My journey into motherhood was anything but gentle. At 22 weeks pregnant, I had laser ablation surgery. At 23 weeks, my waters broke. At 27 weeks, I was rushed in for an emergency caesarean — and for the next four and a half months, the neonatal intensive care unit became my whole world. I fell asleep expressing milk. I advocated fiercely for my daughters' health in the face of manipulation and pressure. And through all of it, I held them close and envisioned the joyful, peaceful life waiting for us on the other side.

When we finally came home, I thought the hard part was over.

It wasn't.

I was exhausted in a way sleep couldn't solve. I was in a relationship that was slowly fracturing me. I was trying to be everything to two tiny humans who needed everything — while quietly disappearing as a woman. I didn't recognise my own reflection. I didn't know who I was outside of survival mode.

When the relationship ended, I knew something had to change — not just in my circumstances, but in me.

So I began the slow, sacred work of coming home to myself. Dismantling the inherited patterns, the self-abandonment, the identities I had carried for years without ever questioning them. I restored my faith. I reclaimed my sovereignty. I found her — the woman beneath the trauma, the roles, and the exhaustion.

I know what it feels like to question who you are as a woman in motherhood. To show up every single day for your children while quietly abandoning yourself. To lie awake wondering — will I ever feel like me again?

I found my way home. And I'm committed to guiding you back to yours.