CEO Mama Newsletter: 20th Edition

Hi ,

I see her.
Bleary-eyed. Milk-stained.
Scrolling through her phone at 2 AM while her baby sleeps on her chest.

She’s afraid to move, afraid to wake him.
So she stays still — even though her back aches, even though her bladder is full, even though she hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.

She’s wondering if she’s doing it right.
If she’ll ever feel like herself again.
If she even remembers who that is.

If I could go back and sit beside her, I wouldn’t tell her to savor it.
I wouldn’t whisper “it goes so fast” while she’s silently unraveling.
I wouldn’t hand her advice, or routines, or sleep schedules.

I would hold her.
I would tuck her hair behind her ear and tell her:
You’re doing so much. And you’re doing it better than you think.

I’d tell her it’s okay that she feels lost.
That it doesn’t mean she’s failing.
That loving her baby and missing her old self isn’t a contradiction — it’s a human response to everything she’s just been through.

I’d tell her that one day, her body will feel like home again.
That the fog will lift.
That the rhythm will return.
That it’s okay to grieve what used to be, while still falling in love with what’s here now.

I’d tell her she was never meant to do this alone.
That the “village” she keeps hearing about isn’t a luxury — it’s a necessity.
And that just because she didn’t have it, doesn’t mean she didn’t deserve it.

I’d tell her that her needs matter.
That sleep matters.
That nourishment matters.
That she matters.

And I’d remind her — gently, lovingly — that motherhood isn’t a reason to disappear.
That one day, she will learn how to hold herself with the same tenderness she gives so freely to everyone else.

That she is allowed to come back to herself.

Or become someone entirely new.

Many of us were initiated into motherhood during a time of profound aloneness — physically, emotionally, and systemically.

We powered through, wore the brave face, got back to work, showed up online, all while suppressing the silent ache that whispered, who is taking care of me?

But here’s the truth: when we abandon ourselves in the early chapters, it becomes a pattern. One that bleeds into our leadership, our businesses, our homes.

If we want to build something sustainable — something that doesn’t cost us our nervous system — we have to start with self-mothering.

Tending to ourselves isn’t indulgent. It’s foundational.

Because the more nourished we are, the more capacity we have to lead with clarity, compassion, and courage.

The mother who learns to mother herself becomes the leader who no longer burns out to prove her worth.

You didn’t need to be stronger back then.
You needed to be supported.

And you still do.

The nervous system doesn’t forget what it has carried — it stores the skipped meals, the sleepless nights, the unspoken grief of becoming someone new overnight.

But the body also responds to repair.
It responds to slowness. To warmth. To being seen.

This week, notice where you're still holding that early tension.
The hypervigilance. The pressure to keep doing.

And instead of overriding it — pause.
Place a hand on your heart.

Offer yourself the mothering you needed back then:
You’re safe now. You’re allowed to rest. You’re not doing this alone anymore.

Write a letter to your early motherhood self.

Not to analyze or fix — just to witness.

Let her know what you wish she’d been told.

Remind her of her strength, yes — but also her softness.
Her need for support.
Her right to feel how she felt.

If you want, read it out loud. Let it move through your body. Let it become a kind of re-parenting ritual.

And if it feels right — share it.
With a friend. With a fellow mother.
With the version of you that still needs to hear those words.

Because when we write these letters , we aren’t just healing the past.
We’re changing the way we care for ourselves in the now.

P.S. You weren’t meant to do this alone.
The CEO Mama Membership is your space to grow a business you love and be the present, intentional mother you want to be. Inside, you’ll get access to expert guidance + a circle of women who understand exactly what you're navigating — the late nights, the big dreams, the constant juggle. This isn’t about doing more — it’s about doing it differently, with support that actually fits your life.

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