I have been a mother for 13 years now. Wow. Even writing that makes me feel a little old. In those 13 years, I have been the portal for five babies, each with a completely different personality, different needs, and different ways of moving through the world. And five times, I have also met a different version of myself as a mother. Motherhood has been my deepest teacher, and it has also lived alongside my work in psychology and Montessori education.

Over these thirteen years of motherhood, I have heard so much parenting advice, and honestly, some of it has sounded completely ridiculous to me. You know those moments when someone tells you what you “should” do, but your intuition immediately says, Nope. That does not feel right. So many of the things I was warned not to do are the very things I am now most grateful I did.

Things like:

• Don’t hold the baby too much,

• Don’t respond every time they cry,

• Don’t let them sleep with you,

• Don’t nurse them for too long,

• They need to learn independence,

• They need to learn to self-soothe,

• They will become too attached,

• They will never leave your bed,

• They will always need you,

• My favorite for the end: “If you keep picking that baby up, they are going to get used to it.”

Well… I am going to tell you a little secret, mama: none of those things is true. None. Yes, they do get used to it. They get used to being comforted. They get used to knowing that when they need you, you will be there. Their deeper needs are met, and from that, trust begins to grow: trust in you, trust in the world, and eventually, trust in themselves.

They get used to knowing that when life becomes overwhelming, someone comes; they are building safety within their little body and nervous system. They get used to warmth, love and care.

They get used to being held while their tiny nervous system is still learning how to exist in this enormous world, and eventually, they grow, and your mama heart may ache a little as they grow, but there is also so much joy in watching them thrive and become more and more themselves.

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“Don’t hold your baby too much. They’ll become clingy.”

I held my babies a lot. And if I am honest, it was just as much for me as it was for them. I carried them in a scarf or baby carrier; they were with me while I was walking, cooking, talking, living…

I picked them up when they cried; I nurtured them and hugged them when they were scared; I let them fall asleep against me and still do for some of them. And guess what happened?

But whenever they need my arms, I am here for them, and I will always be here, and they know it!

They have learned to leave my arms when they were ready, to go explore, to climb, to make friends, to walk into rooms without me, to develop an opinion (And I can guarantee you, they have some very big opinions of their own! Haha.)

My oldest is thirteen now; he is not walking around asking me to carry him because I held him too much as a baby. Does it sound not so ridiculous?? He has become his own person; he is bold, confident, loving, caring and persistent.

“If you respond every time they cry, they’ll manipulate you.”

A newborn does not cry to control the adults. To me, this saying is confusing. A baby cries because crying is communication; they communicate their needs:

• Hunger

• Cold

• Fear

• Discomfort

• Pain

• Overstimulation

• Needing to potty

• Loneliness

• A need for contact

And if we do not know exactly which one it is, that doesn’t make the need illegitimate. When my babies cried, I responded. Not because I believed I could prevent every uncomfortable emotion, but because there is a profound difference between having a feeling and being alone inside of it.

It does not happen perfectly or all at once. It grows slowly, through thousands of moments of being met, comforted, and loved. So please, mama, never feel bad about responding to your sweet baby. They need you even if your aunt Suzy told you that you are “spoiling your baby and your baby is manipulating you”. Just respond, “Is that so?” and walk away. We have the power to stop generational traumas of "lack of”. Never feel bad for listening to your intuition.

“They have to learn to self-soothe.”

This is one of the strangest expectations we place upon babies as adults; we can also struggle to regulate ourselves. We call friends, hug our partners, go for walks, go in nature, take baths, drink tea, see therapists, do embodied exercises, breathe deeply, seek human connection, and yet somehow we expect a six-month-old (or even sometimes sooner) to lie alone in the dark and master nervous-system regulation?? Confusing!

Babies learn regulation through relationship first:

• Your heartbeat

• Your voice

• Your smell

• Your arms

• Your rhythm

Before there is self-regulation, there is co-regulation.

I never saw soothing my children as doing something they should have been doing themselves. I saw it as lending them my nervous system until theirs had a little more capacity.

“If they sleep with you, they will never leave.”

This one still makes me laugh. We have shared sleep in many different ways throughout our family life. In fact, we still co-sleep now, and I would not change a thing. My thirteen-year-old (who co-slept with us when he was younger) grew up beautifully, and this summer he traveled to France on his own to visit my family.

So yes, I can promise you: they do leave. They grow. They become more independent. And one day, you look back and realize how precious all those little moments of closeness really were. How could I ever regret spending that time with the people I love most in this world?

For us, sleep has never been about following a rule or proving that our children can sleep a certain way. It has always been about finding what feels right for our family, what helps everyone feel safe, connected, and rested.

“You’re making them too dependent on you.”

I used to hear dependence spoken about almost like a parenting failure, but babies are dependent. What expectation are adults holding?

Dependence is not a flaw; it is the developmental reality of being human, and the goal is to let dependence be fully lived so independence can slowly emerge from something secure.

My children still need me; of course they do. My thirteen-year-old needs me differently than my two-year-old. My eight-year-old needs something different again, and the same for my 6- and 4-year-olds, but I do not want my children to pride themselves on never needing another person. I want my children to know that they can do hard things and they can trust themselves, and if they need to reach out for the support of people they love, then I need them to not be afraid to ask for help. Asking for help is not a weakness; it is a human need and connection.

“Comforting them will make them soft.”

I am not interested in raising “tough” children if toughness means becoming disconnected from tenderness, disconnected from their own needs, body and soul. I want my sons to know they can cry. They can come to me and cry. This is not weakness. I want my daughters to know they do not have to minimize their needs to make other people comfortable. I want all five of them to know that strength and softness coexist.

What 13 years have taught me

Motherhood has humbled me far too much to tell another woman that there is only one correct way to raise a child. Children are different, families are different, mothers are different. I have changed enormously between baby number one and baby number five. There are things I would do differently now; there are moments I wish I could redo. But I give myself grace, love and compassion.

I am not writing this from a place of perfect motherhood. I don’t believe such a place exists. I am writing this for you, mama, if you are at the beginning of your motherhood journey and you are doubting yourself, judging yourself, or feeling guilty for following your instincts. I want you to know this: I have never regretted giving more love. I have never looked at one of my children and thought, I wish I had held you less. I have never wished I had ignored more cries, carried them less, comforted them less, or been less available to them. If anything, I am grateful for every moment I chose closeness.

If anything, thirteen years have taught me just how quickly every stage disappears. Time truly flies, and before you know it, your baby will be flying on his own to Europe, starting a career, accomplishing their dream…

The baby who could not sleep without your chest will one day close their bedroom door. The toddler who says “Mama” every thirty seconds will one day spend hours inside a world you only partially know.

The child who reaches up for your hand will eventually stop doing it automatically.

And from what I have witnessed across five children and thirteen years of motherhood, that has not made my children smaller; the opposite, it has given them a safe place from which to grow.

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

There is so much language now around the transformation of motherhood, matrescence, identity loss, nervous system changes, grief, expansion and the death of an old self and the slow becoming of a new one. I am grateful we are finally speaking about it but today I feel called to share another type of transformation that is happening beside us that I do not think we talk about nearly enough.

The becoming of a father.

Not in the same way as the mother. In fact, he does not carry the baby inside of his womb; he does not birth them; his hormones do not move through pregnancy, birth and postpartum in the same way, and his body is not physically opened by the experience, but yet fatherhood can still crack something open inside of a man. Most of the tine quietly, painfully and/or in ways that he does not even have a name for it.

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A father is meeting himself too

Children have a way of bringing us directly into contact with the parts of ourselves we have not yet looked at, and fathers are no exception. A crying baby can awaken helplessness or anger; the pressure to provide can awaken fear or anxiety; a child pushing against a boundary can bring him straight back to the way he was disciplined, and it can awaken traumas and wounds.

And then, somewhere in all of this, he may begin looking at his own childhood differently, his own father differently. Perhaps he will suddenly understand him more, or confront him to grieve what he has never received. He might begin to notice the things he promised himself he would never want to repeat.

Men can lose themselves in parenthood too

We speak often about women missing who they were before children, but I think men can quietly grieve parts of their old lives as well.

• The spontaneity,

• The freedom,

• The relationship as it existed before children,

• Sleep,

• Sex,

• Friendships,

• Time alone,

• The ease of being responsible only for yourself,

There is a new weight, not an unwanted one, a love one, but a real one. The awareness that these little lives depend on you, that your choices matter differently now, that your partner is relying on you, that your children are watching you.

Sometimes his transformation looks like pressure

This is one of the places I think couples can so easily lose sight of each other after having children.

The mother may be carrying the weight of feeling unseen in everything she is holding and the father may be carrying the pressure of feeling responsible for keeping everything together. She may need more presence, softness, and to feel witnessed in what she is moving through. And the may instinctively move toward solutions, believing that helping means finding a way to make it better.

The mother may interpret his silence as distance; the father may believe staying strong is the most loving thing he can do. She may want him to come closer, he may not even know how to explain what is happening inside of him.

This happens not because the love is gone but because both people are transforming, and neither one quite knows the person they are becoming yet.

I have watched this happen in my own husband

After thirteen years of watching my husband be a father, I can see how deeply fatherhood has transformed him, not in a bad way.

He had always been the calm one, rarely angry. Fatherhood began bringing him closer to wounds, patterns, and parts of his past that neither of us fully understood at first. Some reactions felt bigger than the moment, an anger that seemed unfamiliar, parts of him surfacing that had never been seen before. Over time, we understood that fatherhood was not creating these parts of him; it was revealing what he had been carrying all along.

My background in psychology helped us slow down and become curious about what was happening underneath those reactions. We were putting language to the patterns, tracing them back to where they came from, and bringing awareness to what had previously been unconscious, the abuse, the traumas. Once something is brought into awareness, we have the possibility of choosing differently rather than continuing to live from it automatically.

Our children were touching old wounds, old ways of protecting himself, old patterns that once belonged to the boy he had been and this is where awareness became so important.

He did not erase his story, but he no longer allows it to decide who he has to be and most important of all he is a cycle breaker. I am so proud of him, and I love him dearly.

Fatherhood can soften a man

There is something incredibly beautiful about watching a man become a father and seeing new parts of him come alive: tenderness, protection, devotion, love, nurturing, and a gentleness that may not have had the same space to exist before.

Children do not just listen to their fathers; they absorb them; they are learning what love looks like through the way he speaks, the way he handles anger, the way he treats their mother, the way he repairs after getting something wrong.

He becomes part of the foundation for how his daughters will understand love, safety, respect, and what they one day look for in a relationship with a man.

Perhaps fatherhood is an initiation too

Motherhood has felt deeply initiatory to me, it has stripped things away, shown me parts of myself I did not know were there. It has brought old wounds to the surface and asked me to become more conscious of how I move through the world. Motherhood awakens my Self, and I am so grateful for this.

After watching my husband move through his own becoming, I have started to think that fatherhood is offering men their own initiation. Not identical to ours, but this is NOT less meaningful.

There is an invitation to open without becoming weak, to become responsible without disappearing in the responsibility, to learn tenderness and to meet the boy he once was, to become aware of the wounds and patterns he has carried quietly, and to question what he was taught masculinity had to look like. To become more present, more emotionally honest, more conscious of what he is passing down.

Being a parent is not only about raising our children, but it is also about meeting and revealing our Self to ourselves. To discover a deeper love from within, but also with each other.

Old family patterns can be questioned, interrupted, and reshaped. We have the power to choose differently, create new ways of loving and relating, and change what gets carried forward for generations to come.

With love,

Chloe

Before I became a mother, I already had an idea of the kind of mother I would be. At the time, I was deeply immersed in psychology, training as a clinical psychologist and working alongside gifted psychologists, psychiatrists, and neuropsychiatrists. I had also already done a great deal of inner work myself, so I entered motherhood believing I was fairly self-aware.

I wanted to be patient, present, understanding. I wanted to know what my children needed, to break certain patterns, and to create the kind of childhood I believed children deserved.

And yet, motherhood had its own way of showing me that self-awareness before children and self-awareness inside motherhood are not quite the same thing.

And underneath all of that was an unspoken belief that if I understood enough, healed enough, prepared enough, and loved deeply enough, I could become the right kind of mother. Then I became one, and motherhood introduced me to reality.

Not the imagined child in my head, but an entirely separate human being with his own temperament, needs, sensitivities, desires and path. Not the imagined version of myself, but the woman who actually existed underneath all my ideas about who I thought I was.

Through five children, I have come to believe that one of the deepest transformations of motherhood happens here: The mother you thought you would be has to die.

She has to let go and die, not because she was bad, not because your ideals were foolish, but because she was an idea and real motherhood requires a living woman, a human one.

I studied psychology long before I understood what some of these concepts would feel like inside my own body. I understood conditioning, attachment, defense mechanisms, projection, and how early experiences shape our beliefs about safety, love and worth. But motherhood took those ideas out of books, and suddenly they were alive.

They were there in the moments when my reaction felt larger than what was actually happening. In the discomfort that arose when things did not go according to plan. In the parts of me that wanted control. In the places where I realized I held expectations not only for myself, but for who my children were supposed to be.

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The imagined mother is often built from conditioning

We enter motherhood carrying far more than we realize. We carry memories of our own childhood, the cultural ideas of what a “good mother” looks like, the voices of our families, the things we swore we would never do, the things we are desperate to get right.

We may build an identity around being gentle, patient, natural, productive, selfless, attuned, emotionally regulated, conscious. None of those qualities is wrong, but any identity becomes constricting when we need reality to constantly confirm it.

If I need to believe I am a patient mother, what happens when I lose my patience? Or what about if I need to be the calm mother; what happens when anger comes? Or if I need my children to be regulated to prove that I am raising them well, what happens when they fall apart in public?

