I lost myself in motherhood and in the various roles I held. I ignored the stressors in my life until one day I broke out in hives, head to toe, along with severe lip swelling. This persisted for months, until I listened, took a step back, and learnt to navigate the stressors in my life from a healthier space.
When I think about my journey, it feels important to begin with who I was before motherhood.
Before becoming a mother, I would have described myself as strong, independent, and full of life. I poured passion into everything I did, my work, my relationships, my friendships, and my hobbies. I lived with purpose and direction. I thought I was prepared for motherhood. I had cared for countless women through pregnancy and postpartum. I had looked after infants and children.
I understood that priorities would shift and rhythms would change. What I was not prepared for was the depth of the internal transformation. I was not prepared for the guilt, the unrealistic expectations I placed on myself, or how much I would miss my autonomy, my alone time, and my role outside the home.
In 2019, my first daughter was born. Those early weeks were a blur of awe and exhaustion. There were moments of deep bonding, sleepless nights filled with doubt, and a constant inner dialogue asking if I was doing any of it right. At the same time, we were packing up our lives. When she was four weeks old, we moved into my mother-in-law’s home. When she was six weeks old, my husband moved to the west coast of Canada for work. I followed four weeks later. During that same period, my grandmother passed away. There was no space to process any of it.
What was called maternity leave did not feel like leave at all. It was relentless work. I was caring for my daughter while navigating immigration paperwork, transferring my medical licence, and rebuilding my professional life. She came with me everywhere, including job interviews.
I felt invisible.
I craved space yet felt uneasy when I was not close to her. I felt guilty for wanting time alone and did not know how to ask for it. I remember telling my husband that I was jealous of his commute because it gave him thirty minutes to himself.
Then came childcare. I never anticipated the guilt I would feel between being a present mother and a polished professional. I never realised how much fear I would feel trusting someone I barely knew to care for my daughter. I eventually found a nanny and opened my practice in early 2020, a few weeks before our world changed, and we faced significant uncertainty amid a worldwide pandemic. My days were spent caring for patients, reassuring them as best I could; my evenings were spent in virtual meetings, trying to stay up to date with the rapidly changing landscape of the virus, leaving little time for my family or for me. My nights were spent worrying, feeling lost, and overwhelmed. I lost myself in my work, drained my empathy tank for my patients, and had very little left for my family or myself.
I missed my village. I longed for my friends, many of whom were first-time mothers themselves, as they navigated isolation and identity shifts. I missed the safety of being seen in my unpolished state, without the mask we all learn to wear.
In 2021, we moved again and started over once more. In 2022, my second daughter was born. I tried to do things differently. I asked for more help. And yet, I found myself slipping back into familiar patterns. I felt constantly depleted, as though I was only just managing one part of my life at the expense of another. I mourned the woman I used to be while resisting the reality of who I was becoming.
When my youngest was nine months old, my body forced me to listen. I began breaking out in hives, head to toe, accompanied by severe lip swelling. At first, I dismissed it. Then fear took over. My medical knowledge sent my thoughts spiralling. Eventually, no underlying disease was found, and the truth became unavoidable. My body was responding to chronic, unprocessed stress.
When I began addressing the stressors in my life from a healthier place, the symptoms eased, along with chest pain and palpitations I had ignored for months.
Motherhood cracked me open. It exposed how poor my boundaries were and how deeply I struggled to say no. Around that time, I read When the Body Says No by Dr. Gabor Maté, and everything clicked. Our nervous, immune, skin, gut, and hormonal systems are deeply connected. If we are willing to listen, our bodies will tell us when something is out of alignment.
The change was slow. It required self-reflection and a willingness to confront long-held beliefs. I believed I should be able to do it all on my own. That needing help was a weakness. Over time, I realised the opposite was true. Wisdom is knowing where you are resourced and where you are not.
I began to audit my days, noticing what depleted me and what restored me. I scheduled myself into my own life. I reintroduced small acts of joy. Walking alone and reading again and moving my body, returning to creativity and dance. Slowly, I felt myself re-emerge.
One morning, while driving after school drop-off, something shifted. Music filled the car, and for the first time in years, I saw movement and colour again. A part of me that I had lost without realising had returned. That moment told me I was finding my way back.
Where am I now? I have good days and hard days. I am more attuned to myself. I know my priorities. I include myself in my life. I honour connection, creativity, rest, and support.
Motherhood cracked me open, but it also taught me how to listen.
This is why I share my story. Because the more we speak openly about matrescence, identity loss, and becoming, the more we normalise this transformation. And in doing so, we give ourselves and other women permission to heal, evolve, and reclaim their pink.
I do not practice resilience through one specific habit or formula. It has been a gradual process of learning to listen, respond, and adjust.
It began with listening to my body and recognising when I needed space, rest, and replenishment. For a long time, I had learned to override those signals in the name of productivity and responsibility. Mindfulness practices and yoga were instrumental in interrupting that pattern. They forced me to slow down and, more importantly, helped me understand that slowing down is not only acceptable but necessary for sustainable functioning.
Movement has also been central to my resilience. Moving my body allows me to discharge stress that cannot be processed cognitively alone. Alongside this, creative expression has given me a way to metabolise emotion, whether through writing, reflection, or other forms of embodied creativity. These practices help me process complexity rather than carry it.
Equally important has been connection. Resilience, for me, is not an individual pursuit. Learning to reach out, to share my vulnerabilities, and to be witnessed by others has fundamentally changed how I experience challenges. It has reduced isolation and softened the internal pressure to cope silently.
Over time, I have come to understand resilience not as endurance or toughness, but as responsiveness. It is the capacity to notice when something is out of alignment and to respond with care rather than force. Practicing resilience in this way has allowed me to navigate stressors with greater honesty, flexibility, and self-trust.
Pause. Look inward. Accept that you will need to feel your emotions, even when they are uncomfortable.
If those emotions feel overwhelming or unmanageable, seek professional support and allow yourself to ease into the process. There is no benefit in forcing your way through. This work is not quick. It is slow and often nonlinear, arriving in waves rather than clear milestones.
Over time, you begin to develop your own personalised toolkit, one that continues to evolve as you do. These are the practices, supports, and boundaries that help you navigate moments of intensity and uncertainty. What works will change, and that is not a failure, but a sign of growth.
Life is not always a calm sea. Storms are inevitable. But the more you learn to face them, the more familiar they become. With experience, it gets easier to stay present with difficult emotions, to allow them to move through you without becoming overwhelmed or losing your sense of self.
Resilience is not about avoiding the waves. It is about learning how to ride them with greater awareness, trust, and compassion for yourself.
Are you ready to share your story of RESILIENCE? You can do that HERE.