Hi, name is Maja

If you’re here, chances are you’re juggling more roles than you ever consciously signed up for. So before anything else — welcome. This space exists for honesty, not highlight reels.

I’m 40. I have a four-year-old at home. And on any given day I’m a mum, a wife, a professional, a friend, a problem-solver, a peace-keeper, a boundary-setter, and occasionally the woman standing in the kitchen wondering where her energy went before it was even 9am.

Nearly five years ago, I welcomed my first and only child into the world. What I thought would be a “year off”( some still think you are taking holidays) work quickly turned into something much bigger. It wasn’t a break. It was a reckoning. A beautiful one, a brutal one, and a life-altering one.

I’d always loved work. Thrived in it, actually. The pace, the challenge, the noise of the corporate world it suited me. I’d been independent early, left my country at 19, built a life from scratch through stubborn determination and sheer willingness to just go for it. By 28, I’d found my footing in my career. I relocated, adapted, built networks, proved myself. Work had been my baby until I had a real one.

During pregnancy, I had all the plans. I would return to work smoothly. Seamlessly. Balanced. Organised. Slightly smug, probably. Reality, as it turns out, had other ideas.

The moment I met my son, everything else dimmed. Not disappeared, but shifted. The thought of returning to work filled me with guilt, dread, confusion and a quiet sense of panic I hadn’t felt before. I didn’t recognise myself in it, which made it even harder.

When I did return, I expected a new chapter. What I got was a different book. My scope had changed. People had moved on. Conversations I used to lead were happening without me. I questioned my value, my relevance, my place. I’d adjusted my life to dive back into work and the work I’d known simply wasn’t there.

For the first time in my career, I broke. I cried in front of my boss. Not a controlled tear the real kind. I felt disconnected from my team, sidelined in ways I couldn’t quite articulate, and deeply lost. I questioned everything I thought I knew about myself.

And then, because life has a sense of humour, perimenopause quietly entered the chat. It took me three years of asking for help before anyone took me seriously. I was told I was “stressed,” “fine,” or perhaps just too much. Turns out, hormones matter. Who knew.

That period was hard. Really hard. But I refused to let it be the end of the story.

Slowly not gracefully, I rebuilt. I changed roles. I found a new team, a new rhythm, a version of myself that felt both familiar and evolved. I learned how to advocate for myself. I made clearer choices about what serves me and more importantly, what doesn’t. I started setting boundaries, real ones, because they turned out to be the only way to build that ever-elusive thing we call work-life balance.

And that’s what this space is about.

Not perfection. Not “doing it all” gracefully. But doing it consciously. Talking about motherhood, work, identity, hormones, ambition, boundaries with honesty, humour, and zero sugar-coating.

If you’re figuring things out mid-flight, redefining success, or just trying to make it through the day without forgetting your mascara or your hormones you belong here.

This is a space for women who are building lives that actually fit them.

Welcome.