And when I say ego, I do not mean arrogance. I mean the identity we construct around who we believe we are.

The roles, beliefs, stories and strategies that help us feel coherent and safe: I am this kind of person; I would never do that; my family should look like this; my children should behave like that; my life should unfold this way.

The ego likes certainty, and motherhood offers very little of it.

Our children are not here to maintain our identity

This has been one of the most humbling truths for me. My children are not here to prove that I am a good mother, and they are not extensions of me. They are not here to fulfill the image I carried of family life before I had them.

They are their own people, and I needed to let go of my own expectations, wounds, image of what my parents put on me. I started to question myself more deeply, understanding what it was awakening in me. It is a never-ending journey, but the more I become conscious and aware, the more I align with who I was always meant to be.

Awareness does not require us to stop being human

There was a time when I thought healing would eventually mean that I would no longer be triggered. I thought that if I became aware enough, healed enough, regulated enough, I would somehow arrive at this place where I could move through motherhood untouched by anger, fear, frustration, or old wounds. But I am going to tell you something: motherhood humbled me there too because healing has not meant becoming untouched by life. It has meant becoming more able to notice what life touches in me. And mama, this is where I want you to give yourself so much grace. You do not need to become a mother who never feels anger. You do not need to become a mother who never gets overwhelmed. You do not need to become someone who is perfectly regulated every time your child is dysregulated. This is NOT awareness.

Awareness is the moment you begin to notice what is happening inside of you without immediately becoming it.

There can be anger, and there can also be the part of you that notices, I am angry. There can be fear, and there can be the awareness that says, Fear is here. There can be your little voice inside telling you, I am failing as a mother, while actually something deeper inside recognize: This is a thought. It is not necessarily the truth.

This is where the deeper work begins for me. Understanding why we became who we became is only part of it:

• Our attachment patterns

• Our defenses

• Our conditioning

• Our traumas

• The younger parts of ourselves that learned how to survive, belong, stay safe, receive love, or avoid rejection.

One thing crucial to understand is that you can carry a wound without being the wound; you can have a thought without being the thought; you can feel an emotion without allowing that emotion to decide what happens next. You can feel an old part of you take over and slowly begin to say: I see you. I understand why you are here. But you do not have to lead this moment.

That space between what is activated inside of us and how we choose to respond is where so much of our freedom begins, and this is the work I want mothers to understand. The work is not becoming perfect but instead becoming conscious, not eliminating every reaction but learning with compassion how to meet ourselves inside of the reaction.

Sometimes motherhood asks us to grieve

There is grief in motherhood that we do not talk about enough. We talk about grieving our old freedom, our old body, our old rhythm and the woman we were before children, but sometimes we also have to grieve the mother we imagined ourselves becoming:

• The endlessly patient one.

• The one who would never repeat a pattern from her childhood.

• The one whose love would somehow be enough to erase everything she had carried before motherhood.

And there can be something deeply painful about realizing that I love my children more than anything, and there are still parts of me that hurt and I can react; I inherited things I do not want to pass down, and there is a part of me that is much older.
There may even be moments when you recognize your own mother or father in yourself after promising yourself for years that you would do everything differently. All of this brings grief, shame, confusion, disconnection and sadness.

You cannot bring consciousness to what you are unwilling to see, right? And you cannot heal what you keep demanding yourself to hide.

There is an initiation: the old becoming visible.

For me, this has meant learning to stay with what motherhood brings to the surface instead of turning away from it. To see the old patterns, the inherited stories, the parts of me that still want to protect, control, or prove something and to meet them with more honesty and compassion. There is grief in letting go of the woman I thought I had to be. But there is also so much freedom in no longer performing her. You will start seeing something more real becoming, YOU.

The death is not the end of you

When I say the mother you thought you would be has to die, I do not mean motherhood should erase you; I actually meant the contrary. The identities we created have to be let go so we can finally hear the woman underneath them, the woman beneath the roles, expectations. Beneath everything, she had to learn to be worthy, accepted, loved and safe.

I met the woman I have become more interested in meeting, and that is the woman I hope you will meet too. Not a perfected version of yourself, not some endlessly calm, healed, enlightened mother who never raises her voice and never gets lost in a pattern. But YOU,

• More aware

• More honest

• More connected

• More willing to listen

• More willing to repair

• More willing to come back to yourself

A mother who can say:

• I was wrong

• I need a moment

• I do not know

• This is activating something in me

• My child may need something different from what I expected

• I can repair this

• I can change

• I can begin again

This brings me back to surrender. We learn to surrender in birth, to relax, to move with what is unfolding instead of fighting against it. I have come to see motherhood in much the same way, not as passive surrender, not as giving up responsibility, but as releasing the illusion that everything outside of us has to behave a certain way for us to feel safe, and that we have to become a certain kind of mother to be enough. Behind it all, we begin to hear ourselves again.

The more I let go of who I thought I had to be, the more available I have become for the life that is actually in front of me.

After all these years and five children, I no longer believe my children need the mother I imagined before they were born; they need ME, who is willing to become the Self underneath the noise.

Over the years, in the mothers I have supported, guided, and mentored, I have seen this unfolding again and again. Motherhood brings things to the surface. Old identities, old wounds, old expectations and parts of us we thought we had already understood. Underneath thought, I have also watched something else emerge.

• A woman becoming more honest with herself

• More connected to her inner knowing

• More willing to question what she inherited

• More able to hear what belongs to fear, what belongs to conditioning, and what feels deeply true

• And little by little, she begins to live from a place that feels more aligned with who she really is

This is the work I feel called to walk alongside mothers in now: helping them meet what motherhood is revealing, so they can move through it with more awareness, more freedom, and a deeper connection to the woman and the soul they are discovering.

May you keep returning to yourself, trusting the wisdom of your body, your becoming, and the path unfolding before you,

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

We know we will most likely be tired. We know our body will change. We expect the mess, the interrupted nights, the constant needs, the enormous responsibility of raising another human being.

Of course, nothing can fully prepare us for what motherhood will actually feel like once we are inside of it, but at least we have some idea that these things are coming.

Have you ever had one of those moments when your child is crying and, suddenly, what is happening inside of you feels so much bigger than the situation itself? You feel unusually irritated, anxious, overwhelmed, or almost desperate for the crying to stop. It can happen so quickly that you might realize afterwards that this touched something much deeper in you.

Your child says no, and something inside you tightens; they reject your help, and you feel strangely hurt.

They struggle, and every part of you wants to rush in and fix it.

They are disappointed in you, and you immediately feel like you have failed and will start to feel guilty.

Our own reactions can sometimes surprise us, especially when the intensity feels bigger than the moment itself, because what is being stirred is not only about what our child is doing in front of us.

I have seen this again and again in the mothers I have had the privilege to support: how deeply a child’s behavior can touch something much older within them, an old wound, an unmet need, a protective part, a younger version of themselves that is suddenly asking to be seen.

Motherhood has a remarkable way of opening rooms within us that we may not have entered for years, maybe decades or even ever!

We may think that we are simply raising our children, but something much deeper is unfolding at the same time. In so many ways, our children become mirrors, revealing the places within us that are still asking to be seen, felt, and met.

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There have been moments in motherhood when I have felt a reaction arise in me and known almost immediately: This is bigger than what is happening right now.

Sometimes my child is right there in front of me, but I can feel that I am no longer responding only from the woman and mother I am today.

A younger part of me has stepped in. Maybe she is scared, overwhelmed, trying to control the moment, trying to make everything okay. Maybe she is desperate to be a good mother, to protect my children from what I once experienced, or exhausted from carrying so much for so long.

And for me, this is where some of the deepest inner work of motherhood begins.

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You are healed, you are cleared, you can have s3x again. And technically, perhaps the tissues have healed enough that intercourse is medically appropriate. But there is another question that matters just as much:

Do you actually want to?

Because being physically capable of having s3x and feeling ready to receive intimacy are two completely different things, and I think women deserve much more language for everything that exists between those two places.

Your body has not simply been “on a break”

Pregnancy and birth profoundly change the relationship a woman has with her body. For months, your body has belonged partly to someone else, then your baby arrives, and in many ways, that intensifies. Your breasts may feed another human being, your arms carry them, your skin regulates them, your ears remain tuned to their slightest sounds. You may spend hours each day being touched, climbed on, sucked on, held onto, needed. And then evening arrives and your partner reaches for you. Sometimes that touch feels wonderful, and sometimes your entire body says: Please. Nobody else touch me.

That does not necessarily mean something is wrong with your relationship. Sometimes your body has reached its capacity for receiving more sensation.

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Desire does not always return because six weeks have passed

The hormonal landscape postpartum matters too. After birth and particularly while breastfeeding, estrogen levels can be lower, which can contribute to vaginal dryness and discomfort during intercourse, especially if the mother is breastfeeding.

Research also suggests that changes in postpartum sexual function are incredibly common, with lactation, perineal pain, birth experiences, body image, fatigue, emotional wellbeing, and relationship factors all potentially playing a role.

When a mother says, I don’t know where my libido went, I don’t think the first response should be about getting it back.

The more important thing is to listen to what the body may be communicating to you. Low desire can be a response to exhaustion, depletion, overstimulation, pain, hormonal shifts, emotional load, or the feeling of being constantly needed. There is so much to take into consideration.

Maybe:

• You are exhausted

• Penetration hurts

• Breastfeeding has changed lubrication

• You are overstimulated

• You do not recognize your body yet

• Your resentment because she spends the entire day caring for everyone

• You want closeness but do not want sex

• You want sex very much but feel afraid of pain

• The desire has not returned yet

There is no moral meaning attached to any of these experiences, and each mothers should have the right to listen to her body, desires, and nervous system.

We should look at energy first

Postpartum needs to be understood as a time of rebuilding after enormous output. It is not a time of recovery but a time of transformation and healing.

Pregnancy takes. Birth takes. Breastfeeding takes. Interrupted sleep takes. Caring for another human being takes.

We should emphasize replenishment, warmth, grounding, nourishment, and preserving the mother’s energy during the postpartum period

Desire and sexuality need energy too. We often talk about libido as if it should exist independently from everything else a woman is carrying postpartum, but it doesn’t. When your body is undernourished, your sleep is broken, your nervous system is constantly alert, and almost every part of you is being given to someone else, there may be very little space left for desire to rise. Most of the time, low desire is not a problem to solve; it is information.

Your nervous system participates in s3x too

We often think about s3x in terms of hormones and physical healing, but desire is deeply connected to the nervous system too. To feel pleasure, the body usually needs enough safety to soften, receive, and become present. Early motherhood can ask almost the opposite: to stay alert, responsive, and constantly attuned to someone else.

Your attention is almost always moving outward after birth. You are listening for the baby, anticipating the next feed, noticing every sound, every movement, every cry. Your body can stay in a state of constant responsiveness.

And birth itself can leave its own imprint. For some women, it feels powerful and expansive. For others, there may have been fear, tearing, surgery, invasive examinations, unwanted touch, loss of control, trauma, or moments of not feeling heard.

So even when the body is physically healed, it may not yet feel fully ready to be touched sexually. This is why consent postpartum is more than simply saying yes. It is being able to stay connected to yourself enough to notice whether your body softens or tenses, you want more or less, slower or not at all. Being deeply connected to yourself matters, being able to listen inwardly and recognize when you want closeness without penetration, when your body is asking you to stop, and/or when you need more time.

And most importantly, it is crucial for you to feel safe enough to change your mind at any point.

Communicating with your husband/partner is really important. Your partner cannot always know what is happening inside your body unless you share it. Talk about what feels good, what feels different, what you are afraid of, what you miss, and what kind of closeness you need right now. A deeper and stronger relationship can grow from learning how to meet each other through this season.

Sometimes you may want affection without s3x. Sometimes you may want to be held without anything being expected afterwards. Sometimes you may need more time, more tenderness, or simply reassurance that there is no pressure.

Intimacy does not have to begin with penetration

One thing I wish more couples understood is that reconnecting s3xually after a baby does not have to begin with intercourse. There is an enormous landscape between no physical relationship and penetrative s3x.

• Lying against each other

• Kissing

• Massaging

• Being held

• Touching without expectation

• Sleeping naked together

• Taking a shower together

• Talking about what feels different

Letting affection exist without knowing where it needs to lead, and sometimes this is exactly what allows desire to begin emerging naturally again. Because when every touch feels like the beginning of a request, a tired mother may unconsciously begin protecting herself from touch altogether. There is something incredibly freeing about knowing: I can receive affection without owing anyone s3x. And a loving partner will understand that. In my own marriage, one of the things that has mattered most postpartum is that my husband has never made affection feel like a demand. His touch often helps my nervous system soften because I know I am safe to receive without needing to give anything back.

And yes, s3x may feel different

Yes, I can say from my own experience that it feels different after every birth. But different does not mean bad. It simply means your body has changed, and intimacy may need to change with it.

Birth can alter sensation. Breastfeeding can affect lubrication. Scars may make certain areas feel unfamiliar or more sensitive, and the pelvic floor may need time and support to recover. Even your relationship with your breasts can shift; they may feel less sexual for a season, or perhaps not at all.

The sexual relationship after children does not necessarily have to be a poorer version of the one you had before. But it may have to become a new one, and that requires curiosity rather than comparison.

Persistent pain during intimacy deserves attention rather than something a woman should endure. Vaginal dryness can often be addressed, and pelvic-floor or other postpartum concerns may benefit from evaluation by an appropriate clinician. Pain is not the price a woman owes for returning to intimacy.

There is also the psychological shift from mother to lover

One of the most interesting parts of postpartum is how completely motherhood can fill your identity, especially in those early months. You are mothering in the middle of the night, while you eat, while you shower, while you rest. So much of your body and attention are constantly oriented toward someone else.

