Category: Family

When Protecting Your Peace Means Letting Go of Old Patterns

Today broke something open inside me.

Not in a loud, messy way — but in the quiet, aching way that tells you something has shifted for good.

For a while now, I’ve been feeling the edges of it:

Small things, piling up like tiny stones pressing on my chest.

The way my home doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

The way decisions about my child are made without me, around me, over me.

The way “help” starts to feel more like control.

The way the atmosphere feels heavy — like I have to apologize for existing in my own life.

At first, I brushed it off.

I told myself I was overreacting, that I should be grateful.

That having help is better than doing it alone.

But somewhere deep inside, a voice kept whispering: Something isn’t right.

Today it became impossible to ignore.

Today I realized — the help came with a price.

And the price was my peace, my voice, my right to be the mother I am choosing to be.

It hit me how much of my upbringing is being replayed right here, in front of my eyes.

How fear was used to mold us.

How tidiness wasn’t about pride, but about punishment.

How respect was demanded, not earned.

How joy was rationed and wins were never simply celebrated — they were dissected, compared, measured, used to fuel someone else’s idea of “how things should be.”

And now, it’s happening again — but this time, it’s aimed at my child.

At the little girl I carried, birthed, nursed.

The little girl I promised would know a different kind of love.

The kind that sees her.

The kind that lifts her up without crushing her spirit.

I’m not crazy.

I’m not ungrateful.

I’m not overreacting.

I’m waking up.

And today, I decided: I will protect my peace and my daughter’s peace at all costs.

Even if it means making other people uncomfortable.

Even if it means being seen as the villain in someone else’s story.

Even if it means letting go of the illusion of closeness with someone I desperately wanted connection with.

Even if it means doing it alone for a while.

Because my daughter deserves a home built on love, not fear.

And I deserve a life where my voice matters — not just when it’s convenient for others.

I’m scared.

I’m tired.

But more than anything, I’m sure.

This cycle ends with me.

The Struggle of Letting Go: Finding My Peace in the Chaos of My Mother’s Love

For years, I’ve bent and twisted myself to fit into what others need from me, especially my mother. I’ve sacrificed my peace, my sanity, and sometimes even my identity, just to make sure everyone around me—especially her—is comfortable. It’s a burden I’ve carried for as long as I can remember, but the weight of it has reached its limit.

I used to think that helping others, especially my family, meant being there for them at all costs—putting their needs above mine, constantly smoothing things over, and making sure the peace is kept. But recently, I’ve had to face a truth that’s been growing inside me for years: help comes at a price. And for far too long, I’ve been the one paying that price.

With my mum, it’s always felt like there’s a price for her help—emotional blackmail, resentment, and a constant undercurrent of criticism. She’s helped me, yes, but the moment I accept that help, there’s a shift. Suddenly, I’m indebted to her in ways I never agreed to, and my needs and boundaries don’t matter anymore. She has a way of making me feel like I owe her not just for the help she gives me, but for her love, for her mere presence. And it’s exhausting.

I’ve spent so much of my life navigating the emotional landmine that is my relationship with my mother. She’s the one who raised me, yes, but she also became the one who made me feel invisible, unworthy, and like I was always in her shadow. The sacrifices I made for her and my brothers were always meant to be acts of love, but somewhere along the way, I lost myself in them. Now, I realize I’ve been walking on eggshells, trying to please her, trying to get her approval, and in the process, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to just breathe.

The pain I feel isn’t just from her criticisms, or the constant undermining of my boundaries—it’s from the realization that she has never truly seen me for who I am. The love I’ve shown her, the things I’ve done for her, have never been enough, and it’s time for me to stop trying to prove myself.

It hit me recently: I need to stop putting myself in a position where her discomfort becomes my responsibility. Her anger, her bitterness, her constant need for validation—those aren’t my burdens to carry anymore. Her inability to respect my boundaries, her constant overstepping, her need to control everything I do with my own child—none of that is mine to fix.

I’ve given so much of myself to try and make her comfortable, to try and please her, but at the cost of my own peace. I’ve been holding myself back, compromising on what I believe in, just to keep the peace. But I can’t do it anymore. I won’t do it anymore.

I’ve spent enough time living in fear of her anger, of her judgment. But now, I’m done. If her discomfort means that I have to choose myself over her, then I’ll do it. Even if it means creating distance, even if it means cutting ties, even if it means losing the ‘help’ she’s always given me. I’m ready to let go of this cycle of needing her approval, of needing her love, because I know now that I will never get it in a way that truly nourishes me.

It’s hard. It hurts. But I have to stand in my own truth. I’ve spent years trying to heal the wound she created inside of me, but healing can only happen if I finally step away from the thing that’s been tearing me down. It’s time for me to be my own source of comfort, my own source of strength. And that means drawing clear lines, setting boundaries, and making sure that her anger, her discomfort, doesn’t become my problem anymore.

