Nobody tells you this part.
That you might hold your baby for the first time and feel... not what you expected. Not that overwhelming, instant, all-consuming love the movies promised. Maybe something quieter. Maybe something more like uncertainty. Or exhaustion. Or a strange, disorienting blankness where the feeling was supposed to be.
And then the guilt moves in.
What kind of mother doesn't instantly love her baby?
I want to gently, firmly, offer you a different way of seeing this.
The myth we inherited
Somewhere along the way — through the culture we grew up in, the images we absorbed, the stories we were told — most of us internalised a picture of what a Good Mother looks like. She's selfless, endlessly patient, completely devoted. She knows instinctively what her baby needs. And she falls in love the moment she lays eyes on them.
That picture isn't just unrealistic. It's actively getting in the way.
Because here's what nobody built into that image: a relationship takes time.
Think about it. In no other part of your life would you expect to meet someone — a stranger, however beloved — and instantly, completely, know them and love them without any of the ordinary back-and-forth of getting acquainted. We'd never hold ourselves to that standard anywhere else.
And yet somehow with our babies, we do.
Mothering is a relationship, not a role
This is the reframe that changes everything.
You are not stepping into a suit called Mother and learning to perform it correctly. You are entering into a relationship — with a specific, singular, fascinating little person who you are only just beginning to know.
And relationships unfold. They develop. They deepen over time through a thousand small ordinary moments of learning each other.
What makes her settle? What lights him up? What does that particular cry actually mean?
You learn these things gradually, the way you learn anyone. And as you learn them, something grows. Not a performance of love — but the real thing, built from genuine knowing.
It doesn't have to be love at first sight. It's allowed to be a love that arrives slowly, that deepens with each week, that surprises you one afternoon when you realise — oh. There it is.
You're allowed to say it
You're allowed to say: I'm not loving this stage.
You're allowed to say: This is not my favourite period of my life.
You're allowed to say: I love you and I don't really like you very much right now.
That's not failure. That's honesty. And honesty — with yourself, and eventually with someone safe — is actually where the real connection begins.
This is where I come in
If you're sitting with any of this — the guilt, the gap between what you expected to feel and what you actually feel, the worry that something is wrong with you or with your bond — I want you to know there is nothing wrong with you.
There is simply a relationship that needs a little more time, and maybe a little more support, to find its footing.
That's exactly what I'm here for. You can read about how we work on this together on the You and your baby — finding each other page, or reach out for a free 15-minute consultation whenever you're ready.
If you need help right now
This website does not provide crisis or emergency support. If you are in distress or worried about your safety or someone else’s, please reach out immediately — you deserve help right now.