Sexuality can gently bring you back into contact with another part of yourself, the woman, the lover, the sensual self. The part of you that can receive pleasure simply because it feels good.

Your body can nourish, hold, comfort, and birth. It can also experience desire, pleasure, and aliveness. Not because anyone is owed access to it. Not because enough time has passed. Not because you have been medically cleared. But because you still belong to yourself too.

S*x after birth is a relationship, not a deadline

I don’t think the goal postpartum should be to get your s*x life “back,” just as I don’t think healing is about getting your old body back.

It happens with both of you. You have become parents together, or moved deeper into parenthood. Your time is different. Your energy is different. Your bodies may feel different. Your emotional world has shifted. The way you connect may need to shift too. There may be seasons when s*x is rare, and that is okay. Or seasons when you feel deeply connected again. Months when being held matters more than intercourse. Moments that make you laugh and times when you stop halfway through, change your mind, try something different, or learn each other all over again. Isn’t that wonderful? Each time, I felt like I was getting to know my husband all over again, in a new and deeper way.

Six weeks is not a deadline. Desire cannot always be switched back on. Your partner is not wrong for wanting closeness, and you are not rejecting them because your body needs more time. There is room for both of you to speak honestly about what you need, what you miss, what feels different, and what kind of connection feels possible right now. But through all of it, your body still gets a voice. Always.

After pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, broken sleep, and giving so much of yourself physically and emotionally, sexual reconnection may begin somewhere much smaller than intercourse. It may begin with being held, or with a kiss that does not need to lead anywhere, with touch that feels safe, with closing your eyes and realizing: I don’t have to give anything right now. I can feel, receive, and I can choose.

If you have been through postpartum, what changed most for you when it came to intimacy, your desire, your body, your need for touch, or the way you and your partner connected? I would love to hear from you.

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

What Toddlers Need to Grow Into Confident Children

Confidence does not suddenly appear when our children are older. It is being built quietly in the everyday moments of toddlerhood. In the moments when we let them try before stepping in. When we allow them to struggle a little without immediately rescuing them, when we trust their growing abilities, when we give them meaningful ways to participate in family life, and when we remain close enough that they still feel safe.

A toddler is constantly discovering not only how the world works, but also who they are within it.

Can I do this?
What happens if I make a mistake?
Will someone help me if I need it?
Do I have something to contribute here?
Can I trust myself?

The answers to these questions are not taught through lectures or constant praise. They are slowly formed through experience. And this is one of the things I love most about Montessori.

When people hear Montessori at home, they often picture those beautiful Pinterest-worthy wooden shelves, a learning tower in the kitchen, tiny furniture, neutral colors, and carefully arranged toys in little baskets.

And while the environment does matter, Montessori begins somewhere much deeper. It begins with the way we see the child.

Do we see a toddler as someone who needs us to constantly entertain, direct, correct, hurry, and do things for them? Or do we see a small human being who is already developing a sense of self, discovering their abilities, learning how the world works, and quietly asking:

• Can I trust myself here?

• Am I capable?

• Do I belong?

• Will you help me when I need you without taking everything over for me?

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Independence does not mean separation

This distinction is incredibly important. Sometimes we hear the word independence and imagine a child who no longer needs us, and that is not the goal; in fact, it is the opposite. A toddler is still deeply dependent on their caregivers. They need our presence, our protection, our nervous system, our affection, our boundaries and our help.

Montessori independence is not: You should be able to do this alone. It is: I will not unnecessarily do for you what you are becoming capable of doing for yourself.

There is a tremendous difference: we remain close, we remain available, but instead of automatically stepping in, we begin observing.

Maybe your toddler is struggling to put their shoe on. Our instinct is often to grab the shoe because we can finish the task in three seconds. But what happens if we wait?They turn it around, they try again, it might fall off , they might become frustrated, they will try something different, maybe eventually they look at us and ask for help.

That entire experience mattered, and here is why.

They weren’t merely putting on a shoe; they were:

• Practicing persistence

• Problem-solving

• Coordination

• Frustration tolerance

• Communication

• And eventually, competence

Confidence comes from experience, not praise

We want our children to feel confident, so naturally we tell them:

“Good job!”

“You’re so smart!”

“You’re amazing!”

Deep confidence cannot come from our words. A child has to feel it within themselves. When a toddler struggles for several minutes to pull up their pants and finally succeeds, they experience something more powerful than praise: I did it. That quiet sense of pride becomes the foundation of real self-confidence.

The child who spills water while pouring, gets a little cloth, wipes it up and tries again learns: Mistakes are manageable.

The toddler who helps carry the napkins to the table discovers: I have something to contribute here.

Make the home belong to them too

One of the simplest ways to practice Montessori at home is to look around your house from the height of your toddler. How much of their world can they actually access? Sometimes children are constantly asking adults for help simply because the environment was designed entirely for adults.

• Their water is too high

• Their clothes are inaccessible

• They cannot reach the sink

• Their dishes are somewhere they cannot get them

• Their toys are piled inside containers they cannot manage

It doesn’t have to mean transforming your entire house, but small changes matter.

• A few clothes placed where they can choose between them

• A small pitcher of water

• A low hook for their jacket

• A stool to reach the sink

• A place for their shoes

• A little basket where dirty clothes belong

• A small cloth available when something spills

The message behind all of these small changes is simple but powerful: This is your home too. You belong here, and you have a place within this family.

Let toddlers participate in real life

Toddlers don’t only want toys; they want to participate in our world.

Watch a toddler when you sweep: they want the broom; when you cook, they want to stir; when you unload groceries, their tiny hands appear; when you fold laundry, they climb directly into the pile. We could think it is interference, but it is not; the child wants to become part of the life around them. I have seen this with all of my children, and now again with my two-year-old. It still amazes me how capable toddlers are and how deeply they want to participate, contribute, and feel that they truly belong within the family.

This is why practical life is such a beautiful part of Montessori. My little man loves putting socks into the drawer, helping with the laundry, bringing his plate to the table, wiping the table, watering the plants, feeding the chickens, putting dirty clothes in the basket, preparing his snacks, helping us with lunch and dinner and helping with the dishes. Yes, everything takes longer, and he will not do it perfectly. But efficiency is not always the goal of family life; it is sometimes raising a human being who grows up knowing:

• I am part of this family

• My contribution matters

• I am capable of caring for myself, my environment and other people

  Do less before doing more

There is one simple practice that can completely change the way we parent toddlers:

Pause before helping. Not because we should leave children struggling, but because sometimes we help before help is actually needed.

• Watch first

• Give them a moment

• Maybe they can figure it out

• Maybe they only need one tiny piece of assistance instead of having the entire task done for them

Instead of dressing them completely, we can hold their pants while they step into them. Instead of putting on their shoes, we can loosen them and let them try. Instead of cleaning up a spill for them, we can show them where the cloth is. And instead of immediately opening something they are struggling with, we can ask, “Would you like some help?” There is so much respect in giving a child the chance to try before stepping in. We are giving the child space to discover where their own abilities end and where they genuinely need another person. That is healthy independence.

Allow frustration without abandoning them in it

This may be one of the most important parts. Independence inevitably creates frustration. The zipper won’t close, the banana won’t peel, the block tower falls, their sleeve is stuck. And sometimes we rush to fix the problem because their frustration is uncomfortable for us, but a toddler experiencing frustration does not necessarily mean something has gone wrong.

Frustration is part of learning, and our role is not always to make it disappear. Sometimes, our role is to stay present while our child moves through it, not rushing to fix the struggle for them, but giving them the space and support to experience it and find their way through.

Things you can say:

• “You’re trying so hard to get that open.”

• “It isn’t working the way you wanted.”

• “I’m right here.”

And of course, if they need help, we help. But we don’t need to communicate that difficult feelings are emergencies. A child who is allowed to experience manageable frustration while remaining connected to a calm adult begins learning something enormously important: I can feel frustrated and still be okay; things can be difficult without being dangerous; I can try again, and I can ask for help. It teaches far beyond frustration. It teaches their nervous system safety.

This is where Montessori and emotional development meet in such a beautiful way.

Freedom needs boundaries

Montessori is not permissive parenting. Freedom without boundaries does not make a young child feel secure. Especially during toddlerhood, children need adults who calmly hold the edges of their world.

You may choose which shirt you want to wear; you may not run into the street; you may decide whether you want banana or pear; you may not hit me; you may climb here; you may not climb onto the kitchen counter.

The boundary does not need anger to become a boundary, and we do not have to shame the child for testing it. Toddlers are discovering cause and effect, impulse, autonomy, relationships and limits all at once.

They need us to be warm and clear. That combination creates tremendous security.

Slow down enough to observe

Maria Montessori’s work was built around observation. And I think this may be one of the most transformative things we can bring into our parenting.

Before correcting, observe. Before assuming, observe. Before deciding what your child needs, watch.

• What are they working on right now?

• What repeatedly captures their attention?

• What are they trying to master?

• When do they become overwhelmed?

• Where are we helping too much?

• Where are we expecting too much?

• What is their behavior communicating?

Observation changes the way we parent because we stop focusing only on the behavior we see and begin to become curious about what may be happening underneath it. Instead of asking, “Why are you doing this?” we ask, “What might be happening for you right now?”

That shift alone creates a very different emotional environment for a child.

Protect concentration

Something fascinating happens when toddlers become deeply absorbed in their work. Their entire body becomes involved. A toddler might spend ten minutes transferring objects from one bowl to another, opening and closing the same container, putting something inside a basket and taking it back out, again and again, and again.

You do not need a perfect Montessori home

This is probably what I want parents to understand most: you do not need every Montessori material, a perfectly beige playroom, or a house filled with wooden toys. Your home does not need to look like something you saw on Instagram to bring Montessori into your family.

The deepest Montessori work happens in the relationship. It happens when your toddler reaches for the spoon and instead of saying, “No, you’ll make a mess,” you find a way to let them try. It happens when getting dressed takes ten minutes instead of two because little hands are learning. It happens when something spills, and your child discovers that spilling isn’t failure. It happens when you hold a boundary without humiliating them. It happens when you resist interrupting their concentration. It happens when you stop seeing your toddler as someone you must constantly control and instead see the capable person they are becoming.

Montessori gives us, as parents, an invitation to slow down, step in a little less, observe a little more, and trust the natural process of development. Our role is to create the right environment, nurture the relationship, hold clear and loving boundaries, and then give our children the space to grow into who they are becoming.

Because eventually, “Help me do it myself” becomes much bigger than pouring water, putting on shoes or washing little hands. It becomes: trust me enough to let me discover who I am.

One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is the experience of growing up knowing:

• I am loved deeply

• I am safe enough to explore

• I am allowed to make mistakes

• I can do hard things

• I can ask for help

• I have something to contribute

• And I can trust myself

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

We were taught very early that simply being was not enough. That to be worthy, we had to become something. So many time I heard in my childhood: “What do you want to do or be when you grow up?”, as if simply being was never enough. We had to perform well in school, get good grades, earn a diploma, build a career, create a beautiful home and have a successful relationship while raising well-behaved children. There was always another layer and another thing to achieve. As if we were never enough.

However, motherhood comes and motherhood has a way of dismantling so much of what we thought defined us. What a gift! Your days may no longer look productive from the outside; you can spend an entire morning feeding a baby, nursing, holding a toddler through a big emotion, making food, answering questions, finding lost shoes, wiping tears, and sitting beside a child who needs your PRESENCE.

At the end of the day, you can look around and wonder: What did I actually accomplish today? And I think this question says so much about the way we have been conditioned because we have learned to measure the value of a day by what we produced:

• How much we finished

• How efficient we were

• How much we crossed off the list

You need to know that motherhood does not always fit inside that system, so much of motherhood is invisible:

• Presence is invisible

• Connection is invisible

• Holding your baby against your chest while their nervous system settles into yours does not look like an accomplishment

• Listening to your child tell you a story for ten minutes does not create a measurable result.

• Sitting on the floor while your toddler slowly learns to put on his own shoes does not look productive.

But these moments are life, and they matter more than you imagine. Motherhood has taught me again and again that my worth cannot come from how productive I am, because some seasons of motherhood ask us to do less.

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Who Are You Beneath All the Layers?

Motherhood changes our identity in such profound ways. The woman we were before does not disappear, but she changes, and that transition can feel disorienting. We look at our old life, our old body, our old rhythms, our old freedom, and we wonder where we went, but there is something beautiful hidden inside that unravelling. Motherhood invites us to ask a much deeper question: Who am I beneath everything I have been told I should be? Who am I truly?

Not your identity, not your name, not your job, not what you like, not what you love, but who are you truly beneath the roles, the accomplishments and motherhood itself? Beneath being the good mother, the good wife, the successful woman, the capable woman, the woman who keeps everything together.

Who are you underneath all of those identities?

Sit with that question long enough and something begins to soften. Because underneath all these layers, there is a part of us that has never needed to prove anything, the part that existed before the achievements, before motherhood and before anyone had an opinion about who we should become. It will bring the quiet awareness underneath all of it, the simple truth of being alive.

We Are Everything and Nothing

There is something incredibly freeing about realizing that we are both everything and nothing. Nothing in the sense that so many of the identities we cling to are temporary. Our job, our home, our body can change; our children grow, our circumstances shift, and even the version of ourselves we are today will someday become someone we once were, and yet, underneath all of that, there is something constant: our presence and our consciousness.

And motherhood brings us back to that space over and over again, especially when everything feels stripped away, when we are tired, when we do not recognize ourselves, when we cannot perform the way we used to, when our children interrupt every plan we had for the day, when we are forced to surrender control. We are reminded over and over to go back to presence.

