieve, things shifted.

The baby shower that lockdown cancelled.
The support I did not get because my husband could not be in the ultrasound room.
The mom groups that did not exist because we were all at home.
The mat leave experience others got and I did not.

As I named the losses, peace returned.
Joy cracked free.
Grief and joy are two sides of the same coin.

What changed

The journey is no longer self-sacrifice.
It is self-honouring.

If you are a therapist or health practitioner and you are ready to honour yourself instead of disappear
inside your business,
your marriage,
your motherhood,

I would love to walk with you.