Dear Mumma

This letter is written for the mother who hasn’t slept, who knows deep down something isn’t right, and who keeps showing up anyway. It speaks to the silent strength of mums who are dismissed, doubted, and left to advocate alone — trusting their instincts when no one else will.

You don’t even recognise yourself anymore, do you?

You look in the mirror and barely see the woman you were before —
the spark is dulled, your body aches, your chest is tight,
and your eyes… your eyes carry something no one else can see.
A mix of fear, guilt, exhaustion, and this invisible ache that never leaves.

You are so tired.
So tired it hurts.

He wakes again. And again. And again.
Six, seven, sometimes more.
You count the hours between feeds on one hand.
You’ve walked laps around the living room with arms that no longer feel like they belong to you.
Your body pushed beyond exhaustion,
your spirit held together by love and instinct alone.

And then the screaming starts.
That same cry that pierces right through you.
Not just a cry — a wail.
He arches, writhes, fights your arms.
It’s 3am and your baby feels like a storm in your hands —
your arms so sore, your heart so shattered.
Nothing works… until you take him outside.
In the cold. In the dark.
Pacing the driveway in your dressing gown, whispering “please, please, please”
until the fresh air finally brings him back down.

You asked for help.
You begged for answers.
And even the doctors told you nothing was wrong.
They looked at your tired face, your cracked voice, your overflowing worry —
and told you maybe you just needed more sleep.
Maybe you were just a little overwhelmed.
And in that moment, the system didn’t just fail your baby.
It failed you.

You were gaslit.
Dismissed.
Sent home with no answers, but the same heavy heart.
But you never gave up.

Because deep down, you knew.
This wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t just reflux.
This wasn’t just a rough patch.

It was mould.
It was his tiny body reacting to something no one else could see.
And when you finally moved house —
He slept.
You both did.
For the first time in 18 months.

That silence said everything.

You weren’t wrong.
You weren’t failing.
You weren’t too soft.
You were just tuned in.

You need to hear this now, Mumma:
You didn’t imagine it.
You weren’t too emotional.
You were never the problem.

You were the solution.

You were the reason he kept going.
The reason he’s healing.
The reason this story didn’t end in heartbreak.

This is for every mother who’s been made to feel crazy for listening to her gut.
For the ones crying in carparks after another appointment that led nowhere.
For the ones who can feel their child’s pain even when no one else can.

You are not alone.
You are not too much.
You are not imagining things.

You are the voice.
The protector.
The safe place.

Keep going, Mumma.
You are doing the most sacred work there is.

With all the love you never gave yourself,
Your future self — the one who finally slept, and finally figured it all out.