Your Children Do Not Need a Performing Mother

I think many of us unconsciously bring the same conditioning into motherhood. We want to perform motherhood well; have a beautiful home, eat healthy meals, have a patient voice…

We have activities, routines, homeschool lessons if we homeschool, family traditions, the perfect emotional regulation and when we cannot hold all of it together, we believe we are failing. But the truth is that our children do not need a mother constantly proving that she is a good mother and good enough.

They need us:

• Our presence

• Our eyes meeting theirs

• Our willingness to repair when we make mistakes

• Our ability to sit beside them without needing the moment to become something else

I do not want them to believe their value is hidden inside grades, accomplishments, careers, appearance, money, or how much they can produce. I want them to know something much deeper: you were worthy before you achieved anything. The best way I can teach them that is to remember it myself.

Come Back to Being

Sometimes the most healing thing we can do is to STOP: Take a breath, put down the invisible list of everything we believe we should be doing and ask ourselves:

Who am I beneath all of this?

Not what do I need to accomplish next, not how can I become better, not what am I missing, but just: Who am I when I stop trying to prove that I am enough?

There is something sacred there, something quiet, something that does not need applause or recognition, and motherhood keeps bringing me back to this place again and again. It is so humbling and healing.

This is a reminder that life is not only found in what we build or accomplish, but life is here, in the baby sleeping against our chest, in the child reaching for our hand, in the messy kitchen, in the slow mornings, and in the moments nobody sees.

Life is in the breath moving through our body; we do not have to earn our worth, we do not have to become extraordinary to deserve our own existence, because underneath all the layers, we are already whole, sacred and enough.

May you return to yourself, to your body, your inner knowing, and the sacredness already within you. Motherhood is not only about raising children. It is also about remembering who you are.

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

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Follow along for more reflections on conscious motherhood, postpartum, healing, Ayurveda, and the inner journey of becoming,

As a mother of 5 and Montessori educator, one of the things I have come to believe deeply is that children are far more capable than we often allow them to be. Sometimes our instinct is to step in and help our children, when in reality, too much help can take away the very opportunities they need to grow, struggle, and discover what they are capable of.

• We tie the shoes because it is faster

• We pour the water because we do not want a spill

• We carry their things because they are struggling

• We answer for them because they do not feel like it

• We fix the problem because watching them struggle is uncomfortable

And of course there are moments when our children genuinely need us. But there is also something incredibly powerful that happens when we resist the urge to step in immediately. We communicate: I trust you, and that trust becomes the foundation of confidence.

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Confidence grows through competence

A few weeks ago, my two-year-old was putting on his own shoes. It took him about ten minutes; now he goes faster and faster. Of course, I could have done it for him in ten seconds, but I watched his little face as he concentrated. He tried, adjusted, struggled, tried again and then he did it. The pride in his eyes was beautiful, not because someone had told him, “Good job! You are amazing!” But because he knew he had done something difficult by himself, and that is a very different kind of confidence. Montessori understood this beautifully. Children have a deep inner drive toward independence. We see it in the toddler who constantly says: “Me do it.”

It can test our patience, especially when we are trying to leave the house, but underneath those words is something important: the child is building himself. Every time a child masters something - putting on shoes, pouring water, washing their hands, carrying their plate, solving a problem, climbing something difficult - they receive a message from their own experience: I am capable, and no amount of external praise can fully replace that!

“Help me to do it myself”

One of the most beautiful ideas within Montessori philosophy is: Help me to do it myself. Also, I want to say that noticing does not mean, “leave me completely alone.” Children still need us:

• They need guidance.

• They need connection.

• They need boundaries.

• They need an environment that supports their development.

Our role is not to disappear but to give just enough help.

If your toddler cannot put on their shoes yet, perhaps you loosen the shoe and allow them to push their foot inside; if they are learning to pour water, give them a small pitcher they can actually hold; if they want to prepare food, give them a child-sized knife and something soft to cut.

Instead of doing everything for them, we can quietly ask ourselves: What part of this could my child do independently? And then we step back. We prepare an appropriate environment, easy shoes and clothes for them to put on. We observe their needs and respond appropriately.

Slow down enough to let them struggle

This may be one of the hardest parts of raising independent children; independence takes time and a lot of nurturing. It is not because you try to "force” independence that your child will become independent.

A child dressing themselves takes longer; a toddler sweeping will not sweep perfectly; a four-year-old folding laundry will probably not fold it the way you would; a child making their own snack may leave crumbs everywhere, but if efficiency is always the priority, children lose countless opportunities to practice. It is so crucial for them to learn by doing, by being free of making mistakes. If we can, we need to consciously choose development over convenience.

Of course, sometimes we do not have the time, and we can have obligations, and there will be mornings when you put the shoes on because everyone needs to get out the door. However, when we can, we create space, slow down, let their hands work, and we allow the mistake. We tolerate the little spill because the goal is not a perfectly clean kitchen.

Do not rescue them from every frustration

This is also where independence becomes emotional, not only practical. We sometimes assume that being a good parent means removing frustration, but there is beauty in frustration. Frustration is part of learning.

• The puzzle piece will not fit.

• The tower falls.

• The shoe will not go on.

• The sibling will not play exactly how they want.

• The schoolwork feels difficult.

When we immediately rescue our children, we may unintentionally teach them: When something feels difficult, someone else will fix it for me. Instead, we can stay close without taking over and say, “I see, you’re working really hard on that,” “I see it’s frustrating,” “Would you like me to show you one part?”

Sometimes our presence is the help; a child can experience frustration and still feel safe, and this is how resilience begins.

Be careful with praise

I am not against encouraging our children; I love celebrating my children, but there is a difference between connection and constantly evaluating everything they do :

• “Good job!”

• “Perfect!”

• “You are so smart!”

When children are constantly evaluated, they can slowly learn to look outside themselves for validation to determine whether what they have done is good enough, and eventually, whether they themselves are worthy enough.

Observation is such a gift we can give to our children, and instead of: “Wow! good job!” We could say: “You put your shoes on all by yourself”, “You kept trying even when it was hard,” “You carried your plate all the way to the kitchen,” “You look really proud of yourself.”

Now we are bringing their attention back to their own experience. The goal is not a child constantly wondering: Are you proud of me? But instead, a child who can eventually feel: I am proud of myself.

Give children real responsibility

Children want to participate in real life. They do not only want toys pretending to clean while adults do the actual cleaning. They want to belong.

Let them:

• Wash vegetables

• Stir dinner

• Carry groceries

• Feed the dog

• Set the table

• Water the plants

• Wipe the spill

These little acts tell the child: You are an important member of this family.

Practical life is at the heart of Montessori because these everyday activities nurture so much more than independence. They develop coordination, concentration, responsibility, confidence, self-respect, and a deep sense of belonging.

In our home, all of my children participate in the life of the family. We clean together, clear the table, wash dishes, fold laundry, put things away, and take care of our shared spaces. And what I love most is that they often ask to help. They want to be included because children naturally want to participate in the real work of the home.

These are not simply “chores.” They are opportunities for a child to feel: I am capable. I am needed. I belong here. I have something meaningful to contribute to my family.

When children are trusted with real responsibility and invited into the everyday rhythm of family life, they begin to experience themselves not as passive recipients of care, but as valuable members of the whole.

Create an environment that says “yes”

Sometimes children appear dependent because their environment was designed entirely for adults. The sink is too high, the cups are unreachable, their clothes are difficult to access, the shoes are complicated and most of the thing requires an adult. Then we become frustrated because they constantly need us. But we should first, look at our environment.

• Could their clothes be within reach?

• Could they have a small stool at the sink?

• Could their plates and cups be kept somewhere accessible?

• Could there be a little pitcher of water they can pour themselves?

• Could toys and materials be arranged simply enough that they can choose and put things away?

We do not need a Pinterest-perfect Montessori home. We simply want an environment that communicates: You are welcome to participate here.

All of my children put away their work or toys when they are finished, clear their plates from the table, help clean up after dinner, and participate with the laundry and house cleaning. They are not just living in our home; they are contributing members of our family. I think this is one of the reasons having five children does not feel like “too much” to me, and why I have never related to the idea of having my “hands full.” We share the life of our home. Through that contribution, they feel capable. They feel needed. They feel like they belong and have an important place within the family. It nurtures their confidence, independence, and sense of responsibility.

Confidence also requires freedom

Children need appropriate freedom to make choices, not unlimited freedom- freedom within boundaries.

“Would you like the blue shirt or the green one?”

“Would you like to brush your teeth before or after pajamas?”

“You may play outside, but you need to stay inside the gate.”

“You can choose which book we read tonight.”

Small choices allow children to develop agency. They begin to discover their preferences, make decisions and experience the consequences of those decisions.

And little by little, they learn: My voice matters.

Let them be who they are

It might be the deepest piece of confidence. Children become secure when they feel they do not need to perform a certain version of themselves to keep our love. The “shy” child does not need to become outgoing. The “sensitive” child does not need to “toughen up.” The “slow” child does not need to hurry constantly. The “active” child does not need to become quiet simply because quiet children are easier for adults.

We follow the child:

• Observe

• Notice

What are they working toward? What are they interested in? Where are they asking for independence? Where are they asking for connection?

Our children show us so much when we stop trying to control every part of their development.

And sometimes, we need to get out of the way

This is something motherhood teaches me over and over again. Children are incredibly capable, and often the hardest part is not teaching them but trusting them:

• to try

• to struggle

• to make a mistake

• to move at their own pace

• to discover what their hands and minds can do

And staying close enough that they always know we are there when they truly need us. Raising confident children is not about constantly telling them how wonderful or capable they are; it is about creating countless small opportunities for them to experience their own strength, competence, and worth.

• I can try

• I can learn

• I can make mistakes

• I can figure things out

• I am capable

One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is simply looking at them with complete trust and saying, sometimes without even speaking: I know you can.

This is where our own childhood enters the room. The way we were raised will sometimes take over before we even realize it. We may feel the urge to correct, control, hurry, rescue, or step in, not because our child needs us to, but because something inside of us learned that this is what parenting looks like. This is where awareness becomes part of raising an independent child.

Because independence does not grow from pushing a child away. It grows from giving them a secure foundation to grow from. The more deeply a child is nurtured, seen, held, and trusted, the less they need to cling to us for their sense of safety and worth. When the foundation is strong within them, independence becomes a natural unfolding. They begin to discover an inner source that says:

• I am safe

• I belong

• I can trust myself

• I am capable

• I can meet the world.

With love,

Chloe

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Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

Sip it slowly, like a small ritual of returning to yourself. If milk feels heavy in your body, choose almond milk or skip it with love.

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This drink is for softness, nourishment, and helping the body feel held. It is not meant to be heavy, so keep the portion small.

Thank you for being here and for reading.

With love,
Chloé

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

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I think we have painted a very strange picture of postpartum. Kind of as if we have made it look like all rainbows and butterflies. A sleepy newborn curled against your chest, mother wearing soft pyjamas, slow mornings… Do not get me wrong, there is so much beauty in postpartum but there is another truth we don’t talk about enough: Postpartum is intense!

Postpartum means post BIRTH, yes, you have just given birth! Your body has stretched, opened, contracted, bled, labored, birthed a placenta, AND brought another human being into this world, and your soul has travelled to the star and back to bring your baby earthside. Whether your baby came through your vagina or through your abdomen, your body has undergone something enormous. In both cases you have BIRTHED your sweet baby. Your mind has changed, your nervous system has traveled somewhere it has never been before, your identity has shifted, your soul has touched a new depth.

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We don’t simply wake up the next morning and become the woman we were before; we just can’t, because birth is an initiation and postpartum is the continuation of that initiation. It does not end at birth.

Sacred Does Not Mean Painless

This is something I want to say very clearly, especially as an Ayurvedic doula. I have supported and honored so many mamas, and I was always honest with them: Ayurveda does not make postpartum easy and will NOT magically remove the physical reality of what your body has just experienced.

There will be :

• blood: Lochia, the bleeding that happens after birth; it is your uterus healing. It can continue for several weeks as the uterus heals. There can be

• Uterine cramping and afterpains as the womb contracts back down, and the more children you have, the more painful it gets (mother of 5, I can testify to this!)

• Your breasts will most likely become full and tender as milk comes in. You will have never seen your boobs so big!

• Your body may ache.

• Your pelvic floor may feel completely different; it might feel loose or heavy. I advise not even checking yourself with a mirror for a little bit! You just have birthed; give yourself grace!

• If you birthed by cesarean, you are also recovering from major abdominal surgery and pain that may follow

• You might have milk dripping down your stomach while blood is running between your legs.

• There may be tears, a lot of tears. It does not mean you are going to have postpartum depression. You have gone through so much; your emotional well-being needs time to process what is going on.

• You may grieve the life you had before, the woman you were, your pregnancy, the birth you did not have, the freedom you once had or the version of yourself you are leaving behind. And sometimes grief simply because something inside of you knows that you will never be her again. Does that mean you regret your baby? Absolutely not. Transformation always comes with a closing, and every closing carries some grief. This is part of being human. We grieve what was, even when we deeply love what is becoming. Give yourself grace.

There may be moments of complete bliss followed by moments when you want everyone to stop touching you. That doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong. Emotional fluctuation is common in the early days after birth; what is often called the “baby blues” typically settles within days to about two weeks. But persistent, intense sadness, anxiety, despair, frightening thoughts, or feeling unable to function deserve professional support.

So Why Does Ayurveda Call This a Sacred Window?

Sacred does not mean comfortable. Sacred means worthy of reverence.

