Raw, Real, & Maternal
My Motherhood Journey (And Why This Work Is So Personal)
Most women dream of becoming mothers one day.
I did too—but I never imagined just how layered, emotional, and complex that journey would become.
Before I go further, I want to say this gently—
this part of my story is real, and it’s heavy.
But it’s also a big part of why I see motherhood the way I do today.
My first pregnancy happened when I was just 14 years old.
I had already started shifting mentally into what it meant to become a mom… and then everything changed.
I miscarried in my second trimester.
I was told my body would naturally pass the baby.
About 24 hours after spotting and confirming there was no heartbeat, I started cramping—what I would later understand were contractions. I went through that experience alone in my parents’ bathroom.
I remember looking down and seeing my baby’s face and arms.
I didn’t fully understand what was happening in that moment—I was scared, overwhelmed, and trying to process everything all at once. When I stood up, I wasn’t able to catch the baby, and that moment is something that has stayed with me ever since.
There was no real guidance for what came next—just the expectation that life would move forward.
But emotionally, it doesn’t work like that.
That baby still holds a place in my heart.
And even now, years later, that experience shaped how I see motherhood—not as something perfect or polished, but as something deeply human, raw, and sacred.
My second pregnancy was very different.
I was older, in my twenties, and everything felt more “normal.” It was a hospital birth, an induction, the kind of experience that many women are familiar with.
At the time, I didn’t have strong expectations—I just wanted to hold my baby.
But looking back, I realize that was the beginning of understanding how often motherhood asks you to surrender control.
Over time, my life shifted in ways I never could have planned.
I went from being a single mom to building a blended family—going from one child to four in what felt like overnight.
Our family felt full.
And then we decided to grow it again.
My third pregnancy happened during the early stages of COVID.
There was so much uncertainty surrounding medical care, and navigating pregnancy during that time felt isolating.
Our baby girl had a few challenges early on—jaundice, time under a biliblanket, hip development concerns, and other medical needs that required ongoing attention.
Even as a more experienced mom, I found myself stepping into situations I had never faced before.
Then came another unexpected chapter.
Just three months postpartum, I found out I was pregnant again.
I remember feeling overwhelmed—and also noticing that my body felt different, faster than expected. I even joked with my husband, “What if it’s twins?”
At my first ultrasound—alone because of COVID restrictions—that question was answered.
Ultrasound images of Twin A and Twin B
“Baby A… and Baby B.”
I remember sitting there, trying to process how my life was about to expand again in a way I never imagined.
Every part of this journey—the loss, the uncertainty, the growth, the unexpected moments—has shaped how I see motherhood today.
It’s not perfect.
It’s not always easy.
But it is deeply meaningful.
And it deserves to be remembered.
When Motherhood Feels Overwhelming (And You Lose Yourself in It)
At one point, my life felt like complete chaos—in the fullest sense of the word.
I had three babies at home, four school-aged kids, and I was working remotely full-time during COVID.
I was constantly needed.
Constantly touched.
Constantly exhausted.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that… I started to lose myself.
This was the season where I was really struggling with postpartum depression (PPD).
My body felt completely foreign to me. I didn’t recognize myself physically, mentally, or emotionally. I was drained all the time, and no matter how much I was doing, it never felt like enough.
During my pregnancy with the twins, I also suffered from pubic symphysis dysfunction (PSD)—something I had never experienced before.
At times, it was completely debilitating.
There were moments I would get stuck just trying to sit, stand, or even roll over. If my husband was home, he would have to physically carry me. If he wasn’t, I had to crawl just to get where I needed to go.
I even went through physical therapy just to try to manage the pain.
At some point, I knew I had to do something—mentally, emotionally, physically.
I started going on daily walks.
Not because I had the energy… but because I needed something to ground me.
Those walks became quiet moments where I could breathe, think, and pray.
I would talk to God, trying to make sense of everything I was feeling—my body, my identity, the overwhelm.
And one day, something shifted.
I felt this overwhelming sense of peace come over me.
A clear message:
Stop worrying about your body.
You are exactly where you’re meant to be.
You are doing what you were created to do.
It hit me so strongly that I went home and told my husband immediately.
I told him I felt like we were going to have another baby.
