It all started when I believed that I was fully prepared for my motherhood and postpartum journey, never imagining the emotional shifts that were about to reshape every part of my life.
I chose the baby clothes carefully, bought the bottles, organized the nursery, read the books, and made lists.
I tried to make everything ready for my baby’s arrival.
All of this is what I could see then.
But no one prepared me for what I could not see: the sleepless nights, the baby colic, the cries that would not stop without knowing what my baby needed, the tears that came without even knowing why, my identity shift, the grief, and the hidden emotions I carried.
And certainly, no one prepared me for grief.
Shortly before I became a mother, just two weeks before giving birth, my father passed away suddenly.
My father was my backbone, my safe place, and one of the most important people in my life. He had been waiting with so much excitement to witness his grandson’s birth and hold him in his arms.
One of the deepest heartbreaks I carry is knowing that I never had the chance to witness the relationship they would have shared; their laughter, their bond, and the lessons my son could have learned from him.
As I held my baby in my arms, I was also trying to understand the loss of my father.
I was expected to celebrate the beginning of a new life while mourning the end of another.
The Emotional Shifts of Early Motherhood
Yet, I did not know how to do both.
I did not know how to be fully present for my baby while my own heart was shattered. The most painful part was feeling this while looking into my baby’s little eyes.
Then, only eight months later, life tested me again.
My brother, who lived with a disability and whom I loved deeply, became seriously ill. While still navigating the challenges of early motherhood with a heavy heart, I found myself facing some of the most difficult decisions imaginable regarding his palliative care.
As his condition worsened, my focus shifted toward being present for him during the final chapter of his life.
When he passed away, it felt as though I had lost another part of myself.
At that point, I was not grieving only one person. I was grieving two of the people I loved most in the world.
During this period, I also lost my house and had to move in with my mother while navigating the uncertainty and chaos of trying to find another house for my little family.
I was grieving the life I had imagined.
And, in many ways, I was grieving the person I used to be.
Losing the Woman I Once Knew
There were days when I no longer recognized myself.
The sociable, joyful woman who loved to laugh seemed to have disappeared. The confident mother I had hoped to become felt impossibly far away.
I was physically present with my son, but emotionally, I often felt absent. My energy was consumed by grief, survival, and the effort of simply making it through each day.
At this stage, I lived through a period of detachment from my baby, who seemed to love his father more and was refusing me.
But it didn’t stop there.
With all that grief, I was also standing in front of a very big identity shift that always made my heart cry.
One day, I looked in the mirror and realized I no longer recognized the woman staring back at me.
My body had changed. The scars told stories I wasn’t ready to read.
The stretch marks reminded me of how much I had stretched—not only physically, but emotionally.
The keloids, the tenderness, the aching back, and the tired eyes… they all belonged to someone I was still getting to know.
I didn’t know what clothes suited me anymore.
Nothing felt like “me.”
I wasn’t sure if I was dressing for comfort, for survival, or because I had forgotten what my own style looked like, or even if someday I would wear a joyful color other than my black mourning clothes, which were part of our community’s traditions.
I didn’t know what hairstyle made me feel beautiful anymore.
My hair had changed.
My skin had changed.
Even my smile had changed.
And somewhere beneath all of that change was grief.
Some days, I didn’t see exhaustion.
I saw the woman who had carried loss while carrying life.
I grieved the softness I thought I would keep, grieved the ease I thought would return, and grieved the career I was supposed to return to, where I thought my growth would continue.
Eventually, I had become so busy taking care of everyone else’s bodies and needs that I stopped listening to my own.
Learning to Live with the Emotional Shifts
Now, after five years of these challenges, I know motherhood is not about isolation. It is a strength to ask for help, not only physically but emotionally too. When the weight becomes too difficult to carry alone, seeking professional support is not a sign of weakness. It is an act of care for yourself and your family.
A mother does not have to be cheerful, productive, and emotionally available every moment to be a loving mother. Sometimes, love looks like getting through the day, holding your child even when your heart feels heavy, and trying again tomorrow.
It is about seeing yourself and cherishing your needs before everyone else’s, so you can truly be present for those you care about.
Motherhood isn’t about disappearing as a woman. Our children need a whole mother, not one who erased herself.
Our bodies don’t need criticism. They need compassion, gratitude for what they have done, and love for the resilience they carry.
What I eventually learned is that healing begins when we give ourselves permission to acknowledge our pain rather than hide it.
I eventually learned that grief is not my whole story. It is a part of my story that I lived. I will always carry my lost loved ones in my heart and will always miss them, but now I am learning to live with their love at my own pace.
I simply needed to allow myself to discover and accept the woman I was becoming while missing the woman I used to be; my habits, my body, and my freedom.
Looking back, I realize that healing was never about erasing those emotional shifts. It was about learning to live through them with compassion.
For many mothers in the Arab region, family and community can be a powerful source of support. At the same time, there can be an unspoken expectation to remain strong, keep moving forward, and place everyone else’s needs before our own.
From One Mother to Another
As I always say, life doesn’t wait for anything, not even for us to be perfect or to feel ready.
So be you.
Allow yourself to feel, live, and cherish every moment and every person in your life.
Your motherhood journey is yours, not anyone else’s.
Live it.
And make memories with your family.
Have advice for moms or a personal story to tell? We’d love to feature your voice on our blog! Share your experiences with us here! We’re always excited to welcome new perspectives and stories from moms like you!