Ayurvedic postpartum care, traditionally known as Sutika Paricharya, places tremendous importance on the weeks following birth. Ayurvedic literature describes this as a period of particular physical and psychological vulnerability and emphasizes rebuilding strength through nourishment, warmth, rest, body and supportive care. Contemporary reviews of these traditions commonly describe this postpartum care period as roughly 45–60 days.

You are incredibly tender while your body is rebuilding and healing. Your hormones are shifting. You are also learning your baby and your baby is learning you. Your relationships with your husband or partner and other children are changing. Your whole identity is reorganizing. You may be breastfeeding, pumping around the clock while simultaneously healing from birth.

And what is bothering me is that instead of surrounding the mother with protection, our culture often starts asking:

• When are you getting out?

• When are you exercising?

• When are you going back to work?

• When are you coming to visit?

• When are you going to start doing things again?

• When are you going to lose weight?

I am asking another question: Who is taking care of the mother?

The First 42 Days: Rejuvenation or Depletion

In Ayurvedic postpartum wisdom, you will often hear the phrase: 42 days for the next 42 years. Why?

It is a reminder of how seriously we should take this window because there are two very different directions we can encourage after birth:

Rejuvenation or deeper depletion.

Instead of asking the depleted body to produce more, we nourish it. Instead of rushing the mother back into movement, noise, visitors, errands, and responsibility, we reduce unnecessary demands. Instead of feeding her whatever is easiest without considering digestion, we intentionally prepare warm, nourishing food according to Ayurvedic principles. Instead of leaving her alone to care for everybody else, we care for her. We mother the mother so that she can mother her baby, so that she can bond deeply with her baby.

After birth you need:

• Warmth.

• Oil.

• Rest.

• Food.

• Protection.

• Quiet.

• Touch.

• Support.

• Time with baby.

Not because these things make birth disappear but because a woman who has just crossed such an enormous threshold deserves to be received differently on the other side.

Postpartum Also Asks You to Let Go

And perhaps this is one of its deepest spiritual lessons. Postpartum asks you to surrender, to stop doing and to receive. To sit in stillness, allowing someone else to cook and take care of you. To allow the house to be imperfect and so to accept imperfection. To allow your body to look different and allow your emotions to move without immediately trying to intellectualize and understand them.

Postpartum is a time to allow yourself to be changed. For many women, this is incredibly difficult because we have unfortunately built identities around productivity, independence, and proving that we can handle everything because we are strong. But I want to tell you, you are STRONG and being able to sit in stillness is incredibly beautiful.

Your baby wasn’t the only one born that day; you were, too!

Preparing for Postpartum is crucial

I wish every pregnant mother spent as much time creating a postpartum plan as their birth plan.

Before your baby arrives:

1. Decide who will mother you.
   Choose the people who will feed you, refill your water, wash dishes, help with older children, protect your rest, and notice when you need support. “Call me if you need anything” is not a postpartum plan. Give people actual roles.

2. Prepare for 42 days and not five days.
   You may not need the same level of support for all six weeks, but think beyond the first weekend. Who can help during week three? Week four? What happens when your partner returns to work? Build layers of support before birth.

3. Prepare nourishing food.
   From an Ayurvedic perspective, think warm, soft, freshly cooked, moist, grounding, and easy to digest, especially in the earliest days. Have simple recipes ready. Arrange a meal train. Ask someone else to cook. Always eat fresh; never eat Frozen food. Your postpartum food should not become another responsibility on your list. I will be sharing recipes every week.

4. Prepare to care for your body.
   Your body has just done something extraordinary, and it deserves tenderness. In Ayurveda, postpartum body care is extremely important. It includes warmth, gentle oiling, keeping the body protected from cold, and allowing plenty of rest. It also includes belly binding and herbal baths. This is not the time to punish your body, rush into exercise, or focus on “getting it back.” This is the time to nourish it, listen to it, and let it rebuild.

5. Create boundaries around visitors.
   A visitor should not create more work for a postpartum mother. Decide before birth who you genuinely want around you. You are allowed to protect the quiet of your home. You are allowed to say no. Your first 6 weeks are Sacred do not let anyone else take it away.

6. Prepare for the physical reality, not just the baby.
   Have maternity pads, comfortable clothing, nursing-friendly clothes, a robe, feeding supplies, water, easy food, and the recovery items recommended by your birth team within reach. Arrange postpartum medical care before birth, too. Bleeding and cramping can be normal, but heavy or worsening bleeding, severe or worsening pain, fever, breathing difficulty, or other concerning symptoms should not simply be endured as “normal postpartum.”

7. Prepare emotionally for becoming someone new.
   You may love your baby more than anything and still grieve. You may feel grateful and overwhelmed. You may adore motherhood and desperately miss parts of your old life. Two truths can exist together. Decide ahead of time who you can speak honestly with when the emotions come.

8. Protect your nervous system.
   Birth is an enormous experience for the nervous system, and postpartum brings constant stimulation: feeding, crying, touch, interrupted sleep, visitors, noise, and the responsibility of caring for a tiny human. Create as much softness around yourself as possible. Dim the lights. Reduce unnecessary noise. Limit your phone. Breathe slowly. Receive gentle touch. Spend time skin-to-skin with your baby. Let your body receive the message: I am safe. I can soften. I can rest. Postpartum is not about forcing your nervous system to “bounce back,” but giving it the conditions to slowly settle and reorganize.

9. Protect bonding and stillness.
   You do not have to earn rest by finishing the laundry. You do not have to entertain people. You do not need to prove how quickly you “bounced back.” Let those first weeks contain long stretches of simply being: feeding your baby, sleeping, eating, receiving care, watching their face, learning their sounds, and letting your nervous system slowly settle into this new life.

A Sacred Postpartum Is Not a Perfect Postpartum

This is what I want mothers to understand. You can prepare beautifully for postpartum and still have hard days; you can receive Ayurvedic care and still cry. You can eat nourishing meals and still be exhausted. You can spend your first six weeks resting and still experience discomfort. You can feel spiritually transformed and simultaneously wonder how you are going to survive another sleepless night. None of that means you are doing postpartum wrong. Ayurveda is not here to remove the initiation, it is here to honor the woman going through it. To surround the rawness with warmth, to meet depletion with nourishment and to meet openness with protection. To meet exhaustion with rest and meet transformation with reverence.

The greatest mistake our culture has made is believing that because these experiences are part of postpartum, a mother should simply endure them alone, I want to SCREAM NO. If birth is an initiation, then the woman who returns from it should be honored. Not for a few days, not until the flowers die and the visitors stop coming, and certainly not only until she can “get back to normal.”

The first six weeks are the beginning not the end of postpartum. And instead of asking how quickly a mother can return to who she was, we should be asking: How can we protect and nourish the woman she is becoming?

I will continue sharing more postpartum wisdom in the letters to come about nourishment, Ayurveda, healing, the nervous system, motherhood, and the sacred transition that happens after birth. I will also be sharing nourishing recipes to support mothers through postpartum and beyond.

Thank you for being here and for reading.

With love,
Chloé

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

I became pregnant early in my adult life, while I was finishing my studies in psychology, and I thought I understood who I was becoming.

I was deeply interested in inner work. I journaled, went to therapy, read, learned, and tried to understand my own patterns and emotions.

At the time, I thought transformation was something we consciously chose, something that came from within when we decided we were ready to grow.

And then I became a mother.

Motherhood brought me into a depth of transformation I had never chosen and could never have fully prepared for, but because loving and raising another human being continually brought me face-to-face with myself and began revealing parts of me I had not yet met.

Motherhood is not only about raising our children. It is asking of us to become more conscious. To see ourselves more clearly, inhabit our bodies more deeply and loosen our grip on control.

And little by little, motherhood reminded me that I am part of something much greater than the identity I call me.

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We are nature

One of the most beautiful teachings of Ayurveda is also one of the simplest: You are not separate from nature.

The same five elements that exist throughout the universe exist within us

• Space.

• Air.

• Fire.

• Water.

• Earth.

The movement of air exists within our breath, circulation, thoughts, and nervous system.

Fire exists within digestion, metabolism, perception, and transformation.

Water moves through our blood, tears, lymph, and reproductive fluids.

Earth gives structure to our bones, muscles, and tissues.

Space exists within the cavities of the body and the quiet spaces of the mind.

We are not standing outside of nature observing it. We are nature experiencing itself through a human body.

Motherhood makes this almost impossible to forget. A baby grows inside us without our conscious direction; we do not tell each cell where to go. We do not consciously create tiny fingers, bones, organs, or a nervous system. Life moves through us.

Birth reminds us of this again, and so does breastfeeding, healing, growth and the cycles of our children. There is an intelligence moving through life that is far greater than the thinking mind. Ayurveda invites us to live in relationship with that intelligence instead of constantly trying to dominate it, and motherhood does too.

Our children reveal what lives beneath the surface

There is something extraordinary about how motherhood exposes us.

A child can do something completely ordinary and suddenly our reaction feels enormous. They scream, refuse, ignore us, cling to us, make a mess, move slowly when we desperately need them to hurry… And suddenly our body changes.

We are going to tighten our jaws, our breath becomes shallow, feel the heat rise, heart race… in most cases, our child has touched something much older: the child inside us who was never allowed to say no, who had to behave perfectly, who learned that anger was dangerous, who had to keep everyone happy, who learned that love could disappear…

Our children are not responsible for healing these wounds, but they are the most intimate mirrors we will ever encounter.

Conscious motherhood begins with noticing

Consciousness does not mean becoming the mother who never gets triggered. It begins much more simply: I notice what my body is telling me.

Awareness is only the beginning. Consciousness, just like creating greater safety within the nervous system, is a practice. We have to keep returning to the body, learning our patterns, and practicing new ways of responding. Recognizing a wound does not automatically heal it.

And even when we react in a way we wish we had not, we can still repair. We can apologize, reconnect, and ask ourselves: What was really happening inside of me? What did this moment awaken? What does this part of me need?

This is how unconscious patterns slowly become conscious ones, not through awareness alone, but through awareness, practice, repair, and repetition. And this is where motherhood can become a spiritual practice: a place where we work with old patterns, create greater nervous system safety, loosen our identification with the ego, and slowly come closer to who we truly are.

How to create more space for awareness

Ayurveda describes qualities of the mind through sattva, rajas, and tamas.

Rajas is movement, stimulation, restlessness, constant doing.

Tamas is heaviness, dullness, withdrawal, inertia.

Sattva is clarity, harmony, presence, compassion.

Motherhood can contain all three. There are seasons of rushing, overstimulation, noise, and mental activity. There are seasons of exhaustion and heaviness. But Ayurveda continually invites us back toward sattva.

Not toward some impossible state where we are calm all the time but toward clarity. Enough clarity to see what is happening before automatically becoming it.

This is why the seemingly ordinary Ayurvedic practices matter.

• Warm food.

• Rhythm.

• Rest.

• Oil on the body.

• Eating without rushing.

• Spending time outside.

• Supporting digestion.

• Reducing constant sensory stimulation.

• Breathing consciously.

• Living more closely with the rhythms of day and night.

These things are not only about physical health. They help create an internal environment where we can actually hear ourselves. Because when everything inside us is loud, awareness becomes harder to access.

The body IS the doorway to consciousness

We sometimes think spirituality means escaping the physical.

Transcending the body.

Rising above emotion.

Reaching some higher state.

Ayurveda offers something different and brings us back into the body.

• Feel your breath.

• Notice hunger.

• Notice fatigue.

• Notice warmth.

• Notice tension.

• Notice what your nervous system is communicating.

• Notice when your body begins to contract before your mind has even understood why.

The body often knows before the story begins, and when we learn to listen, it can bring us back into the present.

Motherhood continually asks us to surrender

Birth may be one of the deepest experiences of surrender, but the invitation does not end there. Throughout motherhood, again and again, we will be asked to soften our grip, release control, and surrender to what life is asking of us. Motherhood keeps reminding us that we are not here to control every season. We are being asked to observe, adjust, and surrender again and again to the natural flow of life.

We are part of the cosmos, not separate from it. The same rhythms that move through nature move through us. The seasons change, and so do we. Our bodies shift.

Our digestion changes. Our energy rises and falls. Every stage of life asks something different from us.

When we begin to observe instead of constantly forcing, we can respond to what is actually present. Motherhood asks for this same kind of listening.

Our children have their own rhythms, seasons, needs, and ways of unfolding. We are not here to force every stage into what we think it should be, but to remain present enough to notice what is happening and respond with awareness.

Living consciously is less about controlling life and more about learning how to move with it.

Motherhood IS sacred

We often imagine spiritual moments as extraordinary: Meditation retreats, mystical experiences, visions. But most of the time, the sacred is hiding behind ordinary motherhood moments. Nursing a baby while the house sleeps, holding a sick child against your chest, placing warm oil on your tired body at the end of the day, apologizing after you lost your patience, sitting beside a tantrum without abandoning yourself, watching your child breathe while they sleep…

Feeling the enormous love of realizing that this person came through you... and yet does not belong to you. Our children come through our bodies, and then motherhood slowly asks us to release them.

First from the womb, then our arms, eventually into their own lives.

• Holding.

• Releasing.

• Inhaling.

• Exhaling.

• Arrival.

• Departure.

This is the rhythm of nature, and we are inside of it. We ARE it. This is a spiritual journey.

Our children are not the only ones growing

Motherhood does not automatically make us conscious. In fact, we can repeat old patterns, parent through fear, control and be disconnect.

However, motherhood gives us opportunities. An opportunity to change deeply. Again. And again. And again. To notice. To repair. To listen to the body. To become aware of what belongs to the present and what belongs to the past. To surrender what cannot be controlled. To return to relationship with nature. To become more present to life.

And this is why motherhood feels like an initiation: our children are growing before our eyes, and something is unfolding within us too.

