There’s a phrase that gets thrown around a lot in motherhood, “It takes a village.” But what happens when that village feels invisible? When you’re sitting on the kitchen floor, still in yesterday’s stained clothes, your baby crying in the next room, and you’re not even sure what kind of help you’d ask for if someone offered it? The truth is, most of us are taught to be strong, to hold it together, to figure it out on our own. But motherhood was never meant to be a solo act. Asking for help, early and often, isn’t weakness. It’s survival. It’s strength. It’s love.
When you become a mother, it feels like the world expects you to transform overnight into someone who can do it all - feed, soothe, clean, cook, nurture, and somehow still smile. The pressure to be “fine” can be suffocating. You tell everyone you’re okay even when you’re not, because that’s what you think a good mum does. But historically, mothers were never alone. They mothered in community - surrounded by sisters, grandmothers, and neighbours who helped shoulder the load. Meals were shared, babies were passed from one pair of loving arms to another. It’s only in modern life that we’ve started believing a good mother does it all herself. You don’t. And you shouldn’t.
I remember when I came home from the hospital with my firstborn, adamant that I had to do everything myself. I wanted to change every nappy, stay up through every feed, be present for every moment. But after a week back in hospital dealing with jaundice, and a sleepless night with low milk supply and no formula in the cupboard, I came home completely broken. My mother showed up the next morning, and for the first time, I didn’t argue when she took over. She fed my baby, brought me food, and told me to sleep. That act of accepting help - something I thought would make me less of a mother - actually made me better. Rested, fed, and supported, I could finally show up with love instead of exhaustion.
But the help often came with guilt. On days when I slept in and woke to a tidy home, a fed baby, and an exhausted husband, I found myself irritable and ashamed. The voice of the faceless polite society aunts echoed in my head, “What kind of wife sleeps until midday while her husband manages the baby?” That guilt is something many of us carry, rooted in cultural expectations and the pressure to prove our worth. The truth is, those emotions take time to unlearn. The first step is acknowledging them. Asking for help is saying, “I matter too.” It’s recognising that your wellbeing is just as important as your baby’s.
When we ask for help, we’re not saying we can’t cope, we’re saying we deserve care too. Yet we tell ourselves stories: I don’t want to bother anyone. They’re busy. They’ll think I’m not coping. But the people who love you want to help. They just don’t always know how. The key is to be specific. Instead of saying, “I need help,” try, “Can you bring me a cooked meal tomorrow?” or “Could you hold the baby while I nap?” or “Would you mind folding this laundry while we chat?” Clear requests make it easier for others to step in, and they turn guilt into gratitude.
Help doesn’t always have to come from family or friends. Sometimes, the most healing support comes from professionals - a therapist, midwife, postnatal doula, or cleaner. Growing up working class, I found the idea of hiring help almost impossible to accept. But after my third child, I realised that outsourcing isn’t indulgent - it’s smart. Having house help once a week means my home is organised, and I can focus on my children and my work without drowning in clutter. Help can look like therapy, childcare, or even a cleaner; anything that lightens your mental load so you can breathe again. You don’t need to wait until you’re at breaking point. You deserve help before the cracks appear.
A mother I spoke to once told me that the first time she asked her partner to take the baby so she could nap, she cried herself to sleep, not from guilt, but from relief. “I didn’t realise how empty my tank was,” she said. That nap changed her entire week. Help doesn’t have to be grand gestures; sometimes it’s just someone dropping off coffee, holding your baby so you can shower, or telling you, “You’re doing enough.” These small moments of care become lifelines.
You are not a burden. You are doing one of the hardest, most transformative things a person can do - bringing life into the world and nurturing it. You are not weak for needing support; you are wise for recognising your limits. We need to stop glorifying the mother who does it all and start celebrating the mother who pauses, who says, “I need help,” who understands that accepting support doesn’t make her less - it makes her real.
So ask for help - early and often. Before the exhaustion, before the tears. Ask when you feel the first flicker of overwhelm, and when someone offers, say yes. You are not meant to do this alone. You deserve a village, even if you have to build it yourself, one small ask at a time. Motherhood isn’t about doing it all - it’s about being held while you do what matters most. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is whisper, “Can you help me?”
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