Growing up, people always spoke so highly of my mom.

She was the woman everyone admired. The oldest of five siblings. One of only seven women to be among the first women to join the Fijian military. She didn’t drink alcohol, didn’t go out to parties. Bought her first house at just 19 years old. Got married at 24 years old and then had me and my siblings before 30. She did everything “right.” She followed the rules, worked hard and built a life people could be proud of.

And because she was my mom, I grew up hearing those stories.

I was her oldest daughter.

So, without anyone ever having to say it outright, I think I understood that I was supposed to be something, too. I was supposed to make good choices, have high standards, know better and follow the path that had been laid out in front of me.

There was nothing wrong with wanting those things for me. In many ways, they came from love. My mom wanted the best for me. She wanted me to have the discipline, values and strength that had carried her through her own life.

She also wanted me to experience the things she hadn’t.

My mom always told me that one of her biggest regrets was not travelling more before she got married. My dad eventually took her around the world, and she has seen so much of it since, but she would always tell me that it wasn’t the same as travelling while you were young and single. 😂

So she encouraged me to go.

And I did.

I got to see the world on my own. I got to live in different places, experience different cultures and have adventures that belonged entirely to me. In that way, my mom didn’t just give me expectations. She also gave me permission to experience things she wished she’d experienced herself.

Maybe that’s what I’m realizing now: our parents don’t just pass down their expectations. They pass down their regrets, their dreams, their fears and the lessons they’ve learned from the lives they’ve lived.

And as children, we get to decide what we carry forward.

But sometimes, even love can become something we feel we have to live up to.

And when you grow up feeling like there is a particular version of you that you’re supposed to become, eventually you start wondering what it feels like to choose your own.

So I rebelled.

Not necessarily in the dramatic way people imagine when they hear the word “rebel,” but in little ways. In choices. In questioning things. In wanting to figure things out for myself. I didn’t always want to do something simply because it was the way it had always been done.

At the time, I thought I was just stubborn.

Now, as a mother, I wonder if some part of me was simply trying to find herself.

A few days ago, I had a realization that stopped me in my tracks.

I spent nine years in the United States Air Force.

Nine years.

And I genuinely loved so much of my experience. The people, the discipline, the places it took me, the friendships, the experiences and the person it forced me to become.

But I realized something I had never really admitted to myself before: joining the military was never actually my dream.

I joined because my mom wanted that kind of life for me.

And somehow, I had carried that decision for almost a decade without fully realizing it.

That doesn’t mean those nine years weren’t mine. They were. They shaped me and gave me things I will carry for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t erase them, and I don’t regret them.

But something can shape you profoundly and still not have been something you chose entirely for yourself.

Maybe that’s why this realization has stayed with me.

Because I am now on the other side of that relationship.

I am the mom.

And I am raising an oldest daughter.

My little girl.

And suddenly, I understand the responsibility of being the person whose expectations could one day become part of the voice inside her head.

I don’t want Bella to spend her childhood trying to become the person she thinks I want her to be.

I don’t want her to look at my life and think she has to recreate it. I don’t want her to think that because I value something, she has to value it too. I don’t want her to choose a career because she thinks I’ll be proud of her, or measure her worth by how well she follows the rules.

I want her to know herself.

I want her to ask questions, change her mind, make mistakes and have dreams that make absolutely no sense to me. I want her to choose a career I never would have imagined for her. I want her to build a life that looks nothing like mine if that’s the life that makes her happy.

I want her to disagree with me and still know that she is deeply loved.

I want her to be herself.

Whatever that looks like.

Even if I don’t understand it.

Especially if I don’t understand it.

And I think that’s where motherhood has changed me.

Before becoming a mother, I thought parenting was largely about teaching your children. Now I’m realizing that sometimes it’s also about learning when to step back.

To give them roots, but not dictate the direction of their branches.

To give them values, but not a blueprint for their entire life.

