What I Wish I Knew Before Becoming a Mother

Insights from Personal Experience and Doula Work

Since I was a kid I dreamed of being a mother and before becoming a mother, I had expectations—some shaped by society, others by books and movies and many influenced by what I thought motherhood should feel like. I imagined the love, the bonding, and the joy, but what I didn’t fully grasp was the emotional transformation, the deep identity shift, and the raw reality of birth and postpartum.

And, if I’m being honest, nothing prepared me for the heartbreak of loss. My first baby never made it into my arms, and that love and at the same time grief changed me forever. It shaped the way I mother now. It taught me how fragile and sacred life is, how deeply love can exist even without time, and how different pregnancy after loss feels.

Then, having two babies just 18 months apart brought challenges I never could have anticipated. The exhaustion, the constant demands, the feeling of being stretched in every direction at once, all while having to flee my marriage when my youngest was only 3 weeks old, to go to a shelter in a completely different city—it was more than I ever imagined, in both the hardest and most beautiful ways.

As both a mother and a birth worker, I now see how much is left unsaid about this journey. If I could go back and whisper to my past self, here’s what I’d say.

The Emotional & Identity Shift

Motherhood isn’t just about raising a baby—it’s about rebirthing and re-parenting yourself. What I didn’t expect was how much of me would change. My old self didn’t disappear, but she evolved. I grieved parts of my independence and past identity before fully embracing who I was becoming.

The emotional intensity of motherhood is something no book can truly prepare you for. You will feel love so deep it’s overwhelming, but you will also feel exhaustion, loneliness, and moments of complete self-doubt. And that’s normal. Learning to hold space for both the joy and the struggle is one of the biggest lessons motherhood has taught me.

The Reality of Birth & Postpartum

Birth isn’t just a medical event—it’s a powerful, transformative experience. But no one tells you how much of it is mental, emotional, and spiritual, not just physical. As a doula, I’ve seen how different birth can be when a woman is fully supported and respected. I’ve also witnessed how much our system fails to honor birth as the sacred event it is.

And then there’s postpartum—the part that society rarely prepares women for. I wish I had known how much I would need support, not just for my baby, but for myself. Recovery is real. The sleepless nights are real. And so is the emotional upheaval. But what made it even harder was that my children were so close in age. I barely had time to heal before I was pregnant again, and suddenly, I was navigating a newborn while still mothering a baby In a shelter , in a new city , without support.

I remember one Muslim lady at the shelter telling me on my first week there " you shouldn't be carrying both babies at the same time , you should be resting for 40 days !" , and she looked very upset at the situation, but I didn't really had a choice !

If I could go back, I would tell myself: prioritize postpartum care just as much as birth preparation. You deserve rest, nourishment, and help.

And even in a situation like mine , it is possible to get help, strangers will be happy to hold your baby for a bit , or to cook a meal for you, let them !

The Expectation That Your Partner Will Show Up Like You Do

Before having children, I assumed that parenting was a shared journey—that when the sleepless nights came, the challenges arose, and the hard decisions had to be made, my partner would be by my side in the same way I showed up. But reality was different.

Not only did we have different parenting styles, but we also came from different cultures, which shaped how we each saw our roles in the family. What I thought was natural—gentle parenting, emotional attunement, an equal partnership—was not how he was raised to see things. And that difference led to conflict, disappointment, and, ultimately, the realization that I was doing more of the emotional and physical labor than I had ever imagined.

No one talks enough about the grief that comes when the partner you expected to show up simply doesn’t, and when his actions don't align with his words. That realization is lonely. It’s heartbreaking. And yet, it was also clarifying—it showed me that I could do it on my own, even when I wished I didn’t have to. After leaving I knew I would be ok, because I've been doing it solo all along while married.

The Loneliness of Motherhood & Lack of Support

Motherhood can feel lonely, even when you have people around you. As a solo mother, I’ve felt this even more deeply. There’s no built-in support system, no partner to hand the baby to in the middle of the night. And when you mother without family nearby, the weight of responsibility can feel all-consuming.

I found myself crying along with both babies several times and at times disassociating from my own feelings so I could attend to them.

I had to go to the emergency room while sick and with both babies sick a couple of times because there was nobody to call to keep them in the middle of the night.

I wish I had known that finding a village isn’t just nice—it’s necessary. Whether it’s other moms, an online community, a postpartum doula, or even just one supportive friend, you need people who see you. We were never meant to do this alone.

Luckily I always had my family emotional support virtually and a couple of good friends that despite being in a different city always stayed in touch though it all.

Unlearning Hustle Culture in Motherhood

Society glorifies the "supermom" who does it all—career, perfect home, endless patience, always put-together. But that’s not real. And trying to live up to that expectation will burn you out.

I had to unlearn hustle culture and embrace a slower, more intuitive way of mothering. But nothing forced me to slow down more than having a child with autism and ADHD. The level of support, patience, and presence my child needed was beyond what I ever imagined. I quickly realized that the fast-paced, productivity-driven mindset that society pushes simply doesn’t work for neurodivergent children—or for me as their mother.

Some days, that means leaving the dishes, ignoring the to-do list, and just being fully present with my babies. It means adjusting to their pace, not the one the world expects. The world tells mothers to do more, but the truth is, your presence is what matters most. Learning to slow down and meet my child where they are has been one of the greatest lessons of my motherhood journey.

_

If I could go back and prepare myself for motherhood, I wouldn’t just stock up on baby gear. I’d tell myself:

You are allowed to change and evolve.

Birth and postpartum deserve as much care as pregnancy.

Your intuition is powerful—trust it.

You don’t have to do this alone, and you shouldn’t.

Slowing down is not failure.

You are resilient

And most importantly—your love is enough, even on the hardest days.

For any mother reading this—especially those doing it solo—you are not alone. The challenges are real, but so is the strength within you. And even on the hardest days, remember: you were made for this.

Love and Light

Mafalda Oliveira