26/02/2026
It feels a little vulnerable to admit there are times in motherhood – and life - where I’ve felt more like I’m surviving than thriving. Sometimes it's moments or hours, other times it’s days or weeks, perhaps months.
Times of prolonged illness, grief, postpartum, feeding challenges come to mind. So does waiting in hospitals, and airports and anytime I’m in a supermarket with a child having a meltdown. Or anytime anyone projectile vom it's on public transport, which is how this week began.
We live in a time where the myth of the Good Mother looms large. Never have we expected so much of ourselves, and each other, than now. And yet we are also in a time when many of us, also have less support from families and communities, and increasingly less resources. Whilst vast swathes of our society are woefully child and family unfriendly. So, if it feels hard right now, please offer yourself the possibility that could be because it is hard.
You’re not doing anything wrong; there is nothing wrong with you. People will try to make you, and your baby, a problem. That’s often so they can sell you a solution. These people are exploiting vulnerabilities and monetising womens bodies. This is patriarchy. This is late-stage hyper-capitalism. And that’s the problem – the systems that pitch us against each other rather than supporting us to rise together.
In an ideal world, we would all have everything we need to thrive, all of the time. But that’s not the reality for most. And sometimes that pressure adds to the hardship. My recovering perfectionist heart does better knowing that surviving is enough. It helps me to open to the reality of my experience and allow myself to be in it. Because I know how to survive. I know at the point I think I’ve reached my edge, another path will open up. And that sometimes, at the bottom of the pit there is a gift.
I also know surviving can feel all consuming, that sometimes there isn’t a silver lining. It’s just s**t. And it’s easy to get stuck in it. Over the years, I’ve found it’s the pockets, the little rituals and small steps that help me find a way out, a way back to myself. That pave the way from survive to thrive.