Motherhood is not asking us to become perfect; it is asking us to become more awake, more embodied, more aware, more willing to see and to love without controlling. More willing to surrender to the intelligence of life itself.

With love,

Chloe

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Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

The red lentils provide gentle protein, the sweet potato offers comforting carbohydrates, and the ghee and coconut milk bring nourishing fats to support rebuilding. Its soft texture and warming spices also make it easier to digest, helping the body receive nourishment without feeling overwhelmed.

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This recipe is especially nourishing beyond the first 42 days postpartum, helping to replenish the mother and support the continued nourishment of the dhatus, the body’s tissues.

I hope this recipe will nourish you, subscribe for more healing recipes, Ayurvedic wisdom, and embodiment practices to support you throughout your motherhood journey.

When a mother is nourished in mind, body, and soul, that care ripples outward. A mother who is supported in her own healing has more capacity to be present, connected, and grounded with her children.

Motherhood asks so much of us. You deserve practices that help you replenish, reconnect with yourself, and care for the whole of who you are not only as a mother, but as a woman.

With love,

Chloe

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Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

What Happens to the Hair After Birth?

During pregnancy, changing hormone levels keep more hair follicles in their growing phase. This is why many women notice that their hair becomes thicker or fuller while they are pregnant.

After birth, estrogen levels fall. A larger number of hairs can then enter the resting and shedding phases around the same time. This is called postpartum telogen effluvium.

The shedding generally begins a few months after birth, often becoming most noticeable around the fourth postpartum month. For many women, it gradually resolves as the hair cycle regulates and new growth appears. This hormonal shift is real and hormones are not the only part of the postpartum story.

Childbirth itself is an enormous physical event. The body may also be recovering from blood loss, surgery, inflammation, illness, emotional stress, insufficient nourishment, interrupted sleep, and the continuous energetic demands of caring for and possibly breastfeeding a baby.

Iron deficiency, thyroid dysfunction, significant weight loss, restrictive eating, illness, surgery, and intense physical or emotional stress can also contribute to excessive shedding. We cannot assume that every mother losing large amounts of hair is experiencing hormones alone.

What Ayurveda Sees

Ayurveda does not view hair as separate from the rest of the body. It does not begin with the question: “What product should we apply to the scalp?” but instead asks:

• How well has this mother been nourished?

• How is she digesting?

• How much blood did she lose?

• Is she sleeping?

• Is she warm?

• Is she eating enough?

• Does she feel safe and supported?

• Is her nervous system constantly activated?

• Is her body receiving enough care to rebuild what pregnancy and birth required from her?

From an Ayurvedic perspective, birth increases the Vata dosha.

The baby, placenta, blood, fluids, and tissues have left the body. There is suddenly more space. There has been movement, opening, exertion, and loss. These are all qualities associated with Vata. When Vata becomes excessive, a mother may experience dryness, coldness, anxiety, constipation, poor sleep, scattered thoughts, exhaustion, weakness, and depletion.

Her hair may also become dry, brittle, thin, or begin to shed.

Hair is simply one of the last places the body invests its resources. When deeper tissues are undernourished, the body prioritizes essential functions over maintaining thick, healthy hair. Postpartum hair loss is not simply a hormonal event; it is a sign that the mother's tissues are asking to be replenished.

Ayurveda also teaches that nourishment progresses through the tissues. Food must first be digested and transformed. It supports first the body-nourishing fluids and then continues into the deeper tissues.

When digestion is weakened, meals are skipped, food is cold, mom has been eating frozen “nourishing” meals, or the mother is living in constant stress, the body does not receive or process nourishment as efficiently.

From this perspective, the hair is not necessarily the body’s priority.

The body is healing the uterus, repairing tissue, regulating hormones, producing milk and attempting to keep the mother functioning through fragmented sleep and continuous caregiving.

The hair loss, most of the time, reveals that the mother has been expected to give more than she has been helped to rebuild.

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Hair Loss Is Not Solved Through the Hair

We often respond to postpartum hair loss with new shampoos, collagen powders, hair vitamins, scalp serums, or oils. Some of these may offer support, but they cannot replace food, sleep, warmth, digestion, hormonal evaluation, or care.

You cannot oil your way out of profound depletion. You cannot supplement your way out of not eating healing and postpartum nourishing food.

You cannot expect a mother’s body to rebuild while she is caring for everyone around her without anyone caring for her. In Ayurveda, caring for postpartum hair begins by caring for the whole mother.

Rebuilding the Mother From Within

Nourish the body deeply

Postpartum is not the time for fasting, cleansing, or rushing to lose pregnancy weight.

In your postpartum period, you need regular, sufficient meals. The food should contain adequate protein, nourishing fats, carbohydrates, minerals, and iron-rich ingredients appropriate for your postpartum needs.

Ayurveda favors warm, freshly prepared, moist, well-cooked foods during early postpartum and appropriate spices help bring warmth, moisture, and stability back to the body.

Support digestion

Eating nutritious food is important, but Ayurveda also asks whether the mother can digest and assimilate it. Very heavy meals, cold smoothies, frozen meals, raw foods, irregular eating, constant snacking, fasting, or eating while highly stressed will bring the mother into depletion.

Warm meals, predictable eating times, gentle digestive spices, and sitting down long enough to receive the meal can make nourishment feel more accessible to the body.

Calm Vata

Vata is supported through warmth, rhythm, oil, rest, quiet, and loving human presence.

Warm oil massage therapy is a healing and beautiful postpartum ritual. Oiling the entire body is just as important as oiling the scalp because the intention is not simply to care for the hair, but to offer the whole nervous system a sense of warmth, stability, and containment. Choosing the right oil for your body, constitution, and current needs is equally important.

Scalp oil can be applied gently, without vigorous rubbing or pulling on hair that is already shedding. Oils and herbs should be chosen carefully, especially while breastfeeding or when scalp conditions are present.

Protect the rest

Sleep cannot always be controlled with a newborn, but every opportunity for rest should be protected.

Rest is not only what happens at night.

It is lying down during the day, reducing visitors, and staying off your feet as much as you can.

Handle the hair gently

During active shedding, avoid tight ponytails, extensions, forceful brushing, harsh chemical treatments, and excessive heat.

It needs gentleness while the follicles move through their cycle.

Common Does Not Mean Normal

I am not saying that every strand of postpartum hair shedding is a medical problem. I am saying we should stop using the word "normal" to end the conversation. Hair loss postpartum is not normal; too many mothers are not deeply nourished, cared for, or honored during the postpartum period. The first six weeks are a crucial window of healing, and the care a mother receives during that time plants seeds that affect her well-being for years to come.

The first 6 weeks is a Sacred Window and you either take the path of rejuvenation or the path of depletion. There is no middle lane.

I have lived through five postpartum seasons of my own, and I have had the honor of caring for many mothers during their first six weeks after birth. Through these experiences, I have witnessed how profoundly this sacred window can shape a woman’s healing.

The first six weeks are an invitation to slow down, rebuild, and renew, to release what no longer serves us and gradually emerge into the woman and mother we are becoming. Birth gives us this opportunity, but we must choose the path of rejuvenation.

I have seen the difference between simply eating what appears nourishing and receiving food that is truly restorative, warming, digestible, and intentionally prepared for postpartum healing. When a mother is given the right care, nourishment, rest, and support, postpartum becomes a deeply transformative experience.

Next week, I will share why the first six weeks postpartum are so crucial and why they can lay the foundation for the next 42 years. Postpartum does not end on day 42, but the care a mother receives during this sacred window places her on the path of rejuvenation or depletion.

With love,

Chloe

Mother of 5 • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

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I did not fully understand how lonely motherhood in the United States had become until I experienced something different.

When we lived in Thailand, I never felt invisible because I was a mother. People noticed my children. They smiled at them. They spoke to them. They helped me without making me feel incapable. Men, women, grandparents, young adults, people of every age seemed genuinely delighted by the presence of children.

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My children were not treated like interruptions. They were welcomed into the world around them. There was warmth everywhere we went. Someone would hold a door, offer a hand, make space for us, or simply stop to connect with one of the children. Their attention did not feel forced or performative. It felt natural, as children belonged in public life and caring for families was something shared by the community.

One day, a Chinese family saw us walking together with our five children. They became so excited that they stood and applauded us, a standing ovation. Not because we had accomplished something impressive by society’s usual standards, but because they saw our family, our five children, as something deeply beautiful. Tears came to my eyes, and I felt such a deep love. I had never experienced a stranger offering our family so much warmth, joy, and genuine care. I will never forget that moment, nor will my children.

In a world where large families can be met with judgment, invasive questions, or comments about how full our hands must be, they looked at us as though it was an extraordinary blessing. I did not feel judged there; I did not feel transparent; I did not feel I needed to make my children smaller, quieter, or less visible so that other people could remain comfortable.

I felt like a mother among people who understood that children are not burdens to tolerate. They are human beings to welcome.

Where we stayed, so many places were designed with children in mind, with playgrounds, indoor play areas, and space for families to be together. And even when a restaurant had nothing specifically created for children, we were still welcomed with such warmth. Our one-year-old would wander around, and the servers would naturally scoop him into their arms, carrying him while they continued serving other tables. At our favorite restaurant, they even invited the children into the kitchen and let them help (see the picture below).

There was no sense that our children were in the way. They were included, loved, and treated as they belonged in the society. They were not burdens.

What a blessing it was to experience that kind of warmth. I miss it deeply, and I cannot wait to return.

Then we returned to the United States, and it felt like a cold shower. Our youngest was around 18 months old, and he loved greeting people. He would look directly at strangers, his whole face lighting up, and say, “Hi!” He expected someone to meet him there, as he was used to loving strangers. He expected the world to answer, but again and again, no one did.

People walked past him with their eyes on their phones. Some clearly heard him but never looked at him, and some avoided eye contact altogether. He would continue trying, offering his tiny greeting to person after person, waiting for someone to recognize him, but slowly, I watched something change; the spark in his eyes began to fade away when we went outside.

He stopped expecting people to respond. That may sound like a small thing, but it broke something in me. A baby was reaching toward the world, asking, “Do you see me?” And the world around him was too distracted, disconnected, or uncomfortable to answer.

This is not about claiming that every person in Thailand is warm or that every person in the US is cold. There are loving communities and beautiful people everywhere. But the cultural difference I experienced was impossible to ignore.

In Thailand, family life felt woven into the larger community; here, in the US, motherhood often feels contained behind closed doors.

We are told that raising children is deeply important, but mothers are expected to do most of it privately. We are praised for being strong while receiving very little support. We are told to cherish every moment while carrying the mental, physical, and emotional load largely alone.

Public spaces often seem designed to tolerate children rather than welcome them. Mothers feel pressure to keep babies from crying, toddlers from moving, and older children from taking up too much space. We feel we need to apologize for their development; we feel the eyes of strangers when they struggle, and we worry that our children are inconveniencing everyone around us simply by behaving like children. I do not worry anymore but I used to. However, I do feel the judgment of others when I am at the grocery store, restaurant or any public place with my 5 children.

In this society, it feels like they want to quiet the mother, isolate her; slowly it feels like the mother needs to disappear. Little care, little love, no support. No one asks whether she needs help. No one sees the hundreds of invisible decisions she has already made that morning. No one knows how much effort it took to get everyone out of the house.

It is not only the lack of practical support. It is the absence of collective warmth.

A mother should not have to be in crisis before someone reaches toward her. A child should not have to perform, entertain, or remain perfectly quiet to be worthy of acknowledgement.

Sometimes community begins with something incredibly small: returning a baby’s greeting, smiling at a tired mother, holding a door without impatience, or telling a family that their children are beautiful rather than asking how they possibly manage them or how full their hands are.

These gestures do not solve the deeper structural problems mothers face. But they communicate something our culture desperately needs to remember:

• You belong here.

• Your children belong here.

• Your family is not an inconvenience.

Being a mother was never meant to feel this isolated, and children were never meant to grow up surrounded only by the attention of their parents while the rest of society looked away.

We were meant to live among people who noticed one another, people who answered when a baby said hello, people who understood that welcoming children is not merely an act of kindness toward the child; it is an act of care toward the mother, the family, and the future of the community.

Something is deeply broken in a society that notices the car someone drives before it notices the mother carrying her children, her exhaustion, her devotion, her love and the invisible weight of raising a family.

But I still hold onto the hope that we can become something different. I dream of a world where the light shines on families again. Where children are welcomed, mothers are held, and raising the next generation is recognized for what it truly is: sacred and essential.

You are doing something profoundly beautiful, even on the days when no one acknowledges it. You matter, your children matter, your work matters, you are not alone.

With love,

Chloe

Mother of Five • Clinical Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Montessori Educator

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One of the first questions I ask a mother after birth isn’t whether she has taken a shower, or how the baby is sleeping. I ask: “Have you had your first bowel movement?”

Not because I am worried about the bowel movement itself, but because it tells me so much about how her body is recovering. As an Ayurvedic doula, I cannot tell you how many stories I have heard over the years from mothers: “I was terrified, I heard it hurts so much.” “After the birth of my first baby, I cried, it was so painful.” “I didn’t want to go.”

I hear so many stories of postpartum mamas saying: “They told me to start stool softeners immediately.” And what terrible advice.

For many women, the first postpartum poop is spoken about almost like another labor; women swap horror stories, even I hear professionals warning them about their first poop and how hard it is.

Hospitals routinely send mothers home with stool softeners before anyone has spoken to them about nourishing digestion, and many women become so frightened that they avoid eating enough because they are afraid of going to the bathroom, and when something becomes this common, we begin believing it is normal. But I want to tell you that what is common does not mean it is normal and inevitable!

Your body is not failing! It is simply asking us to understand the reason why.

