Welcome to Mother Me
This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but I never quite knew how to begin. The truth is, sharing a time of my life that was so dark, so lonely, and so raw wasn’t something I was ready to do, until now.
When you’ve lived through pain, it’s one thing to survive it, and another to speak it out loud. For me, the thought of putting those words out into the vastness of social media felt terrifying. I never wanted the most vulnerable parts of me to be just another clickbait for engagement; if I share my pain, it is with the intention that it will make someone else feel less alone or restore hope that things will get better. Its important for me that what I share here is real, something that could truly help another woman in her hardest moments. Because when I look back, I know that’s what I needed most, someone to tell me, “You are not broken. You are not alone.”Even now, when I reflect on that time, I realise I was living with so much privilege. I had a loving husband, a roof over my head, support with my children, and opportunities in my career that many dream of. And yet, privilege doesn’t shield you from pain. I was still hurting. I was still numb. I was still grieving a version of myself that felt lost forever. The darkness I carried was invisible, but it was heavy.
From the outside, my life looked perfect: three beautiful children, a wonderful husband, a lovely home, and a dreamy career. My social media feed was full of glossy moments - outfits, events, makeup, laughter. But none of that reflected what was happening inside. Behind the photos, and the concealor and falsies(!) - I was crumbling.
And maybe, in some ways, the glamour became my escape. If I could look the part, maybe I could feel the part. But deep down, I couldn’t escape the truth. And the truth was this, I didn’t know who I was anymore and I felt so lost.
2/3 of all women say they’ve lost themselves in motherhood. I didn’t even know that statistic until recently, but when I read it, I felt seen. Because I was one of them.
Motherhood cracked me open. It stripped away the identities I had clung to - the daughter, the student, the professional, the friends, the wife, the content creator - and forced me to meet myself as a mother. It confronted me with emotions I had buried for years and questions I didn’t know how to answer. Who am I beyond my roles? Who am I outside of the expectations of culture, society, and religion?
But here’s what I learnt, losing yourself doesn’t mean you’re gone forever. Sometimes, it’s in the breaking apart that the rebuilding begins. Motherhood can feel like the end of who you once were, but it can also be the start of becoming who you were always meant to be.
In just a handful of years, my life changed completely.
I graduated.
I got married.
I got pregnant.
Motherhood cracked me open. It stripped away the identities I had clung to - the daughter, the student, the professional, the friends, the wife, the content creator - and forced me to meet myself as a mother. It confronted me with emotions I had buried for years and questions I didn’t know how to answer. Who am I beyond my roles? Who am I outside of the expectations of culture, society, and religion?
But here’s what I learnt, losing yourself doesn’t mean you’re gone forever. Sometimes, it’s in the breaking apart that the rebuilding begins. Motherhood can feel like the end of who you once were, but it can also be the start of becoming who you were always meant to be.
In just a handful of years, my life changed completely.
I graduated.
I got married.
I got pregnant.
And somewhere in between, I started a business in beauty and fashion - an industry I had always dreamed of being part of.
I come from humble beginnings, so none of this felt predictable. There have been countless moments where I’ve thought, I can’t believe this is my life. And yet, with every blessing came an internal conflict I didn’t know how to navigate. Gratitude didn’t come easily. Instead, I was consumed by guilt, anxiety, and a deep, persistent sadness.
Having three children in four years was the most transformative experience of my life. None of them were planned, but each one came exactly when they were supposed to. They are my greatest joy. And still, I wasn’t ready for what motherhood would demand of me.
After my youngest son was born, everything fell apart. I had already lived through two years of lockdown with two small children, working non-stop, pushing myself to my limits. And then, when my baby was just two months old, my father - my best friend and spiritual guide - had a heart attack.
And that was the straw that broke the camels back. Everything i had swept under the carpet for years, finally reared its ugly head. I was consumed with sadness, and grief, and pain and confusion - and emotions I still can't label. On the outside, I carried on. I smiled for the photos, I kept up with work, I juggled motherhood like I always had. But on the inside, I was unraveling. Anxiety consumed me. I felt hollow, disconnected, and endlessly exhausted.
And yet, in the breaking, something unexpected happened. Tiny moments of awakening began to shine through the cracks. I started to see that maybe the breaking wasn’t an end, it was an invitation. An invitation to look deeper, to finally face myself, to start again.
One of the hardest parts of my journey was realising how much I had been carrying without even knowing it. As a child of immigrants, a grandchild of people who survived colonisation and partition, I was raised to believe we don’t break. We keep going. We don’t have the luxury of falling apart.
But motherhood doesn’t let you hide forever. My children’s outbursts, their tears, their emotions, they held up a mirror to the parts of me I had ignored. Their lack of regulation revealed my own. Their needs reminded me of my own unmet ones. And slowly, I realised that healing myself wasn’t just for me - it was for them too.
That was the beginning of my journey of self-discovery. I started reading, learning, unlearning. I explored science, psychology, faith, history. I built a toolkit for myself piece by piece. And through that, I began to see that healing isn’t about fixing what’s “wrong.” It’s about meeting yourself honestly and choosing a different path forward.
