June 03, 2025
Motherhood is not a break from work — it is a transformation, a marathon, and a sacrifice. Yet around the world, many working mothers are still denied what should be a basic right: fully paid maternity leave. Too often, governments and employers reduce or cut wages during this period — as if childbirth were a vacation, not a life-altering event. But here’s the truth: we carry a child for nine long months. Our bodies change, our energy shifts, and some pregnancies are so high-risk that even walking becomes a danger. Many expectant mothers cannot work, move freely, or even stand without risking the health of their unborn child. And then comes labor — one of the most excruciating physical pains a human can endure. Hours, sometimes days, of intense suffering to bring life into the world. Yet, the moment the baby is born, the world seems to expect us to bounce back, to be strong, grateful, and productive — all while silently battling postpartum exhaustion, trauma, and in many cases, depression. The postpartum period is not just physically painful — it is deeply isolating. Many mothers are misunderstood during pregnancy, and even more forgotten afterward. Despite doing the most human, powerful, and necessary act — bringing new life into the world — mothers are often left feeling invisible. That is why paid maternity leave is not a luxury. It is not a “benefit.” It is a right. And it should be paid in full. No one should have to choose between survival and motherhood. No mother should return to work before her body is healed. No baby should be deprived of bonding time because of a paycheck. If a society truly values life, it must protect those who give it. That starts with respecting mothers — during pregnancy, after birth, and in the workplace. The recent developments in India mark a step forward, but this is a global call. Every nation must recognize that maternity leave is not a cost — it is an investment in humanity. Let’s stand with mothers. Let’s demand what’s fair. Let’s make the invisible work visible.
May 29, 2025
“My project is not here to be accepted or rejected by anyone.” Recently, someone from the Catholic Church approached me about a part of my project that touches on parenthood and birth control. She told me she didn’t agree with the inclusion of contraception — claiming it “kills children.” And when she realized she couldn’t change my point of view — a view grounded in real experiences, real data, and a woman’s right to make informed choices — she said: “If that remains in your project, I will reject it.” But let me be clear: My project does not exist for your approval. It’s not tied to any religious or political institution. It was born from my pain, built with my strength, and powered by truth. I am not like the women you try to silence with guilt. I don’t hide. I don’t shrink. I speak. I take my voice to the streets. I take my voice to the media. And I carry with me the truth of single mothers everywhere — who are judged, threatened, and manipulated in their most vulnerable moments. A mother’s voice is powerful. And the voice of a single mother — is unshakable.
May 29, 2025
Two weeks ago, I launched Beyond the Absence. This week, it has already been accessed by over 100 people in 10 different countries. What started as a quiet launch — just me, a mother with a voice and a vision — has begun to echo far beyond what I imagined. Beyond the Absence started with one voice — mine. A single mother. With a story that didn’t fit inside silence anymore. I didn’t have a team. I didn’t have funding. But I had truth. And truth, when spoken from the heart, travels further than we imagine. Today, this project has been accessed in 10 countries and across 3 continents. Not because I shouted. But because I spoke what many mothers feel but are afraid to say. 🌍 United States 🇵🇹 Portugal 🇮🇪 Ireland 🇵🇱 Poland 🇨🇻 Cape Verde 🇸🇪 Sweden 🇦🇹 Austria 🇱🇺 Luxembourg 🇰🇷 South Korea (+ anonymous accesses not geolocated) This is what happens when a mother finds her voice — and uses it to lift others. This is the power of data, storytelling, and courage. This is just the beginning. Your pain is valid. Your experience is real. And your voice belongs here.
May 28, 2025
I didn’t create Beyond the Absence to be applauded. I created it to show the reality — the reality of the single mother who, at her most vulnerable moment, is not embraced… She is criticized. She is judged. She is threatened. She is bullied — by the very people who were supposed to protect her. This is not healing. This is harm dressed in the name of help. What hurts most isn’t always the absence of a partner — it’s the presence of systems and institutions that treat you like a problem to be managed instead of a life to be nurtured. Someone once told me: “The name of your project is too strong.” But how else do you name a truth so many are forced to carry in silence? Beyond the Absence is not here to make anyone comfortable. It’s here to say what so many are afraid to say. It’s here to give voice to the women who have been told to be quiet — for the sake of reputation, image, or control. If you’ve ever felt erased in a place that should have protected you, know this: Your story is valid. Your pain is real. And your voice belongs here.