To guide them without becoming the voice in their head that tells them who they are supposed to be.

I can give Bella boundaries without making her feel confined. I can teach her right from wrong without teaching her that there is only one way to live. I can be proud of the things she accomplishes without making achievement the condition for my pride.

Most importantly, I want her to know that she never has to earn my love by becoming someone I’m proud of.

I already am.

She is my daughter.

And maybe that’s enough.

I didn’t realize I was following my own dream until I became pregnant with Bella.

Somewhere between becoming her mother and rediscovering myself, I found this work — becoming a pre- and postnatal coach. Something that feels like mine.

Not my mom’s dream.

Not anyone else’s idea of who I should be.

Mine.

And perhaps that’s the lesson I want to carry into raising my daughter.

I don’t need to build her a perfect life. I don’t need to make all the right decisions for her. I don’t need her to become someone impressive.

I just want to give her enough love, safety and freedom that she never has to spend years figuring out who she is underneath everyone else’s expectations.

I want her to be herself.

And maybe that’s the greatest thing I can give her: the freedom to become someone I never imagined.

I spent years learning how to find myself.

I hope she never has to lose herself in the first place.

I’m 32, and many of my friends are finally getting the chance to experience the freedom they missed in their twenties. They want girls’ weekends, spontaneous trips, date nights without the kids, and time to rediscover who they are outside of motherhood.

I completely understand why.

But my life happened in a different order.

In my twenties, I served in the military. I traveled to more than 80 countries. I chased adventure. I lived overseas. I built friendships across the world. I experienced heartbreak, growth, uncertainty, and freedom. I learned who I was long before I became a mother.

So when motherhood came into my life, it never felt like something was being taken away.

It felt like I had arrived.

Sometimes I hear conversations about needing to “escape” motherhood for a while, and I realize I can’t fully relate. Not because I think there’s anything wrong with wanting time to yourself—every mother deserves rest, hobbies, friendships, and space to simply be a person again.

This is simply my story. We all arrive at motherhood carrying different experiences, and because of that, we long for different things.

When I imagine traveling, I don’t dream about going alone anymore.

Maybe one day I’ll want a girls’ trip or a solo holiday.

But right now, when I imagine the places I still want to see, I don’t picture going alone.

I imagine Bella seeing Disneyland for the first time.

I imagine introducing both of our children to Fiji and watching them fall in love with a place that means so much to our family.

I imagine watching my husband become the dad who points out little things they would’ve otherwise missed.

The places still excite me.

But the people I experience them with have become the best part.

Maybe that’s because I already had my season of independence.

I don’t feel like I missed out on life before becoming a mum.

I lived it.

I wandered through airports with nothing but a backpack. I explored cities where I didn’t speak the language. I collected passport stamps, stories, friendships, and memories that shaped me into the woman I am today.

And maybe that’s why I don’t feel like I’m missing anything now.

Because the adventure didn’t end when I became a mother.

It simply changed.

Now my greatest adventure is watching my daughter discover the world for the very first time.

Now it’s growing another little life while continuing to build a business that helps other mums feel strong through pregnancy and postpartum.

Now it’s creating a home wherever my little family happens to be.

Motherhood didn’t replace who I was.

It gave every chapter before it a deeper meaning.

I know not every woman will feel this way.

Some become mothers before they’ve had the chance to travel, build a career, or discover themselves, and it’s completely understandable that they crave those experiences later. Our timelines are different, and because of that, our longings are different too.

Neither story is more valid than the other.

This one just happens to be mine.

And today, if you asked me where in the world I most want to be, my answer wouldn’t be a country.

It would simply be wherever my husband, Bella, and our growing little family are.

Because somewhere along the way, I realized that home was never a place.

It became the people I love.

But the truth is, this dream has been a lot longer than a year in the making.

I started creating content back in 2016, the same year I joined the US military. It was more a fun side thing to do. But I was doing so well! When I moved to New Zealand almost four years ago, I quickly realized the content world here was very different.