I discovered that worship isn’t only prayer - it’s also patience, compassion, and the way I mother. It’s how I hold space for my children’s emotions, and how I use my voice responsibly. I also learned it’s okay to find joy for myself. It’s okay to enjoy beauty, fashion, or quiet moments of self-care without guilt. Joy isn’t selfish - it’s necessary.
So, why this space? Why now?
Because I know what it’s like to feel invisible in motherhood. To smile on the outside and crumble on the inside. To feel both grateful and resentful at once. To love your children with every ounce of your being, and yet feel lost in the process of raising them.
I created Mother Me as the community I wish I had in my hardest days. Not a space for quick fixes or “X-step programs,” but a place where we can be honest. A place where we can talk about the messy, complicated, beautiful, painful, and transformative reality of motherhood.
This isn’t about perfection. It’s not about being the “right” kind of mother. It’s about being human. It’s about telling the truth, even when it’s hard. It’s about reminding ourselves that healing is possible, that growth is possible, and that we’re not alone.
Mother Me is here to be a safe, non-judgemental space. A space where we share - not for likes, not for dopamine hits, but for connection. For survival. For thriving.
Here, you’ll find stories. My stories, yes, but also reflections that I hope will feel like your stories too. The things we don’t always say out loud: the guilt, the overwhelm, the loneliness, the moments of pure joy that keep us going.
You’ll find honesty. Not polished advice, but real conversations about what it means to be a woman, a mother, and a person trying to hold it all together. We don't have all the answers, but together we can build a better understanding.
You’ll find community. A reminder that even in your hardest moments, you’re not the only one feeling this way.
And above all, I hope you’ll find comfort. Comfort in knowing that there is life after losing yourself. That motherhood can break you, yes, but it can also rebuild you into someone stronger, softer, and more aligned with who you truly are.
If you’ve ever felt invisible in motherhood… if you’ve ever wondered where the old “you” went… if you’ve ever needed someone to just sit with you in your truth… this is your space.
Welcome to Mother Me.
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
And yet, in the breaking, something unexpected happened. Tiny moments of awakening began to shine through the cracks. I started to see that maybe the breaking wasn’t an end, it was an invitation. An invitation to look deeper, to finally face myself, to start again.
One of the hardest parts of my journey was realising how much I had been carrying without even knowing it. As a child of immigrants, a grandchild of people who survived colonisation and partition, I was raised to believe we don’t break. We keep going. We don’t have the luxury of falling apart.
But motherhood doesn’t let you hide forever. My children’s outbursts, their tears, their emotions, they held up a mirror to the parts of me I had ignored. Their lack of regulation revealed my own. Their needs reminded me of my own unmet ones. And slowly, I realised that healing myself wasn’t just for me - it was for them too.
That was the beginning of my journey of self-discovery. I started reading, learning, unlearning. I explored science, psychology, faith, history. I built a toolkit for myself piece by piece. And through that, I began to see that healing isn’t about fixing what’s “wrong.” It’s about meeting yourself honestly and choosing a different path forward.
I discovered that worship isn’t only prayer - it’s also patience, compassion, and the way I mother. It’s how I hold space for my children’s emotions, and how I use my voice responsibly. I also learned it’s okay to find joy for myself. It’s okay to enjoy beauty, fashion, or quiet moments of self-care without guilt. Joy isn’t selfish - it’s necessary.
So, why this space? Why now?
Because I know what it’s like to feel invisible in motherhood. To smile on the outside and crumble on the inside. To feel both grateful and resentful at once. To love your children with every ounce of your being, and yet feel lost in the process of raising them.
I created Mother Me as the community I wish I had in my hardest days. Not a space for quick fixes or “X-step programs,” but a place where we can be honest. A place where we can talk about the messy, complicated, beautiful, painful, and transformative reality of motherhood.
This isn’t about perfection. It’s not about being the “right” kind of mother. It’s about being human. It’s about telling the truth, even when it’s hard. It’s about reminding ourselves that healing is possible, that growth is possible, and that we’re not alone.
Mother Me is here to be a safe, non-judgemental space. A space where we share - not for likes, not for dopamine hits, but for connection. For survival. For thriving.
Here, you’ll find stories. My stories, yes, but also reflections that I hope will feel like your stories too. The things we don’t always say out loud: the guilt, the overwhelm, the loneliness, the moments of pure joy that keep us going.
You’ll find honesty. Not polished advice, but real conversations about what it means to be a woman, a mother, and a person trying to hold it all together. We don't have all the answers, but together we can build a better understanding.
You’ll find community. A reminder that even in your hardest moments, you’re not the only one feeling this way.
And above all, I hope you’ll find comfort. Comfort in knowing that there is life after losing yourself. That motherhood can break you, yes, but it can also rebuild you into someone stronger, softer, and more aligned with who you truly are.
If you’ve ever felt invisible in motherhood… if you’ve ever wondered where the old “you” went… if you’ve ever needed someone to just sit with you in your truth… this is your space.
Welcome to Mother Me.
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
0 comments