Birth Changes Digestion

Birth is one of the greatest energetic events a woman’s body will ever experience, whether labor lasts two hours or two days..., whether birth happens at home or in a hospital..., whether it is vaginal or surgical... An incredible amount of energy has been used. The uterus has worked harder than any other muscle in the body ever will. Blood has been directed toward the uterus and birth tissues, hormones have surged, fluids have shifted, and the nervous system has experienced an extraordinary event.

Then, within moments, everything changes again. The placenta is born, and hormones begin shifting dramatically. Milk production begins, healing begins, and yet, somehow, we expect digestion to continue functioning as though nothing happened?

From an Ayurvedic perspective, this isn’t how the body works.

Agni: Your Inner Fire

Ayurveda teaches that nearly every aspect of health begins with Agni, our digestive fire. Agni is much more than digestion. It is our ability to transform, to absorb, to assimilate, to rebuild. Every meal you eat must first pass through this fire before it can become:

• blood

• Milk

• Hormones

• Healthy tissues

• Energy

• Or healing

After birth, Agni naturally becomes weak, not because something is wrong with you, but because the body has wisely directed its resources elsewhere. Birth has required everything, and now the body asks for gentleness while it rekindles its fire.

Postpartum is NOT a disease to fix. It is a physiological transition deserving of reverence.

Why the First Three Days Matter

In modern postpartum, we often think recovery begins with iron supplements, pain medication, stool softeners, and whatever meal happens to be served. We focus on how fast the mother can lose her baby weight. However, the priority should be rebuilding the digestion, because without digestion, nourishment cannot truly become part of us.

For approximately the first three days after birth, the foods are intentionally simple. It should be:

• Warm.

• Cooked.

• Soft.

• Easy to digest.

• Beautifully spiced.

Over the years, after serving that very first postpartum meal, I have heard the same words from mothers again and again.

“It felt like a warm hug.”

“It was exactly what my body needed.”

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite.”

“It feels so healing.”

“I can actually feel my body relaxing.”

Those moments always remind me that postpartum nourishment is about so much more than satisfying hunger. It is the body’s first gentle invitation to soften, to receive, and to begin healing after the immense work of bringing new life into the world.

Food Is Medicine

Imagine if we approached postpartum this way and instead of asking: “What medication do I need?” We asked: “What meal does my body need?”

Instead of immediately reaching for a stool softener... We first supported digestion itself, and instead of forcing the body, we partnered with it. Before listening to the quiet wisdom of the body, we often reach for medication, overlooking the nourishment that could gently support its natural recovery. We are trying to find a quick fix. Our body carries wisdom; we just need to listen to it.

Digestion Builds Everything

One of the greatest misconceptions about nutrition is that eating automatically nourishes us, but it doesn’t and only what we digest becomes nourishment. A breastfeeding mother has high nutritional demands. Her body is simultaneously healing from birth, rebuilding blood and tissues, producing milk, regulating hormones, and adapting to life with a newborn. Everything depends on her ability to digest and absorb what she eats, and strong digestion supports the body’s capacity to rebuild.

The First Meal

I often think the first meal after birth deserves as much attention as the birth itself. It is the first conversation we have with the recovering body. Does that conversation say: “Let’s hurry back to normal” or does it say:“Rest now. I will care for you.”

Every mother I have cared for has received that first meal with intention:

• Warm.

• Freshly prepared.

• Easy to digest.

• Rich in nourishment.

• Cooked with love.

Time after time, I have watched women move through their first bowel movement with far less fear than they expected. It was not because I performed magic, but because we worked with physiology instead of against it.

We Have Forgotten How to Feed Mothers

I don’t believe mothers need more pressure during their fourth trimester. They don’t need another checklist, and they don’t need another expectation. They need people who understand that birth does not end when the baby is born. Birth continues into postpartum. Birth may last a day, but postpartum is where the lifelong journey of motherhood truly begins: every meal, every nap, every warm cup of tea, every bowl of nourishment, every spoonful of ghee- these are not small things; they are part of how a woman rebuilds herself.

A Final Thought

If you’d like to make this meal yourself, I’ve shared the very first postpartum recipe I lovingly prepare for my mamas I support exclusively with my paid subscribers. Along with the recipe, I go much deeper into the Ayurvedic wisdom behind it, explaining what happens within a mother's body after birth, why digestive fire becomes diminished, how each ingredient supports healing, and why the first few days of nourishment can profoundly influence the postpartum experience.

It is one of the simplest recipes I know, yet it carries generations of wisdom. Warm, gentle, deeply nourishing, and intentionally designed to help rekindle digestive fire during those precious first days after birth.

In the coming weeks, I’ll continue sharing exclusive letters exploring the importance of ghee, digestive spices, warm meals, and nourishing drinks, along with more wisdom that support healing, rebuilding, and rejuvenation throughout the Sacred Window.

It is a joy to share these teachings with you and to help bring this beautiful postpartum wisdom back into our homes, one mother at a time.

With love,

Chloe

Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Breathwork • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Mother of Five • Montessori educator

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There is certainly value in becoming aware of our thoughts. Our thoughts shape how we perceive the world. But there is something we rarely speak about. An emotion is not simply a thought; an emotion is physiology. It is your heart beating faster before you have had time to think; it is your breath becoming shallow, your stomach tightening, your throat closing, your shoulders rising, your jaw clenching. Your body becoming hot, frozen, restless, shaky, or numb. Long before the mind has found words, the body has already begun telling a story. Before you have even formed a conscious thought, your nervous system has already decided that something feels threatening. It is not because you are going “crazy”; it is because your body has spent your entire life learning how to keep you safe.

The Body Remembers

One of the most fascinating things about the human body is that it is constantly gathering information from every relationship, every disappointment, every frightening experience, every moment of comfort, every moment of neglect, every time someone truly saw you or every time someone didn’t.

These experiences shape not only the stories we tell ourselves, but the way our nervous system responds to the world. That is why you may know you are safe...yet your body still prepares for danger. You may know your toddler or child is not trying to make your life difficult, yet their screaming immediately makes your heart race and makes you feel triggered. You may know your partner loves you, yet one sentence leaves you feeling rejected.

The body may still be responding to something much older. This does not mean that every emotional reaction comes from childhood trauma. Sometimes we are simply exhausted, overstimulated, sleep-deprived, hungry, grieving, or carrying the weight of too many responsibilities. Motherhood itself places extraordinary demands on the nervous system.

But our past experiences will influence and shape how intensely our body responds when life becomes overwhelming and challenging.

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Motherhood Awakens More Than Love

What people do not tell you before you have your first baby is that motherhood would awaken parts of us that we had never met before. Motherhood invites us into constant unpredictability, between the lack and interrupted sleep, the noise, touches, responsibility, mess, decision after decision and the beautiful part of loving another human so deeply. However, some triggers will awaken old wounds within: a baby’s cry can awaken urgency, a toddler’s tantrum can awaken helplessness, a sibling conflict can awaken frustration, feeling needed from sunrise until bedtime can awaken anger.

All of this is not because we do not love our children but because our bodies were never meant to function without rest, support, nourishment, and moments of restoration.

As mothers, we often judge and guilt ourselves for these reactions. We can ask ourselves:

“Why am I so angry?”

“Why can’t I stay patient?”

“Why do I know better and still react this way?”

But knowing better does not automatically regulate the body. However, awareness is the beginning, and embodiment is what allows awareness to become change.

You Cannot Always Think Your Way Into Safety

Many of us have experienced this: a moment when we feel deeply triggered. Perhaps your toddler is screaming. Your baby won’t stop crying. Your partner says something that unexpectedly hurts. Or maybe you feel overwhelmed after carrying the mental, physical, and emotional load of motherhood for days without a moment to yourself. You know, logically, that you are safe, yet your body responds as though it isn’t. Your heart begins to race, your breath becomes shallow, your jaw tightens, your stomach knots, your shoulders lift toward your ears, and you may suddenly feel the urge to yell, run away, shut down, or withdraw.

These reactions are not signs that you are failing. They are signs that your nervous system has detected danger, whether the danger is real or reminds your body of something it has experienced before. This is why simply telling yourself to “calm down” so often falls short. The thinking part of your brain may understand that your child is not your enemy. It may know that your partner is not rejecting you. It may recognize that you are standing safely in your own kitchen. But another part of your nervous system responds much more quickly than conscious thought; its priority is not to help you think clearly; its priority is to protect you.

When we feel threatened, our nervous system naturally shifts away from a ventral vagal state, a state where we feel safe enough to connect, digest, rest, and respond with flexibility. Instead, it prepares us to survive. We may become mobilized with anxiety, anger, or urgency, or we may begin to shut down, disconnect, or feel emotionally numb. None of this means something is wrong with you. It means your body is doing exactly what it was designed to do: protect you.

Our emotions are not our enemies. We often spend so much energy trying to get rid of our emotions, especially the one that we feel uncomfortable with. Our emotions are messengers.

• Fear often wants to protect.

• Anger often points toward a boundary.

• Grief reminds us that something mattered deeply.

• Even numbness can become a wise protector when life has felt too overwhelming.

The problem is not that emotions exist. The problem is when we become disconnected from them, afraid of them, or controlled by them. We need to welcome our emotions with curiosity, no judgment, and compassion.

So what if, instead of asking: “How do I stop feeling this?” We gently ask: “What is this emotion trying to show me?”

Curiosity softens judgment, and judgment does not create healing; compassion does.

Regulation Is Not Perfection

Sometimes we imagine that healing means we will always feel calm. That we will never become triggered again, never raise our voice, never feel impatient, or never become overwhelmed. But that is not what regulation looks like.

A regulated mother still becomes activated; you can still feel frustrated, cry, and have difficult days. The difference is not that you never leave yourself. The difference is that you know how to return.

Over time, you may begin to notice your activation before you react. Other times, you’ll become aware of it in the middle of the moment. And sometimes, you’ll only recognize it afterwards. All of these are signs of growth.

Even awareness after the fact is progress. It means your capacity for self-awareness is expanding, and each moment of noticing creates another opportunity to pause, repair, and return to yourself. Repair is one of the most powerful gifts we can offer ourselves and our children. Children do not need perfect mothers. They need mothers who know how to come back, how to repair, how to be present.

You can say: “I was overwhelmed,” “I’m sorry.” “Let’s begin again.”

Every repair teaches a child that relationships can bend without breaking. That moments of disconnection do not mean the relationship is lost. The bridge between two hearts can always be rebuilt, and love remains even when emotions feel big.

Healing Lives in the Body

Healing is not simply understanding your childhood; it is not collecting more knowledge, it is not analysing every trigger. Healing asks the body to experience something new. The experience of being supported, of slowing down. The experience of breathing through discomfort instead of immediately reacting. The experience of making a mistake and discovering that love remains. The experience of being held instead of carrying everything alone.

Little by little, the nervous system begins to learn that discomfort does not always mean danger. It learns that strong emotions can rise without taking over, that conflict does not always lead to disconnection, and that love can remain even through difficult moments.

The present does not have to become the past. You may still feel the old reaction in your body, but with awareness and practice, you can begin to recognize that this moment is different. And within that space and with practice, a new response becomes possible. Awareness alone is not going to bring your nervous system to regulate.

A Gentle Practice

Before you continue with your day, I would love to invite you into a few moments of presence, not to make the emotion disappear, but to become curious.

The greatest transformation doesn’t begin with changing your thoughts. It begins with coming home to your body.

With love,

Chloé

Former Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & breath-work • Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Mother of Five

A little throwback to when my baby was only a few months old and already using the potty.

EC was never about forcing independence or reaching a milestone early. It was about observing, listening, and responding to what my baby was already communicating.

Babies are far more aware of their bodies than we have been led to believe.

As a mother of 5 and former clinical psychologist, I hear so many parents of young children asking me: “When should I start potty training?”

They usually assume that potty training begins somewhere around two or three years old, when a child is finally “ready.” Because they have been told that, before a certain age, children have no control over their bladder.But what if we've forgotten something our ancestors once knew: that babies are far more aware of their bodies than we've been led to believe? What if they have been communicating with us since the very beginning but we have not been listening?

Before Potty Training Was Invented

For most of human history, there was no such thing as waiting until a child was two or three years old before introducing them to toileting. Disposable diapers have only existed for a few decades. Before them, cloth diapers required constant washing, and before cloth diapers became common, mothers around the world simply learned to observe their babies. In many cultures today, this is still the norm. Our babies are constantly communicating with us. We simply need to slow down, observe, and learn to listen.

A mother notices that her baby becomes quiet before urinating. A father recognizes a particular grunt before a bowel movement. A grandmother instinctively holds the baby over the ground after waking or after nursing. This wisdom has been passed down through generations in many cultures.

But as our modern culture became increasingly focused on convenience and material comfort, we began to lose some of our ancestral knowledge. We became more disconnected from our bodies, from our children’s natural rhythms, and from the quiet communication that has always existed between parent and child.

There is no need for: charts, sticker rewards, weekend boot camps, pressure; but simply observation. This practice has become known as Elimination Communication (EC) in the Western world.

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Your Baby Is Already Communicating

Any mother or father, when they become parents, quickly learns to recognize the baby’s different cries. Just as babies have different cries for hunger, fatigue, or the need for comfort, they also have ways of communicating when they need to eliminate. There is a cry, a facial expression, a pause, a squirm, or another cue that tells us they need to go potty. The more we slow down, observe, and listen, the more we begin to recognize our own baby’s unique language. Despite popular belief, babies are deeply connected to their bodies and often communicate their need to eliminate from the very beginning.

There would be signs:

• Sometimes they become unusually still.

• Sometimes they squirm.

• Sometimes they pull away from nursing.

• Sometimes they make a specific facial expression.