It was an adjustment.

For a long time, I accepted gifted collaborations, created content for little pay, and heard the familiar promise of “exposure.” I kept creating because I loved it, but I also wondered if all the time and energy I was putting in would ever truly turn into something sustainable.

And then, about 7 months ago, things started shifting.

Little reminder I found on instagram.

The opportunities started coming. Brands started noticing. The work I had been doing for years finally started to pay off, and I finally stopped dreaming of going back to the USA where my content was making me what I could only dream of making here.

Now I’m running my coaching business, building my digital marketing business, creating UGC, working with brands, writing Substacks, and building a life where I can stay home with my babies while still contributing financially to my family.

And I’ll be honest… sometimes it feels like a lot.

I’m pregnant, chasing a toddler, and trying to keep up with all the moving pieces. Some days I feel like I’m not doing enough. Other days I look at everything on my plate and wonder how I’m doing it all.

But I also have to remind myself:

This is what I wanted.

Not the exhaustion. Not the endless to-do list. But the opportunity.

The funny thing is, if you looked at my calendar, you’d probably think I have it all together.

Brand deadlines. Coaching plans. Content calendars. Business ideas.

But behind every checkmark is a toddler asking me to play, a baby kicking from the inside, and me trying to remember where I left my coffee for the third time that morning.

This season isn’t glamorous. It’s messy, loud, and often overwhelming.

For most of my adult life, I’ve worked. Being a stay-at-home mom has been something I didn’t realize I wanted until I gave birth, but it was also a big adjustment for me to go from always contributing financially to suddenly relying on one income.

Building businesses from home has been my way of finding that balance — being present with my children while still using the skills, creativity, and drive I’ve always had.

But I also know one day I’ll probably look back and realize these were the days I was building the life I always hoped for.

Not just the businesses. Not just the income. But the life where I get to be present with my children while still being the ambitious, creative person I’ve always been.

A year ago, this was a dream.

And now I’m learning that sometimes the life you pray for is also the life that asks you to grow.

Becoming a certified pre- and postnatal coach wasn’t about proving anyone wrong (ok, maybe a little haha). It wasn’t about rejecting my culture or believing that everything we’ve always done needs to change.

It was about learning how to hold two truths at the same time.

As a Pacific Island woman, I grew up surrounded by strong women. Women who loved fiercely, sacrificed endlessly, and carried generations of wisdom about motherhood. Pregnancy wasn’t just a medical journey—it was a family journey. Everyone had advice. Everyone wanted to care for you. That sense of community is something I’ll always be grateful for.

But alongside that love came a lot of opinions.

What I should eat. How much I should rest. Whether I should exercise. What my body should look like. How quickly I should “bounce back.”

Some of that advice was incredibly helpful. Some of it came from personal experience. And some of it was simply passed down because that’s how it had always been done.

When I became pregnant with our eldest, I realised how overwhelming it could be to navigate all of those voices while also trying to understand what current research says.

That’s when I stopped asking, “Who is right?” and started asking a different question:

How can I honor where I come from while making informed decisions for myself and my baby?

That question eventually led me to become a certified pre- and postnatal coach.

Not because I think culture and science are enemies. But because I believe they can work together.

Culture gives us identity, connection, and community. Evidence gives us the opportunity to continually learn as new research emerges.

Both have value.

Throughout this pregnancy, I’ve continued lifting weights. I’ve adjusted my training as my body has changed. I’ve prioritized breathing, walking, recovery, and listening to my body.

For some people, that might seem unusual.

For me, it’s one way I care for myself during pregnancy.

Every pregnancy is different. Every body is different. Every medical history is different. That’s why there is no one-size-fits-all approach to movement during pregnancy.

As a coach, my role isn’t to convince every pregnant woman to train the way I do.

It’s to help women understand their options, make informed decisions, and feel confident in their own bodies.

