When I was pregnant with Zaina, I remember feeling a mix of excitement and deep insecurity. I was so happy to be carrying her, but quietly, I questioned everything about myself. Would I be a good mum? Would it come naturally? Would I cope?

I think, like many mums, I expected motherhood to arrive in one big, cinematic moment, locking eyes with my baby and instantly feeling like my whole world had shifted. And while it was life-changing, it wasn’t quite like that for me.

When Zaina was born, I loved her. I knew she was mine, and I knew she was my responsibility. But that overwhelming rush people talk about? It didn’t hit straight away. It crept in slowly. I think around day three, it truly landed, this tiny human depends on me for everything. That realisation was powerful, beautiful… and terrifying.

And then the love came. Deep, consuming, unlike anything I’d ever known.

Becoming her mum changed me in ways I didn’t expect. It softened me, but it also broke me. I sacrificed relationships, plans, my career, and a college degree I was working towards. And honestly? I don’t regret any of it. She became my little best friend. Watching her grow, learn, and turn into her own person has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

Looking at her now, just turned four, my heart still melts the same way it did in those early days. I want the world for her. I want her safe, happy, confident, and loved. Motherhood showed me just how much capacity for love I actually have, far more than I ever imagined.

Like most mums, I went into pregnancy armed with research. Birth plans. Hypnobirthing. Endless reading about what pregnancy and newborn life should look like. But what no one really tells you is how much motherhood can break your body and challenge your mind.

My second pregnancy, carrying twins while running after a toddler, was brutal. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The toll on my body was double. My back, my energy, my ability to rest, all stretched beyond what I thought I could handle.

And then there’s the reality no one prepares you for. Babies don’t always sleep after five or six weeks. It’s not always cute. It’s not always gentle. Sometimes you find yourself becoming a full-time researcher, professor, and problem-solver for your own children.

Why isn’t my baby sleeping?

Colic. Reflux. Cow’s milk allergy.

Why is she so unsettled? Why is she screaming? Why doesn’t this feel like the books said it would?

Motherhood teaches you fast and often the hard way. And every journey is different.

When I found out I was pregnant with twins while Zaina was still so little, it was a shock. Finding out there were two babies instead of one added another layer of fear. The pregnancy was filled with uncertainty, extra scans, difficult conversations, waiting weeks for answers about fluid behind one of the babies’ necks and what it could mean.

There were moments of real fear. Moments of doubt. Moments where I questioned whether I was doing the right thing, for myself, for Zaina, for the babies growing inside me. I worried about the future. About fairness. About whether Zaina would feel pushed aside. About whether the twins would have a bond she wasn’t part of.

And yet, when I found out I was carrying two little girls, I could see the life we’d build together. Not the hard beginning, but the life we have now.

The early days with three were overwhelming. Exhausting. At times, isolating. I look back now and wonder if I was dealing with postpartum depression after the twins. I remember sitting up during night feeds, watching the world on the news, feeling emotionally overloaded and unable to focus. I carried so much guilt, guilt for not being enough, guilt for sending Zaina to preschool at two because I physically couldn’t manage everything, guilt for feeling stretched so thin.

That guilt still sits with me sometimes. I wish I’d had more time with her in those early years. It’s part of why homeschooling feels so important to me now, the desire to slow down, to learn together, to experience life through their eyes instead of rushing them into systems that don’t always fit.

Motherhood completely changed how I see work, education, and the way we’re expected to raise children. The structure, the pressure, the expectation to separate work from family, it all began to feel unnatural. I want a life that’s built around my children, not away from them. One where learning happens through curiosity, travel, play, and real experiences, not just ticking boxes.

What carried me through those early years especially when things felt heavy, was my faith. Even when it wavered. Even when I felt disconnected. Talking to God, putting everything out there, and leaving it with Him gave me comfort. Sometimes it didn’t fix anything immediately, but it helped me release what I was carrying.

Motherhood taught me to take life day by day. You can plan endlessly, but children have their own rhythm. Their own needs. Their own timelines. Learning to release control and to talk things out, journal, pray, or simply let it out, became essential.

What I’ve learned is this: worry and stress will always exist alongside happiness. But when you stop living in the “what ifs” and start being present, things feel lighter. Not easier, just lighter.

Now, as the twins grow and Zaina flourishes, something in me has shifted again. I feel more like myself. More grounded. More ready. Motherhood bent me, broke me, and pushed me to my limits but it also rebuilt me stronger.

I’m still learning. Still growing. Still trying to be better each day. And motherhood will continue to change me in ways I haven’t even reached yet.