Welcome to Fi(ND)ing Motherhood
When my son was diagnosed, it happened over Zoom. Just me, my husband, and a kind psychologist on a screen during lockdown — words that changed everything delivered through the quiet hum of our kitchen. I remember the stillness afterwards, the silence that felt heavier than the news itself. Part relief — because what we’d been sensing finally had a name — but mostly, one big question: What now?
Maybe you’ve had a moment like that too. A moment when the path you’d imagined suddenly twists, and you’re left staring at a map that no longer fits.
In those first few weeks I did what so many mothers do: I researched, filled in forms, built spreadsheets, and cried in between. I told myself I just needed to “get on top of things.” But what I didn’t realise then was that I was also carrying something invisible — a new emotional weight that no one warned me about.
The load no one sees
We talk a lot about the physical exhaustion of motherhood, but this was different. It was the mental load of being responsible for every detail of my child’s support. It was the grief that came with rewriting our family story. It was the quiet ache of watching other families do simple things — park days, playdates — that suddenly felt out of reach.
And underneath it all, there was a deeper shift happening: I was changing too.
Rediscovering myself through matrescence
I learned later there’s a word for this transformation: matrescence. It describes the ongoing evolution of becoming a mother — not just once, but many times over. The first time at birth, yes, but also again after diagnosis, after loss, after every major turning point that reshapes how we see ourselves.
That understanding came to me through my training with Amy Taylor-Kabbaz and the Mama Rising community. It gave language to something I’d been living — the way motherhood unravels and rebuilds you in equal measure.
Matrescence taught me that my feelings weren’t a sign of weakness. The overwhelm, the anger, the tenderness — all of it was part of a profound, human transformation.
Letting go of the perfect mother myth
One moment that stays with me is when a friend apologised for her autistic daughter’s behaviour at a playdate. “Sorry she’s doing that,” she said quietly. And I found myself blurting out, “You don’t have to apologise for your daughter.”
I meant it with my whole heart. Because so many of us are conditioned to believe that if our children don’t fit society’s script, we’ve failed in some way. Dr Sophie Brock calls this the perfect mother myth — the impossible standard that demands calm, control, and self-sacrifice at all times.
Rejecting that myth doesn’t mean giving up; it means stepping into truth. It means recognising that both we and our children are allowed to take up space exactly as we are.
Becoming… again
Over time, I began to see that motherhood after diagnosis isn’t about finding your way back to who you were — it’s about growing into who you’re becoming.
There’s a quiet courage in that becoming. It looks like showing up for appointments even when you’re running on fumes. It sounds like laughter that bubbles up after tears. It feels like love that refuses to shrink to fit expectations.
And yes, it’s messy. Some days I still lose patience, still feel like I’m failing. But I’m learning that softness is a form of strength too.
“What part of me am I grieving, and what part of me is trying to be born?”
That’s a question I return to often. Because this journey — of motherhood, of matrescence — is ongoing. It’s not something we finish. It’s something we live.
So if you’re here, reading this, wondering whether you’re doing enough — take a breath. You are. You’ve made it this far, and that’s already extraordinary.
Listen to the full episode
Next step
If this story resonates, you might find my free guide The First 30 Days especially grounding — a gentle companion for those early weeks after diagnosis. Download it here →