Because confidence doesn’t come from copying someone else’s pregnancy.

It comes from understanding your own.

6 months pregnant with our first 🌺

One of the biggest lessons pregnancy has taught me is that our bodies are not problems to solve.

They’re constantly adapting.

Growing.

Protecting.

Creating life.

Whether you’ve gained 2kg or 20kg…

Whether you exercised before pregnancy or you’re just beginning with gentle walks…

Whether your birth plan changes completely…

Your worth has never depended on fitting someone else’s expectations.

You don’t owe anyone a small pregnancy.

You don’t owe anyone a quick bounce back.

You don’t owe anyone an explanation for choosing the path that’s right for you.

If there’s one thing I hope women take away from my work, it’s this:

You don’t have to choose between your culture and current evidence.

You can respect where you come from while remaining curious enough to learn.

You can appreciate family traditions while having conversations with qualified healthcare professionals.

You can carry your heritage proudly while writing your own story.

That’s the coach I hope to be.

One who listens before speaking.

One who respects culture without being limited by it.

One who believes every mother deserves support, not shame.

Because motherhood isn’t about doing everything perfectly.

It’s about making the best decisions you can with the information you have—and giving yourself grace along the way.

And if my journey helps even one woman feel less afraid to trust her body, ask questions, or confidently choose what feels right for her, then becoming a pre- and postnatal coach was worth every step.

Worked out through my first pregnancy, postpartum and doing it all over again this time.

P.S. If you’ve made it all the way to the end, thank you. 🤎

If you’d like to follow along with my own pregnancy, postpartum education, and the occasional laugh about the chaos of motherhood, come say hi on Instagram @thefitmamaedit

I’d love to have you there. 🌺

This is the story I don’t always get to fully explain on Instagram.

If you know me, you know I come from a big sports family. I’ve always been active, played sport growing up, and spent nine years in the US Air Force. Fitness has always been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember.

So when I became pregnant, something unexpected happened.

I didn’t lose my love for fitness. In fact, I fell in love with it even more.

Motherhood changed everything 💘

Pregnancy and postpartum completely changed the way I viewed movement. It stopped being about performance or aesthetics, and became something so much deeper: connection, strength, and trust in my body.

I was fortunate enough to have a healthy pregnancy with our first daughter. I had a positive birth experience and a recovery that felt better than I ever expected. Looking back, I genuinely believe staying active throughout my pregnancy helped me feel strong, confident, and prepared for what my body went through.

But my experience wasn’t just shaped by my body — it was also shaped by the voices around me.

I’m Fijian, and in many of our communities, exercising during pregnancy is still seen as something risky or even something to avoid completely. Throughout my pregnancy, I received a lot of messages — from strangers and even family — telling me to slow down or stop because I could be harming myself or my baby.

But I experienced the complete opposite of what I was being told.

That contrast stayed with me.

6 months postpartum. I felt amazing.

Then, before my daughter turned one, I fell pregnant again and experienced a miscarriage. Two months later, I became pregnant again and experienced another miscarriage.

And alongside that grief came more comments — people telling me it was because I was training, or that I should have stopped exercising during pregnancy.

Those moments were incredibly difficult.

Not just because of what I was going through physically and emotionally, but because it highlighted something I had already started to notice:

There is still so much fear and misinformation around movement in pregnancy and postpartum.

The truth is, for most healthy pregnancies, research shows that appropriate exercise is not only safe, but incredibly beneficial. Yet culturally, and online, fear is often louder than evidence.

And I felt that gap deeply.

Not only did I not know I was pregnant here, but I’d miscarry for the second time just 3 weeks later. (December, 2025)

Another reason I chose this path is because I’ve never personally met another Fijian coach who specialises specifically in pre and postnatal fitness. In many of our communities — especially among the older generation — the fear around pregnancy and movement is still very real.

I want to be really clear here: I have so much respect for our culture and for the generations before us. Most of this advice comes from love and protection. Our families want what is safest for mums and babies.