May 27, 2025
There’s something magical about bedtime when the sun is just beginning to set. Many parents think babies should stay up later to “sleep better,” but science—and experience—tell us otherwise. Between 6 and 7 PM, a baby’s body naturally reaches a peak in melatonin production. Melatonin is the hormone that helps regulate sleep, and this early evening window is when the body is most ready to rest. Missing that window often leads to overtiredness, which can make it harder—not easier—for a baby to fall asleep. With Theo, I began prioritizing early bedtimes very early on. I noticed that when I put him to sleep between 6 and 7 PM, he slept more soundly, woke up happier, and was more active and alert during the day. It became a rhythm—a ritual. And more than that, it became a moment of protection: a boundary that says, **“Now it’s time to grow, restore, and dream.”** Sleep isn’t just rest. It’s development. It’s memory. It’s healing. And when it begins at the right time, it becomes a tool for everything else we want for our children: **a strong body, a peaceful mind, and a balanced day.** If you’re wondering when to start your baby’s bedtime routine, try earlier. It changed everything for us.
May 26, 2025
Since 2015, I’ve seen fitness as more than a habit—it’s healing. It’s power. It transforms lives. During the most chaotic moments of mine, it grounded me. It gave me control when everything felt out of control. I kept training throughout my pregnancy. Just two weeks after giving birth, I started again. At first with Theo in a baby carrier, then—when he turned one month old—I began placing him on the floor next to me while I trained. Every day, we moved together. Theo’s development was fast and full of strength. He became more active with each passing day. While working out, I’d speak to him with encouragement: **“Let’s go, Theo!”** **“We can do this!”** **“Train with me!”** **“We are strong!”** He would smile and move as if he understood every word. He started doing baby push-ups at 4.5 months. He held his neck confidently during tummy time at 2 months. He rolled over early and grabbed objects with surprising force. Everything came early. And I believe even if he didn’t understand the words, he felt the intention. **He felt our power.** This journey showed me that fitness isn’t just for the body—it shapes the soul. It made me stronger. It made him stronger. Together, we grow.
May 26, 2025
There’s a weight we carry that no one sees. It’s not the diaper bag, the stroller, the baby on the hip. It’s the silence. The silence of doing everything alone. Of wiping tears with no one to hold ours. Of celebrating first laughs, first steps, first milestones—with no one else around. It’s the weight of pretending we’re okay when we’re tired to the bone. Of fighting systems that weren’t built for us. Of holding it all together when it feels like we might fall apart. No medals. No applause. Just quiet strength. Quiet pain. Quiet love. But in that silence, we become unshakable. In that silence, we raise humans with love louder than absence. In that silence, we discover ourselves. We are not just mothers—we are warriors of the invisible.
May 26, 2025
Every morning, I kneel beside Theo and look him in the eyes. With my hand on his tiny chest, I say slowly: “You are beautiful. You are intelligent. You are special. You are enough.” I want those words to echo in his heart before the world tries to tell him otherwise. Then, together, we greet the world: “Good morning, curtain.” “Good morning, window.” “Good morning, street.” We bless each corner of our little space with presence and intention. It might seem small — almost silly. But these rituals ground us. They create safety, joy, and identity in the simple. They remind Theo that he belongs here. And remind me that I do too. As a single mother, some mornings feel heavy. But this moment — these words — lift us both. Before the chaos, before the noise, we center in love. This is how we begin: with affirmation, connection, and quiet power.
May 26, 2025
Yesterday, while we were at the subway station, Theo — as usual — began smiling and “talking” to everyone around. There was a woman nearby, and when he looked at her and smiled, her eyes filled with tears. She turned to Theo and said: **“Thank you for the smile. You made my day better.”** It was such a simple moment, but it carried something profound. Two strangers — a baby and a woman — connected through something as pure and powerful as a smile. --- ### Theo teaches me something every day. I hope he continues to grow with this same spirit: Kind to everyone. Spreading light wherever he goes. Changing someone’s day just by being himself. **A smile can change everything. Theo’s smile changed hers — and mine
May 26, 2025
Yesterday, for the very first time, I joined a running club. Truth is—I hate running. But I wanted to belong to something, to a community, to people moving forward with purpose. And more than that, I wanted to push myself—to improve my cardio, my strength, my courage. Since pregnancy, I’ve been training at home, adapting to the rhythm of a baby while holding on to my own. So I showed up—with Theo in the stroller. I was the only woman there with a child. The only one pushing not just a pace, but a stroller through Prospect Park. And yet, I didn’t feel alone. Because Theo was with me. And he’s enough. As I ran, the other women encouraged me: “Go, mummy!” “She’s running better than us, and she’s got her hands full!” Their words felt like fuel. I felt seen. Not as the woman with a stroller, but as a woman with strength. A mother. A runner. A part of something. I didn’t expect to feel so accepted. So welcomed. It was beautiful. And maybe I still hate running. But I love what it gave me that day.