Boundaries

There is a moment in motherhood when you suddenly realise that time is no longer something you freely own. It becomes something you negotiate. Something you defend. Something you try to squeeze into the cracks between work meetings, childcare, dinners, laundry, and the thousand invisible responsibilities that land, without warning, on your shoulders. And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, there’s a version of you who is trying not to disappear.

If you feel that, we hear you. Truly. We’ve been there.

Motherhood doesn’t just change your schedule; it rearranges your sense of self. Before becoming a mum, I approached work with a kind of hungry ambition. I said yes to every opportunity that stretched me — travel, growth, new challenges. Work was a space that belonged to me, a space where I expanded. Now, the reality looks different. Work still matters and it still fulfils me, but I’m no longer pretending that my career is some kind of personal sanctuary. Work is not “me time.” It never was. It is energy exchanged, deadlines met, performance delivered. And increasingly, it is also something deeply practical: the financial stability that keeps a family standing. Paying the bills, creating a life we can enjoy, and being honest that this part matters — because it does.

But motherhood forces a question many of us were never taught to answer: If work demands so much, and home demands even more, where exactly do you fit? And here is the spoiler you won’t find on inspirational Instagram tiles — you will not find balance by waiting for it to appear. You will not stumble into it at work. You will not receive it as a gift from a partner. Balance is not offered to women. It is created, drawn, held, and often fiercely protected through boundaries.

People love to preach that “we all have the same 24 hours.” Technically, yes. But practically? Not even close. Some people have help. Some have partners who share the mental load. Some have jobs that respect personal time. Some have families who step in, communities that support them, childcare that works. Many women do not. Many wake up and immediately step into the kind of day that drains them before they’ve had a chance to sit down. The mental load alone — the remembering, coordinating, planning, soothing, anticipating — is work in itself.

Research continues to confirm what women already feel in their bones: nearly 90% of working mothers report feeling burned out at least once a week. One in three has considered leaving their job because the pressure is too much. Women still carry 2.5 times more unpaid labour at home than men. And nearly half of all mums say they get absolutely no time for themselves in a typical day. When you look at this honestly, burnout stops feeling like a personal flaw and starts looking like the predictable outcome of a system that quietly relies on women stretching themselves thin.

The danger is that we start believing this is the only way. That being exhausted is normal. That the only choice is to keep accommodating everyone else. This is how women disappear — not suddenly, but gradually, by saying yes when they need rest, by absorbing responsibility no one else notices, by being the flexible one, the dependable one, the one who just “figures it out.” And the heartbreaking part is that we do it out of love — for our children, for our families, for our teams — without realising what it costs.

This is why boundaries are not optional. They are not selfish, cold, or unreasonable. Boundaries are the only way back to yourself when the world has become comfortable taking every last piece of you. They are the structure that allows you to remain in your own life rather than being swallowed by the roles you perform. But boundaries aren’t just external; they’re internal too. It’s not just about telling your partner or your workplace what you cannot do — it’s about telling yourself that you will not keep giving past the point of depletion.

And yes, setting boundaries is uncomfortable. They will be tested. People will push. You might feel guilty. You might wonder if you’re being too much. But every time you hold a boundary, even shakily, you reclaim a part of yourself that got lost somewhere between motherhood and responsibility. The part that remembers who you were before there were so many expectations. The part that still has wants, not just obligations. The part that deserves space.

Finding balance isn’t about perfect schedules or colour-coded planners. It’s about recognising that you cannot live a life where everyone else’s needs take priority over your own. It’s about choosing to stop disappearing. It’s about allowing yourself to matter in the story you’re living.

And the good news — you don’t have to figure this out alone. That’s why this space exists: to tell the truth about motherhood, ambition, burnout, identity, and the complex reality of being a woman who does it all. Not the polished version — the real one. The version where we lift each other, learn from each other, and walk forward together.

So here is the quiet truth I wish someone had told me earlier:
Balance will not be handed to you.
But you can create it.
One boundary at a time.
One honest moment at a time.
One decision to choose yourself without guilt.

You are not alone in this. We hear you. And we walk with you.