But we also now have access to more research, more education, and more understanding than ever before.

And I believe both things can coexist — respect for where we come from, and openness to what we now know.

For me, becoming a pre and postnatal coach is about bridging that gap.

It’s about helping women feel informed instead of afraid. Confident instead of confused. Strong instead of limited.

I actually began my pre and postnatal coaching certification around the same time I became pregnant again. In a way, it felt like life reinforcing the path I was meant to be on. It gave me even more motivation to learn, grow, and share this journey in real time.

So excited to welcome our newest addition this spring 🤍

Today, my goal is simple:

To help women train safely during pregnancy and return to movement after birth with confidence and support.

And while I want to support all mums, there’s a part of me that hopes this also helps shift the conversation within my own Fijian community — so the next generation of women don’t grow up with fear around their own strength.

I don’t want movement to be something pregnant women feel scared of.

I want it to be something that supports them.

Because every mum deserves to feel strong — not just before having a baby, but during pregnancy, postpartum, and long after.

I share more about pregnancy, postpartum, and evidence-based movement over on Instagram, @thefitmamaedit , if you’d like to follow along.

I didn’t care much about gender reveals, perfect nursery themes, or detailed birth plans. I just wanted her here safely: that was my birth plan.

But there was one tiny thing I prayed about constantly that feels almost funny to admit now: her hair.

Growing up, I had straight blonde hair. As I got older, it became a little wavier and darker. Believe it or not, having blonde hair as a Fijian isn’t actually that rare. Depending on the province you’re from, there are a lot of Fijians with lighter hair.

But having completely straight hair wasn’t something you saw often, especially as someone who is fully Fijian. My younger sister, for example, didn’t inherit the same hair texture my mum and I had growing up. She’s always had beautiful curly hair.

When I found out I was having a girl, I was over the moon. I’d always known I wanted to be a mother, and as the oldest sibling, I always hoped I’d have a daughter first. Girls make the best big sisters, in my opinion haha.

Throughout my entire pregnancy, all I wanted was for both of us to be healthy. That was my birth plan: a healthy baby and a positive birth.

But there was one specific thing I kept praying for over and over again—her hair.

I wanted her to have the same hair texture I had growing up because, truthfully, I didn’t know how to manage curly hair. I know I would have researched and learned everything I needed to if she had curls, but at the time, I just wanted her to have straight hair like mine.

I was officially a brunette.

It sounds so small now, maybe even silly to some people, but it was the only really specific detail I prayed for throughout my pregnancy.

When I was pushing Bella out, I remember hearing my mum and mother-in-law shouting, “Oh my gosh, she’s got black hair!” “So much black hair!”

I had blonde hair as a child, but my husband has always had black hair, so I wasn’t surprised. And honestly, in that moment, the last thing I was thinking about was my newborn’s hair. I was mostly shocked that she even had so much of it, especially because I never experienced the heartburn people always talk about when you’re carrying a baby with lots of hair.

Then she was placed on my chest, and there she was with the most beautiful thick black hair. And it was straight.

My sweet girl, an hour after I pushed her out.

Funny enough, it wasn’t until Bella was around four months old that I remembered those prayers again. One of my husband’s aunties laughed and said, “Just wait a couple more months, it’ll turn curly.”

And that was the moment I remembered all those tiny prayers I whispered while I was pregnant with her.

Looking back now, I think that prayer had very little to do with hair. It was really about wanting to feel ready to care for the little girl I had prayed so hard for.

my beautiful girl.

Now that I’m pregnant again, I’m honestly okay with whatever kind of hair this baby comes out with. Although, I would love for one of our kids to inherit my husband’s baby curls—might have to add that to my pregnancy prayers this round haha.

It might seem like such a small detail, but I really believe the little things that matter deeply to us matter to God too.

About how sometimes it doesn’t arrive all at once.  Sometimes it overlaps in ways you don’t realise until much later.