• Sometimes they become fussy for no obvious reason.

These signals are not always obvious, and they differ from one child to another. But just as we gradually learn our baby’s sleepy cues or hunger cues, we can also begin to recognize elimination cues as well.

The longer we observe our children without rushing to fix or control them, the more fluent we become in their unique language.

It Is Not About Being Perfect

Elimination communication does not need to add more pressure to your family dynamic. It is not about catching every pee, doing everything perfectly, or forcing your baby to use the potty. It is simply about slowing down, observing your child’s cues, listening to what their body is communicating, and responding with awareness.

As a mother of five, I certainly did not catch everything. There were plenty of wet diapers. There were “accidents.”And that was perfectly okay, because along the way, I developed something far more meaningful than simply catching pees and bowel movements. I built a trusting relationship with my children. They learned that their bodies mattered, that their signals would be noticed, and that they were heard and understood.

EC is not measured by how many pees or bowel movements you catch. It is measured by connection. It is another way of saying to your child, “I notice you. I am listening. Your body is communicating, and I am paying attention.”

What you are building goes far beyond potty skills. You are nurturing body awareness, trust, self-confidence, and compassion. You are teaching your child that their signals matter, that their needs deserve to be heard, and that they can trust both themselves and the person caring for them.

Body Awareness Begins Much Earlier Than We Think

As a former psychologist, I have always been fascinated by how early our relationship with the body begins. Much of modern parenting focuses on teaching children external skills: learning colors, counting, reading, letters, shapes. But one of the most important forms of learning is often overlooked: Interoception.

Interoception is our ability to perceive what is happening inside our own body.

• Am I hungry?

• Am I thirsty?

• Am I tired?

• Is my heart beating quickly?

• Do I need to use the bathroom?

• Can I feel tension in my chest?

• Can I recognize anxiety before it overwhelms me?

EC gently nurtures this awareness. Rather than asking children to ignore the sensation of eliminating because a diaper will simply absorb it, we invite them to notice what their body is communicating. There is no shame, no punishment, no pressure, only curiosity.

An Ayurvedic Perspective

Ayurveda teaches us to live in harmony with the natural intelligence of the body. Every day the body gives us information about ourselves. Elimination is considered one of the essential pillars of health. Healthy elimination is not an inconvenience, it is a sign that the body’s systems are functioning well, so from this perspective, it feels natural to include our babies in this rhythm from the beginning, not because they need to perform, but because we honor what their body is already doing.

Just as we respond when they are hungry, we can also respond when they need to eliminate. It becomes another act of care.

This Is Not About Early Achievement

Unfortunately, our culture has a tendency to turn everything into a milestone, walking early, talking early, reading early, potty training early. EC is not about having the earliest potty-trained child. In fact, approaching it with that mindset misses its deepest purpose. If the goal becomes achieving dryness as quickly as possible, then we have simply replaced one form of pressure with another.

The purpose is not performance. The purpose is relationship: the relationship between parent and child, and the relationship the child is slowly building with their own body..

My Experience as a Mother

Each of my five children was introduced to the potty well before their second birthday. Not because I expected them to become independent, and certainly not because I wanted to save money on diapers, although, as a pleasant bonus, it does make a significant difference! I simply wanted to honor their body’s natural communication and invite them into a relationship with their own bodily awareness from the very beginning. I simply wanted to invite them into awareness and wisdom of their own bodies from the beginning.

As a natural result of this relationship, all five of my children transitioned out of diapers between 12 and 18 months of age. Looking back, what I cherish most is not that they became diaper-free earlier. It is the relationship we built through paying attention to one another.

Perhaps We Are the Ones Learning

When people hear about Elimination Communication, they often assume the baby is the one being trained. But in my experience, the opposite is true. EC gently trains us as parents. It teaches us to slow down, to observe more closely, to listen more deeply, to be less distracted and to trust that our babies have been communicating with us all along.

EC invites us to become students of our own child instead of relying solely on parenting timelines and developmental charts; that is its greatest gift. Not fewer diapers or earlier potty independence, but a deeper relationship.

With love,

Chloé

Former Psychologist • Ayurvedic Doula • Somatic & Trauma-Informed Practitioner • Mother of Five

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As a mother of five and an Ayurvedic doula, honoring mothers has become one of the deepest callings of my work. Again and again, I have witnessed how much changes when a mother is truly cared for after birth, not only physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually too.

Yet we live in a culture that prepares so carefully for the birth and the baby’s arrival while giving very little thought to the woman who is about to become a mother.

Postpartum is not simply about recovering from pregnancy. It is the beginning of a profound transformation. Your body is healing, your hormones are shifting, your nervous system is adapting, your identity is changing. Even if this is not your first baby, you are becoming a new version of yourself once again. The first six weeks are considered Sacred and a time when the mother can either take the path of rejuvenation or the path of depletion.

Preparing for Postpartum Means Preparing for the Mother and NOT preparing for the freezer

When people talk about preparing for postpartum, the conversation usually begins with freezer meals. While I understand it sounds convenient, frozen meals are not adapted to the unique needs of a postpartum mother. After birth, the body longs for warmth, nourishment, and foods that support digestion and rebuilding the vitality that you have lost during the birth.

I’ll write much more about this in another letter because this subject deserves far more attention than it receives. But preparing for postpartum goes far beyond food.

Preparing for your Sacred Window postpartum is crucial and a necessity. It is NOT a luxury. Your baby is not the only one who is born that day. You are born as a mother, too.

Healing Is More Than Physical

One of the most overlooked parts of postpartum is the nervous system. Birth is one of the most significant physiological and emotional experiences a woman will ever move through. Even a beautiful birth asks an enormous amount of the body.

Then, almost overnight, hormones shift, sleep changes, and life becomes completely different. No wonder so many mothers feel overwhelmed. This is why postpartum care must include more than physical recovery. A mother needs moments that help her feel safe again: gentle breathing, quiet, warmth, rest, compassion, a safe space to process her birth. A space to simply be and not do.

These small moments will help you slowly find your way back to yourself, not because you are broken, but because you have been profoundly transformed and your needs are great.

The Wisdom of the Sacred Window

In Ayurveda, the first six weeks after birth are considered a Sacred Window, a time when you are especially open, sensitive, and deserving of deep care, you are not expected, and you should not bounce back; you need to be gently gathered back into yourself:

• Through warmth.

• Through nourishment.

• Through loving touch.

• Through rest.

• Through being surrounded by people who understand that caring for the baby also means caring for the mother.

I have witnessed this transformation many times in my work, and when a mother feels deeply supported, something shifts. You can see the healing happening. The bonding between her and her baby happens deeply.

A Different Vision for Postpartum

Imagine if every mother entered postpartum expecting to be nourished instead of rushed. Imagine if she were encouraged to rest instead of perform.

Imagine if she were not applauded for returning to exercise a week after birth or praised for “getting her body back,” but instead honored for slowing down, healing deeply, and allowing her body the time it needs to recover.

Perhaps then, more women would emerge from postpartum feeling restored rather than depleted (even if she thinks she is okay now). And more moms will be expected to receive instead of immediately giving everything away.

I truly believe this would change the way women experience motherhood for years to come

When a woman receives deep, consistent support after birth, her postpartum can become a time of profound restoration, healing and rejuvenation.

Her body is given the warmth, nourishment, rest, and care it needs to recover from pregnancy and birth. She has space to process what she has experienced physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. She may feel more grounded in herself, more connected to her baby, and more supported as her relationship with her partner also adjusts to this new season.

You do not have to spend all of your energy simply surviving.

You have the opportunity to soften, rebuild, and enter motherhood feeling steadier, stronger, and more deeply held.

The problem is that when a mother does not receive enough support, depletion will take root.

Exhaustion may deepen. Anxiety, overwhelm, rage, sadness, physical discomfort, feeding challenges, mastitis, hair loss and difficulty feeling connected within and with her baby will take place. The strain of postpartum may also affect her relationship, her confidence, and her long-term well-being.

The way a mother is nourished, protected, listened to, cared for and honored after birth shapes how she moves through this sacred transition and for years to come.

Postpartum care is not a luxury. It is part of protecting the health of the mother, the baby, and the entire family. Postpartum is not simply about healing your body, it is about honoring the woman who was born at the same time as her baby.

It is my deepest hope and the reason behind my work to help bring this truth back into the light, so that mothers everywhere receive the care they have always deserved.It is my deepest hope to help bring this wisdom back into our homes, our families, and our culture, one mother at a time.

With love,

Chloé

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But painlessness should never become another standard women are expected to achieve. It is putting some sort of expectation and image around birth that I do not agree with.

Because what happens when a mother does feel pain? Does she believe she did something wrong? Was she the problem? Was she not relaxed enough? Did she not trust her body enough? Did she fail to breathe correctly, release her fear, or think positively?

That is not empowerment in my opinion. It is simply another way of making women believe they have failed at birth.

I have given birth five times, and I have experienced pain during every one of my births. I loved my births. I had one hospital birth and four homebirths.

A birth can be painful and deeply beautiful. It does not have to be pain-free to be beautiful. It can be intense and empowering. It can bring a woman to the edge of herself without becoming a negative experience.

Pain is not the enemy

We have given the word pain such a frightening meaning. Pain means danger or means something is wrong. If we feel pain, we immediately need to numb, control or stop it.

Of course, some pain can be a warning, and a mother should always feel free to communicate what she is experiencing to her birth team or whoever is supporting her during this time. But the pain and intensity of labor is the body at work.

The pain is:

• The uterus contracting.

• The cervix opening.

• The baby descending.

• A mother and her baby working together.

I have witnessed mothers experience enormous pain during their waves, and yet they were not weak; they were feral in the most beautiful way. They moaned, moved, shook, breathed. They reached into a depth within themselves they may never have known existed. The pain did not diminish them. It revealed their strength.

The problem is making painlessness the measure of a successful or empowered birth.

We have learned to leave our bodies

Many of us were never taught how to remain present with discomfort. We have learned to distract ourselves, to numb, to tighten, to hold our breath, to push sensations away.

Some of us learned to leave our bodies entirely when things became overwhelming, and then we are expected to arrive at birth and suddenly trust our bodies completely. But trust is not something we can force through positive affirmations. Trust has to be built through relationship.

This is why the work I do with mothers during pregnancy is not about promising that birth will not hurt. It is about helping a woman build a deeper relationship with her body before labor begins. To bring harmony between her mind, soul, spirit and her body.

We practice noticing the breath, recognizing where the body is holding tension, softening without forcing, moving with sensation instead of immediately resisting it, returning to the present when fear takes over. Reshaping the nervous system and learning what helps it to feel safer. Visualizing different moments of labor so they do not feel completely unfamiliar when they arrive. We explore how the body responds to intensity.

There are protective patterns, and it is crucial to learn them during pregnancy. We can rewire our brains; we can gently begin creating another pathway.

A pathway that says:

I feel intensity.
I notice what is happening.
I breathe.
I soften what can soften.
I move if my body asks me to move.
I ask for support.
I stay connected to myself.

This does not guarantee a pain-free birth. It offers something more honest and more meaningful.

It prepares a mother to return to herself when labor becomes intense, to stay connected when things feel difficult, and to trust that she can move through hard moments without abandoning her body. This preparation reaches far beyond birth.

It helps a mother meet the challenges of motherhood with greater awareness, resilience, and self-trust. It prepares her not only to welcome her baby, but also to welcome the new woman being born within her.

You do not need to pretend it does not hurt

I do not want a mother repeating, “This does not hurt,” while every part of her body is telling her that it does; that creates even more disconnection.

Your words can be truthful:

This is intense, and I am still here.

My body is working, and I can listen.

I do not have to do the whole birth right now. Only this wave.

I can soften without disappearing.

I can feel this and still be safe.

Birth preparation should not train women to deny their experience. It should help them remain connected to themselves inside of it.

Begin practicing before labor

You cannot know exactly how your birth will unfold. No one knows; however, you can begin strengthening your connection with your body now.

Notice your sensations without judging them.
Take a few minutes each day to notice warmth, pressure, heaviness, tingling, movement, tension, or softness. You do not need to change anything. Simply listen.

Practice returning instead of forcing relaxation.
You do not need to make your whole body relax. On the exhale, soften one place that feels ready: your jaw, hands, shoulders, belly, or pelvic floor.

Learn how fear shows up in your body.
Does your breathing become shallow? Do you tense your shoulders? Do you feel the urge to escape? Do you feel the need to control your environment? Awareness gives you the possibility to respond differently.

Choose honest words.
Use phrases that help you stay present rather than words that deny what you are feeling.

Prepare your support person.
Tell them what helps you return when you start to feel overwhelmed. Eye contact, silence, firm pressure, movement, prayer, water, encouragement, or simply someone reminding you to take one wave at a time.

Birth is not a performance

A powerful birth is not necessarily one in which a woman never felt pain. It is one in which she was allowed to remain connected to herself or was gently helped back when she became overwhelmed.

It is one in which she was listened to, respected, supported, and free to choose what she needed.

If your birth is painless, beautiful. If your birth is painful, beautiful too. You did not fail either way. You did not breathe incorrectly. You did not lack trust. You did not think the wrong thoughts.

Pain-free birth should not be the goal. The goal is to know your body, to prepare your nervous system, to recognize when fear is pulling you away, to learn how to return and to discover the depth of your strength, not because you never felt pain, but because pain did not erase who you were.

Through every wave, you did not have to abandon yourself. And remember: birth is not the destination; it is the portal to the new you.

If this way of preparing for birth speaks to you, subscribe to my Substack. I write about birth preparation, the nervous system, motherhood, Ayurveda, the sacred postpartum and the deeper transformation of becoming a mother.

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