He looked at me and asked, “Are you sure?”
I said, “Yes.”
When the twins were eight months old… I was pregnant again.
And this time, I had been praying specifically for a baby boy.
After having five girls and two boys already, this felt deeply personal to me.
And I got him.
My first son that I carried and brought into this world.
But not everything around me reflected that joy.
When I told my mom, her reaction wasn’t excitement—it was anger.
It felt like she saw our growing family as irresponsible rather than a blessing.
That moment hurt more than I expected.
Because to me, babies bring love, connection, and purpose.
But instead, it brought tension and uncertainty.
And then came another unexpected shift.
When I told my employer I was pregnant… I was laid off.
At the time, it felt like everything was falling apart.
But looking back, it was one of those moments that completely redirected my life in a way I couldn’t see yet.
Because suddenly…
I was home with four babies, all two years old and under.
And I was overwhelmed in a way I don’t think words can fully capture.
I was exhausted.
I was stretched thin.
And I truly felt like I was losing my mind.
My Final Pregnancy (And Learning to Be Present in It)
While carrying my last baby in my belly I hold the one who I still called my baby.
And then came a season I didn’t fully expect—but one that would change me in a completely different way.
After everything—pregnancy after pregnancy, the chaos, the exhaustion, the constant state of caring for everyone else—I found myself pregnant one more time.
Another baby boy.
And little did I know… he would challenge me in ways I hadn’t experienced before.
He is energetic, fearless, strong, and incredibly loving—all packed into one little human.
By this point in my life, I started to realize something I hadn’t fully processed before:
I never really got to experience each of my babies individually.
I was always pregnant again during their infancy. Always moving into the next phase before I had the chance to fully sit in the one I was in.
And this time… I wanted something different.
This pregnancy itself was smooth physically.
But emotionally, I had very specific hopes for how I wanted to bring him into the world.
I wanted a home birth.
My husband wasn’t comfortable with that.
I wanted a water birth.
My provider didn’t offer it, which meant I would have had to start over with someone new—and at that point, I didn’t have the energy for that either.
And the one thing I was holding onto the most…
I did not want to be induced.
On my due date, my mucus plug came out, and I went into the hospital.
I was having small contractions, but nothing consistent.
After about four hours with no real progress, they told me they were going to send me home.
I remember feeling completely defeated.
Like once again, the experience I had hoped for was slipping out of my hands.
Unless…
I agreed to be induced.
So I made another decision that went against what I originally wanted.
I agreed.
Because I was already there.
Because I was exhausted.
Because sometimes motherhood looks like adapting in real time.
At that point, the only thing I still had control over…
Was how I chose to experience the birth itself.
I decided I would do it without an epidural
This was my last pregnancy, and I wanted to feel it—all of it.
The rawness.
The intensity.
The reality of bringing life into the world.
When it came time for active labor and pushing…
The waves of pain were more than I expected.
I remember crying—not just from the pain, but from fear.
I didn’t know if I could actually do it.
And then my nurse looked me straight in the eyes.
Everything felt still for just a second.
And she said:
“If you want to do this, you can—and you will. It’s all in your mind.”
That was the moment everything shifted.
And I did it.
I delivered my final baby boy.
He was my biggest—8 pounds, 6 ounces.
Strong from the very beginning.
This time… something felt different.
Maybe it was knowing this would be my last.
Maybe it was everything I had been through to get here.
But for the first time, I allowed myself to slow down.
To be present.
To actually experience this stage instead of rushing through it.
It’s been two and a half years since I delivered my last baby.
And I can honestly say—I’ve been able to appreciate this season in a way I never had before.
I don’t photograph perfect motherhood.
I photograph real motherhood.
The kind that feels overwhelming and beautiful at the same time.
The kind where your body doesn’t feel like your own yet… but it’s doing something incredible.
The kind where you’re exhausted, stretched thin, and still showing up every single day.
Because I’ve lived it.
I know what it feels like to be in the middle of it all—pregnant, healing, raising babies, and wondering if you’ll ever feel like yourself again.
That’s why these sessions matter.
Not because everything is perfect… but because it isn’t.
One day, this season will be gone.
And you’ll want to remember it—not just how it looked, but how it felt.
That’s what I give you.