Both of my miscarriages were followed closely by loss in my family too.

Image from Pinterest

After my first miscarriage, my aunt, my dad’s oldest sister—who was also my namesake—passed away a few weeks later. And during my second miscarriage, my first cousin, that same aunt’s daughter, passed away the very same week.

At the time, I don’t think I fully processed either loss properly because I was so consumed by what I was going through myself.

I think when you’re in survival mode, your mind focuses on whatever feels most immediate. and for me, that was my own body, my own loss, my own pain.

It wasn’t that their deaths mattered less. I just didn’t have the emotional capacity to hold everything at once.

At my aunt’s funeral in September 2025. My cousin, Eseta, next to my dad, was still with us. (Top row, 5th from left)

If you read my last blog, you’ll know the day I posted it was the due date for the baby we lost during my first miscarriage in September of 2025. I had written that post months earlier, but every time I thought about sharing it, something in me held back. It never felt like the right time.

But as the due date approached, I realised I was finally mentally ready to let it go and share it. Not just to honour that baby, but to release something I had been carrying quietly for a long time.

And I think it was only then that it truly hit me how little space I had given myself to grieve my cousin properly. While everyone else was grieving her loss, I was completely engulfed in my own.

Grief is such a strange thing. Sometimes your mind can only hold what feels most urgent in that moment. And for me, survival took over.

It’s been four months since my second miscarriage and since losing my cousin, Eseta, and I feel like I’m only now beginning to fully grieve her. She was the oldest of my paternal first cousins. Kind, had the best sense of humour and always full of love for me.

And even though I know grief doesn’t follow a timeline, there’s still a part of me that feels guilty it took me this long.

I used to think grief was something you move through one thing at a time, but I’m learning it doesn’t always work like that.

Sometimes you survive first… and feel later.

She changed me in all the best ways. Softened me, grounded me, and showed me a kind of love I didn’t know existed.

But my journey through motherhood hasn’t been without loss.

After having bella, I experienced two miscarriages—one just before her first birthday, and another earlier this year.

It’s a part of my story i’ve carried quietly, not because it didn’t matter, but because I didn’t know how to speak about it.

Until now.

About a month before Bella turned one, I found out I was pregnant again. It came as a surprise, just like Bella did. We’d always talked about waiting until she turned two before having another baby, so when I found out, I was in complete shock.

But more than anything… I felt guilt. Bella wasn’t even one yet, and here I was. I can’t even explain how heavy that guilt felt. I would literally cry myself to sleep some nights because I felt like I had let her down. She was still a baby, and now we were going to have another one.

I also remember wondering if my heart could even handle loving another baby the way I love her. Everything felt so soon, and I wasn’t sure how I could possibly give that same love again without taking something away from.

I felt like I wasn’t giving her enough time: time for just the three of us, time for her to be the only child. It was so many emotions at once. I was happy, but the guilt was louder.

One night, it all caught up to me. I cried harder than I ever had. Epeli, my husband, was 5 hours away playing rugby and got home late that night. I remember staying up waiting for him. We ate together quietly, and then went to bed.

I woke up to bleeding. I was horrified. The cramps were like nothing I had ever felt before, and I don’t even have cramps when I’m on my period—this felt like contractions. That whole day, I couldn’t do anything but lie in bed.

By the time I was able to get a scan two days later, there was nothing there. Everything had already passed.

And once it was over, the guilt didn’t leave—it got worse. I blamed myself. I kept thinking… maybe the baby felt how conflicted I was. Maybe that’s why it happened. My mind didn’t give me peace for a long time.

Bella and I flew to Fiji for her first birthday celebration a week later, and I remember hearing people say, “now that she’s one, maybe it’s time for another baby.” And all I could think was… if only they knew.

It took me about a month to even get off the couch—to move my body, to feel just a little like myself again. But it took even longer to get out of that mental space, to stop blaming myself. Eventually, I got to a place where I could tell myself: if it’s meant to be, it will be.