I’m learning that peace doesn’t come from making others comfortable. It comes from honoring my own needs and standing firm in what I believe in. And no matter how much it hurts, I know that I can’t keep sacrificing my peace for someone who doesn’t see me, doesn’t respect me, and doesn’t truly love me in the way I need to be loved.

It’s time to stop giving my power away, even if it means losing everything I thought I needed. It’s time to choose me.

And that’s what I’ll do, every single day.

How to support new parents postpartum

The first day we came back home with our baby girl, my partner’s family came over excited to meet the baby. As my mother was still awaiting her visa (long story about my abusive dad for another day), my partner’s mom agreed to come and help us for the first few weeks. The first two days with the baby were easy as she slept most of the time. I followed the doctor’s guidance and every 3-4 hours woke her up for a feed as well as a diaper change.

My biggest struggle was mobility as I was still in excruciating pain from the c-section birth. We have a one-bedroom flat, so my partner’s mom slept in the bed with me and my partner in the living room. During the day he would bathe me, wash the baby’s clothes, feed me (although I had little to no appetite) as well as help with changing the baby’s diaper. During the night he would sleep, and I would take care of the baby. At first, his mom would sleep through the night, but after a few days (word from her son), she began waking up to take the baby out of her crib, hand her to me for a feed, then change her diaper, burp her as well as try to rock her to sleep. This seemed to alleviate my pain of bending to take the baby out, and I appreciated the help.

By the end of the week, his whole family once again came by to see the baby, during this time they offered to hold her, which I was not ready for as I wanted to just bond with my baby. I asked that they help with chores such as cleaning and laundry, but to no avail. I needed help with these as previously mentioned, my partner did a lot of caring for me during the day and his mom rested at this time. I wanted the house to look decent before my mom arrived, and I get anxious when my space is untidy.

After this experience, I realized that a lot of other new moms probably go through what I went through and might be shy to express how it made them feel. I felt unheard and unsupported. I felt like everyone pretended to be nice, but when the time came, all they did was enforce their ideologies on me. No one seemed to respect what I wanted. After all, I was the baby’s mom, and there is no formula; otherwise, we would all be perfect parents.

Looking back, in the first few weeks postpartum, this is what I would have appreciated:

  • No visitors during the first week – this is the time new parents can use to bond with their new bundle of joy. We were filled with overwhelming emotions, and all we wanted to do was just watch her, hold her, admire her, as well as thank God for this gift of life. Guests bring anxiety because kids want to hold the baby (they have germs, they are too young, the baby is not a toy, shall I go on?), they also bring noise (I just needed to rest, I had a c-section), and need to be hosted (it’s hard to entertain if you just gave birth).
  • If you do visit, please help the new parent with the chores, such as doing the dishes, laundry, sweeping and mopping, taking out the trash, anything else you think we might need help with.
  • Bring snacks and packed meals for the new parents. Most days we had no cooked meals, and I ended up buying takeout. After 9 months of eating terribly (cravings are no joke), I just wanted cooked meals but could not do it due to the nature of the birth. Frozen meals are a dream as we can just reheat and eat them on days no one is able to cook.
  • Give advice only when asked. This is a major one for me after helping with chores because I really did not appreciate it at all. There were times I would tell his family thanks but no thanks to advice, and they would proceed to go directly to him with the same advice and instruct him to tell me we should try it. Their advice would include keeping the house cool, letting the baby cry it out so she is not spoiled, not buying too much or too expensive stuff for the baby, and the list goes on. I appreciate it worked for them, but it does not mean that I have to do everything they did with their kids. I am my own person, and I would appreciate making my own mistakes. All I needed was for people to respect my decisions, even if they did not believe in them. The same with my family, I directly told them to lay off the unsolicited advice as it makes me feel a type of way, and they did. When I do need advice, I always ask.
  • Ask to hold the baby and always wash your hands. A lot of times, everyone did this, and I appreciated it a lot!
  • Visitors should be mindful of how long they spend. A lot of times, we had guests for half the day (midday till 9 pm). This is super exhausting, my feet would be swollen, and I would be tired. It also messes up the rest of the week. It’s a tiny person who only feeds and needs a diaper change. An hour or 2 at most, longer is just too much.
  • Stock up on groceries. Post-birth, I had groceries delivered, and this was great as I needed snacks and drinks. If you are a guest, you could ask if the new parents need this. Most times they do but do not have time to pick these up.
  • Be kind. If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. These words are crucial. A lot of people have zero self-awareness. Postpartum, your emotions are a rollercoaster, and people do not realize how hurtful things they say can be and where they take you mentally. During one of the visits, my child was called small and compared to another baby in the family. I was made to feel like I had done something inferior. Over the course of more visits, her weight was a constant side comment as well as her lack of smiling (which she would only do with us) and being told she looks constipated (broke my heart). In addition to this, I was told a c-section isn’t bad, I should be ok in a week, by people who never experienced it. It minimized my pain and made me feel unsupported. Even typing it out makes me feel sad to think I went through all this in a time I should be enjoying my newfound joy and happiness.

