15 Years of Motherhood: Losing Myself, Rebuilding, and Finally Coming Home

Today, my daughter turns 15.

And I’ve been reflecting on what it really means to mother for 15 years.

Not just the day she was born.

Not just the school plays or birthday parties.

But the becoming, the shift that starts the moment you become someone’s whole world.

And how, without even realising it, you give up being your own.

When I became a mum, I already had years of experience behind me - nursery settings, private nanny roles, supporting families with routines, behaviour, sleep. I knew children. I thought that would somehow prepare me.

It didn’t.

Because when it’s your own baby, nothing compares.

It’s all-consuming - the brain ache of making sure they’re fed well, not just fed.

Of tracking sleep, milestones, moods.

Of wondering constantly:

Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right? Am I raising a good human?

You get so lost in giving.

And the world applauds that kind of sacrifice.

I didn’t want to be away from her.

But I wanted someone to come round and cook for me.

To hold her while I had a bath.

To tidy the kitchen so I didn’t cry over the dishes.

What I wanted was support.

Not someone to take over.

Just someone to see me, hear me, hold space for me.

That part never really stops.

Years later, I was the PTA mum.

The one with the tidy house, the well-presented children, the calendar in my head that reminded other mums it was mufti day.

The one who kept the plates spinning.

But underneath that was a woman slowly disappearing.

And a few years ago, it all came crashing down.

My whole world burned to the ground.

Suddenly, I was a single mum, starting again.

And that’s when I realised:

I had spent years supporting other people - in my work as a nanny, as a sleep consultant, as a friend.

Telling them to trust their instincts.

To listen to their gut.

To tune in to their child and themselves.

But I had ignored my own gut for too long.

And it blew up in my face.

I had to walk the walk.

Rebuilding my life meant more than getting back on my feet.

It meant rebuilding myself - not into who I thought I should be, but into someone I actually recognised.

Not just the mum who gets things done.

But the woman my children could love, not for what I do, but for who I am.

Because that’s the real work, isn’t it?

When we begin to value ourselves not just as parents, but as people - we parent differently.

We live differently.

That’s the heart of what I do now.

I don’t just help families get more sleep.

I hold space for the women (and partners) who are stretched too thin, doubting themselves, desperate for someone to say, “You’re not broken - let’s figure this out together.”

There is no one-size-fits-all solution to parenting, or sleep, or life.

There is only your life - and the way it feels to live it.

So if you’re exhausted, unsure, or running on autopilot - I see you.

You don’t need to hand your power over.

You just need someone to help you find it again.

You can be you.

You can have rest.

You can be loved, as you are.

You don’t have to do it alone.