Two months later, Bella and I went back to fiji for Christmas. We were travelling, eating out, just enjoying being with family—and I kept getting sick. I blamed the food, I blamed the restaurants, but little did i know…

I was pregnant again.

Christmas Eve, 2025. I found out I was pregnant again just a few days later.

This time, the feeling was different. I was still surprised, but instead of guilt, I felt gratitude. I stood in front of the mirror and said, “if i’m meant to keep you, it will happen.”

We carried on with our holiday and I tried not to stress.

A few weeks later, I woke up at 4am with bleeding. I was meant to go to the gym that morning with my little brother—and I still went, like nothing was happening. I didn’t want to sit in it. I didn’t want to cry. I just kept going.

But underneath it all, there was so much anger building inside me. I was snappy, short, reactive—every little thing triggered me.

That weekend, we had our monthly family prayer breakfast. I didn’t want to go, but my sister insisted I went anyway as it would be our last chance to say goodbye to everyone.

While we were eating, one of my aunties asked, “are you still pregnant or did you lose this one too?”

I felt like the ground disappeared under me. All I could think was this is exactly why I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t even know what to say. I just nodded and said, “I’m still pregnant.” But I had been bleeding all week.

We were flying back to New Zealand the next day, and I remember just counting down the hours.

This was day 5 of bleeding, no one had a clue what I was going through.

I look back at photos from that week—smiling, laughing, looking happy—and no one knew. I was quietly going through another loss.

By the time I was able to get a scan in New Zealand, there was nothing to see again.

Maybe part of what made it easier to process was that I never saw either baby.

But even then, there were still so many questions that stayed with me

So after both of my miscarriages, I spent time questioning everything, including whether the way I was working out and moving my body had anything to do with it.

But all of my test results came back normal, and my doctor encouraged me to keep working out and doing what I was doing as it had nothing to do with either losses. And the truth is that miscarriages can happen for so many reasons. Sometimes, there isn’t a clear answer. For me, I’ve come to accept that it was something I may never fully understand.

If anything, that experience became part of the reason I chose to start my pre and postnatal coaching. I never want women to feel afraid of taking care of their bodies or to believe that movement or working out is something to blame. Our bodies are not the problem, and we are not to blame.

A little gift basket for a mom & baby due today

Today marks what would have been my due date for the baby we lost last September: my first miscarriage.

And I’ve found myself wanting to honor that by putting together a small basket of baby and mum things for another mum who is due around this time. Just a small way of holding both love and loss at the same time 🤍

Pregnancy is beautiful, but we don’t really talk about the losses. It’s almost like it’s something we’re meant to carry quietly, like it’s too uncomfortable to say out loud.

But it shouldn’t be. and this is part of my motherhood story too.

And if you’re reading this while going through it, I just want you to know you’re not alone in this. Even if it feels quiet. Even if no one around you knows. You are not alone 🤎

I don’t think that’s the full truth.

Because what if it’s not actually motherhood that’s draining you?

What if it’s everything around it?

What if it’s that you’re carrying too much alone?

Holding everything together… without the support you actually need.

What if it’s that you’re not being poured into?

Not just physically—but mentally and emotionally too.

Giving so much of yourself to everyone else…without anything filling you back up. What if it’s that you don’t feel seen?

Not just as a mum…

but as yourself.

And maybe even deeper than that…

What if you’ve lost connection to the things that make you feel like you?

The creativity.

The quiet moments.

The parts of your life that aren’t just about taking care of everyone else.

Because I’ve realised something recently: Since becoming a mum, the way I’ve been showing up has been different.

Stronger. More consistent. More intentional.

It’s like a fire lit up in me.

Not just in how I show up—but in how I take care of myself. I go to the gym more consistently now than I ever did before. Not because I have more time… but because I’ve realised how much it affects everything.