With that said, I am grateful for the love and support I received. It may not have been how I would have liked it, but it still existed, and for that, I am grateful. I am eternally grateful to my partner, mother, and brother for the love, sacrifice, and overwhelming support they gave me. I will never forget what they did for me. I am grateful to myself for being able to accept that I was struggling and going to therapy to heal.

Finally, I hope this helps other moms and support structures out there.

Motherhood: my body is a wonderland as well as a freak show

Firstly, let me clear the air and begin by saying that I am forever grateful for the strength that my body has shown me it has. From growing an entire human being, to withstanding a major surgery, and being able to bring my little angel into this world. For that, I am forever in awe as well as grateful for the wonderland that is my body.

Growing an entire human being is no easy work. Not only is it tiring, but it is also emotionally draining. The body changing rapidly comes without warning, there is no time to prepare for what becomes a secondhand version of what you used to be. I have to keep reminding myself to look at the bigger picture, that this tiny human needs me to be strong and let certain things be, so they are well and healthy when the time comes.

No one warns you how much of a toll all the changes have on your mental health. Postpartum and I feel unsexy, unattractive, and just plain old ugly. My breast has gone up 4 sizes and they look saggy and super long, my stomach now has a pooch and stretch marks that are unending, and don’t get me started on how fat my thighs are or how weird my butt shape has turned out (although my mum says I got a little butt out of the whole process :D). I hardly recognise myself in the mirror, all I do now is mourn my old body each time I see a reflection of the new body I inhabit.

I’ve hit a new low in my physical image journey. In the past, I struggled to love myself and that meant not even looking at myself in the mirror. My self-image is at rock bottom as I look in the mirror and realise that the person I see has an unattractive body with a pretty face. I’ve never been blessed with a big butt or perfectly perky Double D breasts, but my old body looked good, I had a tiny waist, big breasts, and beautifully carved calves. Right now I hardly recognise any of that when I look in the mirror.

To make matters worse, my mind has begun to wonder, wonder if my partner sees me the way I see myself. Wonder if he wants to touch me the way he used to, love me in a way that used to make me feel like the sexiest woman in the room? I know it’s a journey I’m going through, but I can’t help but feel like he sees all the unattractive parts of me. Each time he bathes me, I can’t even look him in the eye because I don’t want to know the truth, I’m not ready to know what he thinks or feels about the new me. It’s one thing to say the words to make me feel better and another to see through your eyes and know the truth.

I now shudder when you rave about other women because I wonder if you find them more attractive than me. If you want to love them the way you used to love them? My heart bleeds for the day I don’t have to feel this way. I’ve never been the type to worry about other women, my mum taught me to trust the words of a man until he shows me otherwise. Innocent until proven guilty and so far it’s worked to keep my trust issues at bay.

A new sun has risen and with it, all the monsters that once hid in the shadows have come out to dance in the light, and I’m scared of who or what I might become in the process. My new companion is prayer, I take her with me through this journey and hope and pray that I come out on the other side stronger and better than I ever was. I’m terrified but I’m also hopeful that just like any other journey I’ve walked I’ll walk this one, learn my lessons, and reach the top renewed and feeling like a winner, a conqueror.

Motherhood: The journey

I’m planning on writing a series of blog entries titled: Motherhood.

I thought pregnancy while depressed was tough, but motherhood is a whole new different ball game. I realise I that have not had time to reflect back and ask myself if I have even healed from my depression. Since the day I found out I was pregnant, navigating through my own personal feelings has been a struggle. Feelings about myself have been surrounded by a whole lot of guilt, mostly self-inflicted. I am not here to judge myself, just to observe and express how I feel. 

I have cried so much pre, during and post pregnancy, I really did not know I had it in me before this journey. I recently found out that I can express myself in other forms that not only reflect happiness and anger. I am able to now articulate sadness, heartbreak, disappointment and love. You see, even in the pits of hell, there is always good to be found.

I now have a living and breathing heart and I don’t know how to react. I am constantly worried about her safety, health and emotional well-being. If you touch her and she cries, I swear, I want to murder you because she is an angel. She is my heart, my life, my soul, my everything. Just writing those words down makes me want to cry tears of joy. 

I keep wondering why me? Why did you choose me? Am I capable? Am I even worthy of such a pure and innocent soul? You are the most beautiful angel I have ever laid eyes on. You are a beauty that nothing in this world can be compared to. I love you with every fibre of my being. I am blessed to love and be loved by you. You are Gods greatest gift to the universe, my life knows colour because of you.

I worry I may not be good enough to deserve such a treasure that is you ;( I cry because I’m so scared I’ll mess it up. I’m restless because I wonder if God made a mistake with me and He will realise this and give you to someone else. I pray I am worthy, that i am enough, and most importantly, that I have the strength to love and protect you in ways you need me to.