When Plans Fell Apart
I thought I knew what to expect. I’d read the books, followed the parenting accounts, asked the right questions. I prepared for sleepless nights, endless diapers, and the occasional meltdown. But nothing absolutely nothing could prepare me for the tidal wave that is early motherhood.
The birth plan went sideways before we even got to the hospital. Breastfeeding didn’t come naturally. My baby cried more than the books said she would. And despite being surrounded by people, I felt isolated. I kept asking myself: what am I doing wrong?
Truth is, most of it didn’t go by the book and that’s something no prenatal class warns you about. The emotional high of meeting my child was real but so was the exhaustion, the self doubt, the crashing hormones. I wasn’t just taking care of a baby I was trying to piece together a version of myself that suddenly felt foreign.
Becoming a mom wasn’t the tidy, glowing transformation I imagined. It was messy. Loud. Sometimes lonely. But it was also the beginning of something strong and real. Something deeper than any plan I could’ve made on paper.
Silent Struggles: The Things No One Told Me
The hardest part wasn’t the sleepless nights or the endless diaper changes it was the isolation. Sitting in a quiet room with a baby asleep on my chest, I felt like I had vanished. Not just from social life, but from myself. Who was I, now that everything I did revolved around keeping another human alive? I wasn’t sure anymore.
And then came the guilt. Everyone told me how lucky I was. A healthy child. A safe home. So many moms would give anything for what I had. So who did I think I was, feeling like something had been taken from me? I pushed the feelings down and smiled when I was supposed to. I said I was fine when I wasn’t.
But the truth has a way of sneaking out, especially when you’re barely holding it together. Quiet cracks began to form, and in reaching out ever so cautiously I started hearing echoes from other mothers. Stories that looked a lot like mine. I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t broken. I was living a side of motherhood nobody warned me about. And I wasn’t alone.
The Breaking Point
It was 2:47 a.m. My newborn was screaming. I was sitting on the cold bathroom floor, back against the tub, crying quietly into a hand towel so I wouldn’t wake anyone else. I hadn’t slept in maybe three days not real sleep and my body felt like it was disintegrating. My thoughts swung between guilt, rage, and shame. Guilt for not feeling grateful. Rage at how invisible I felt. Shame for not being the mom I thought I’d be.
That night, I looked in the mirror and saw someone I didn’t recognize sunken eyes, blank expression, a body that didn’t feel like mine. That was the moment something snapped, but not in the way I feared. It was the start of seeing myself differently: not as weak or failing, but as someone in trouble. Someone who needed help.
And it wasn’t just about me anymore. My son deserved a mother who could show up for him not one barely holding on. I didn’t want my silence to become normal. So I spoke. First to my partner, then to my doctor. That conversation became a lifeline.
If you’ve been there, or you’re there now, know this: asking for help isn’t giving up. It’s choosing to keep going. It’s choosing yourself and your child.
Read more about how I began to heal: overcoming postpartum depression
Finding My Voice Again
Therapy wasn’t a magic wand, but it gave me language for what I hadn’t been able to name. Depression. Anger. Shame. I started with once a week sessions that felt awkward at first then strangely grounding. Saying “I’m not okay” out loud took the air out of shame’s lungs. Slowly, I started breathing again.
Support groups mattered too. Sitting in a room (or Zoom call) with other mothers who weren’t pretending gave me more than advice it gave me perspective. I didn’t have to explain myself to them. They just got it. And in those spaces, I grew a little braver.
Small victories kept me going. Showering before noon. Taking my stroller outside without it becoming a battleground. Saying no to something that drained me. None of it went on Instagram. But to me they were wins. Fuel, really.
Rebuilding self worth didn’t come from some grand revelation. It came from quiet days, showing up, and telling the truth. That I needed help. That I deserved help. That I wasn’t broken I was healing.
If you’re in it too, here’s more on overcoming postpartum depression. Maybe my story can help you start your own.
Becoming Stronger Than I Ever Thought Possible
At some point, the chaos stopped dragging me under. It started building me up.
Motherhood didn’t magically get easier it still tested me daily but the way I showed up to it changed. I stopped trying to control every outcome. I let go of the image of the perfect mom I thought I needed to be. And in that surrender, I found a kind of quiet power I never knew I had.
Time became less about productivity and more about presence. I learned to slow down, to actually see my child, not just manage their needs. And that patience? It didn’t come easy. But it came. Some days it felt like progress just to breathe through five minutes of screaming or let the dishes stay dirty so I could sit and be still.
Bit by bit, I let go of the guilt, the measuring stick, and the running mental list of how I thought I was failing. That space made room for someone new: a version of me who didn’t need to have it all figured out, but showed up anyway with grit, tenderness, and resolve.
I used to think motherhood would strip me down. In a way, it did. But what was left behind the core, the real me was stronger. More grounded. More human. And I wouldn’t trade her for anything.
For Any Mother Who’s Still in the Dark
You’re not broken.
You’re not weak.
And you’re definitely not a failure.
That voice in your head the one telling you that struggling means you’re not cut out for this? That voice lies.
The truth is, strength doesn’t always look like getting up every morning with a smile. Sometimes it looks like crying in the shower, texting a friend two words: “I’m drowning,” or sitting across from a therapist and saying, “I can’t do this alone.”
That’s not weakness it’s courage in its rawest form.
If you’re in the thick of it, know this: others have stood where you are. They felt lost, ashamed, tired to their bones. And they made it through not suddenly, not perfectly but step by step.
So even if you can’t see it yet, there is a way forward. You don’t have to fix everything overnight. You just have to believe, for one more day, that the road doesn’t end here.
You are not alone. You never were.
This story isn’t just my own it’s a mirror for so many. May you see your light in it.
Reginalita Leeons played a vital role in building the supportive environment that Motherhood Tales Pro is known for. With a strong background in wellness and outreach, she guided the development of resources that address the holistic needs of mothers. Her compassionate input ensured that every offering—from blog posts to wellness tools—felt thoughtful, inclusive, and empowering.