When I feel good, everything feels better.

The way I show up as a mum. The way I show up in my marriage. The way I handle the day, even when it’s hard.

It all comes back to me.

And I think that’s something we don’t talk about enough.

As mums, we are the anchor of the home.

The energy we carry… sets the tone for everything around us. So when we’re running on empty, everything feels heavier.

But when we’re supported… when we’re taking care of ourselves…

everything flows differently.

And maybe that’s why it’s felt like a fire lit up in me.

Because for the first time, I’m not putting myself last.

And that made me question everything.

Maybe it’s not motherhood that drains us…

Maybe it’s being disconnected from ourselves within it

Because motherhood, on its own, isn’t empty. It’s full.

But when you’re giving from an empty place…

everything feels heavy.

I don’t think mums are meant to feel constantly drained.

I think we’re meant to feel supported.

Held.

Seen.

Inspired, even.

And maybe the shift isn’t in “doing less motherhood”…

but in giving yourself more of what you need within it.

more support. more rest. more space. more creativity. more YOU.

maybe it’s not motherhood that’s too much

maybe it’s that you’ve been carrying it all alone…

without being supported, without being poured into, without being prioritised 🤍

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There are so many things that have surprised me about motherhood.

Some I expected.

Others I really didn’t.

—

1. I don’t miss my old life.

This is probably the biggest surprise of all.

If you knew me in my 20s, you’d understand why.

I travelled, I went out, I said yes to everything, I lived fast and full and completely for myself.

And I thought I might miss that version of life when I became a mum.

But I don’t.

Not in the way I expected at least.

It feels like that chapter was fully lived… and now I’m here.

—

2. How instinctive love really is.

I would do anything for my baby girl.

No matter how tired I am, how overwhelmed I feel, or how hard the moment is… I’m still there when she needs me.

It’s not something I have to think about.

It just is.

—

3. I actually get things done.

Motherhood has made me more focused than I ever was before.

There’s less overthinking, less delaying, less waiting for the “right time.”

If something needs to be done, I do it.

—

4. It’s given me courage I didn’t expect.

Motherhood has pushed me to do things I’ve thought about for years but never actually acted on.

Like going back to study at 32 and starting my pre- and postnatal coaching certification.

It’s like something in me has switched on.

Less fear. More doing.

—

5. My priorities are clearer than ever.

A lot of things I used to stress about… just don’t matter the same way anymore.

As long as my family is okay, I’m okay.

Everything else feels quieter now.

Not because I care less about life—but because I care more about what actually matters.

—

Motherhood hasn’t just changed my life.

It’s changed what I notice, what I value, and who I’m becoming.

And I didn’t expect that… but I’m grateful for it.

—

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Becoming a mum in my 30s has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

In my 20s, I did everything I ever wanted to do. I travelled to over 80 countries, said yes to every adventure, and lived life fast, loud, and fully. I partied, explored, chased experiences, and created memories that I’ll carry with me forever.

And because of that… I feel complete.

There’s no part of me wondering what if. No desire to go back and relive that version of my life. I got to experience it—fully, freely, and on my own terms.

Now, everything feels different.

Softer. Slower. More grounded.

I don’t crave the nightlife or the chaos anymore. I don’t feel like I’m missing out. If anything, I feel like I’ve arrived exactly where I’m meant to be.

Because now, I get to experience life in a completely new way.

I still want to travel the world—but this time, with my baby. I want to show them the places that shaped me, revisit my favourite corners of the world, and discover new ones together. Not for the rush, but for the meaning.

There’s something so special about seeing the world through your child’s eyes. The simplest things feel magical again.

I’ve already lived a full life for me.

Now I get to live a beautiful one for us.

And honestly… it’s even better.

If you’re in your 20s right now, chasing everything—do it.

Live fully. Say yes.

Because one day, you might find yourself here too…

and instead of feeling like you missed out, you’ll feel at peace.