I didn’t expect to feel so disconnected after giving birth.
I had done the courses, visualised the birth I wanted, surrounded myself with affirmations and support. But when the day came, it was traumatic. I haemorrhaged twice – once during the birth and again four weeks later. It was terrifying. My body felt like a battlefield. I remember the fear, the panic, the sense that I couldn’t trust myself anymore. And then came the guilt – because wasn’t this meant to be the most beautiful time of my life?
I know now that what I experienced is not uncommon, and that birth trauma leaves a deep imprint – on the body, the nervous system, and the identity of a woman who’s just become a mother.
But the part I wasn’t prepared for was how it would rupture my relationship with myself.
And how that disconnection would ripple into my relationship with my daughter.
Self-love felt impossible – and then became non-negotiable
In those early months, I wasn’t trying to “love myself.” I was just trying to keep my daughter alive, eat something, and maybe have a shower. But slowly, I started to notice the voice that spoke to me when I looked in the mirror.
“You used to be pretty.”
“You look exhausted. Messy. Weak.”
“Your skin has more wrinkles now.”
This voice wasn’t truth – it was conditioning. It was inherited.
I started to realise I was speaking to myself the way I’d heard my own mum speak to herself my whole life. A sigh in the mirror. A quiet self-criticism. A refusal to see what others saw – her beauty, her brilliance, her tenderness.
And in that moment, I saw how easily those same thoughts could become my daughter’s.
That was my turning point.
What if self-love isn’t about perfection – but protection?
I asked myself: What am I modelling for my daughter?
What am I teaching her about confidence, worth, beauty, softness, and strength?
And the truth is, our kids don’t learn self-love from our words.
They learn it from the energy we carry. The way we treat ourselves. The things we don’t say, but silently tolerate in front of them.
So I began with something simple – changing my inner dialogue.
Looking in the mirror and saying: I love you. I truly love all parts of you.
Even when I didn’t fully believe it. Especially when I didn’t.
And something shifted. The more I softened toward myself, the more space there was for presence – with my daughter, in my business, in my life.
We don’t just inherit eye colour – we inherit self-worth patterns too
We’re deeply entangled with our mothers. The way they see themselves, speak about their bodies, hold (or avoid) joy – all of it imprints us.
And whether we like it or not, our children will be entangled with us in the same way.
It doesn’t mean we have to be perfect. But it does mean we get to choose whether the pattern ends with us.
That moment when I caught myself hesitating to speak up on the playground because I didn’t want to upset another mum – it wasn’t just about manners. It was a mirror. I was showing my daughter that her needs come second. That keeping others comfortable is more important than her own boundaries. And I don’t want that for her.
So I keep asking: Can I love myself enough to show her a different way?
What your nervous system needs to know
Healing self-worth after birth isn’t just mindset work – it’s nervous system work.
Birth trauma activates deep survival responses. Shame and self-criticism are often protective mechanisms – ways we try to make sense of why we feel unsafe in our bodies.
The invitation is to meet yourself gently. Not to override the fear or “fix” it, but to honour it. To love the parts of you that flinch. To notice the moments you abandon yourself – and come back.
Self-love is a practice. A process. A recalibration.
It’s not always affirmations and pretty baths. Sometimes it’s messy mirror conversations. Sometimes it’s crying in the car. Sometimes it’s choosing to walk away from relationships that no longer honour who you are becoming.
But every time you choose self-love, you give your child permission to do the same.
You are worthy simply because you exist
I looked at my daughter one day, tiny and perfect in her bassinet, and I thought – she is worthy of love simply because she exists.
And then I had to ask – Why am I any different?
We weren’t born with shame. We inherited it. We learned it. And we can choose to unlearn it.
So let this be your reminder: self-love after birth isn’t selfish. It’s sacred. It’s an act of deep devotion to yourself and to the future you’re shaping for your children.
It begins in the mirror.
It grows in the quiet choices.
And it changes everything.
