Her Honest Space

This honest post explores how motherhood magnified self-doubt before gently guiding one mum toward healing, identity, and self-acceptance.

🗣️ The Voice I Always Carried

I saw a trend recently on TikTok — someone staring softly into the camera, asking, “What is my curse?” At first, I scrolled past like it was just another dramatic internet moment. But the question stayed with me. Because I knew my answer instantly.

My curse has always been me. Or more specifically, the voice inside me that never believed I was enough.

Before I became a mum, I carried dreams — quiet ones, creative ones. I had ideas, projects, visions of who I could become. But I also carried this inner critic. One that told me I wasn’t ready. That other people were more talented. That I’d fail, or be judged, or not live up to the version I had in my head. And so I stayed small. I clung to what felt safe. I held myself back before anyone else could.

I even wrote about it, once — on my old blog that was later lost. I remember being brutally honest in that post. I wrote about how I had become my own worst enemy. That I was the one who doubted, compared, second-guessed, and sabotaged. I fought it, I tried to change, but in the end… I listened to the voice. And I stayed stuck.

🪞When Motherhood Made It Worse, Before Making It Clear

I wish I could say that motherhood silenced that critical voice — that as soon as I became a mum, I finally believed in my worth.

But the truth is, in the beginning, I fell even deeper into it.

I felt completely detached from who I was. I avoided photos. I felt ashamed of what my body had become. I truly believed that one day, my son would look at me and see someone who had let herself go. That he’d feel disappointed in me — the way I already felt about myself.

I know now how harsh that sounds. But back then, that voice in my head was so loud. So convincing. It told me I wasn’t a “good enough” mum. Not strong enough. Not slim enough. Not anything enough. And I believed it.

Before motherhood, I used to define myself by my job. I think it felt safer that way — if I hid behind a title, I didn’t have to fully show who I was underneath. If someone judged me, at least it wasn’t the real me. Not completely.

I never had a big circle of friends. I’ve always found it hard to trust people deeply. Hard to open up and fully be myself. Because being seen — truly seen — felt dangerous. Vulnerable. Risky.

And then motherhood came, and everything that was hidden rose to the surface. I couldn’t hide anymore. Not from the mirror. Not from myself. Not from the little boy I was now raising — who I desperately wanted to show a different path.

🫚The Roots Of Comparison Run Deep

Sometimes we think comparison begins with motherhood — the milestone charts, the clean homes, the mums who somehow bounce back, stay organised, stay smiling. But for me, it started long before that.

It started in childhood. In classrooms where we were graded and ranked. In families or schools where being compared was just part of how you were spoken about — “why can’t you be more like…” It teaches you early that your worth isn’t fixed — it’s measured against someone else.

And now, we carry that into adulthood, into womanhood, into motherhood.

Then add in social media — a world where everyone seems to have found their niche, their purpose, their glow. Where every scroll shows you another person doing what you dream of doing, but better. More polished. More perfect.

We like to tell ourselves we’re above it. That we’re not affected by it. But it sinks in slowly — like water soaking into roots.

“The inner critical voice grows quietly, like a vine in the corner of your mind.

Each scroll waters it. Each perfectly styled moments adds sunlight.

Until one day, it’s so loud, you can’t hear your own voice anymore. Only your inner enemy.”

That’s what happened to me.

🔧How I’m Rebuilding Now

There wasn’t a dramatic turning point. No big wake-up moment or perfect morning where everything suddenly clicked.

It’s been slow. Quiet. Almost unnoticeable — at first.

It began with reading old journal entries. The ones I’d written before motherhood — full of ideas, hopes, half-started plans. I used to think they were proof I couldn’t follow through. But now, I see them differently. They’re proof that I’ve always wanted more. That even when the voice in my head was the loudest, something in me still believed in possibility.

These days, rebuilding myself looks simple from the outside:

• Journaling when the house is quiet.
• Lighting a candle in the afternoon for no reason except that it feels soft.
• Speaking kindly to myself when I’ve done “nothing.”
• Noticing when the critic speaks – and gently disagreeing.

I’ve also stopped waiting for confidence to arrive before I act. Because I’ve realised… it doesn’t. Confidence comes after the small, shaky steps. After you show up. After you try.

Some days, I still battle with myself. Some days, the old voice wins. But I’m learning to sit with it, not surrender to it.

🤫 A Quiet Truth: There Are No Quick Fixes

It’s easy to say:

“Log off. Feel the grass. Go for a run. Ground yourself.”

And sometimes, yes — these things help. But they don’t erase the voice. They don’t silence the weight of comparison. They don’t undo the years you spent trying to be enough.

Because the world doesn’t slow down. Social media doesn’t pause. And life keeps asking more of us — even when we’re empty.

Especially now, when being “seen” is tied to value, visibility, success. It’s not as simple as stepping away. Because part of you wants to step into something too — To be seen for who you really are, not just who you were told to be.

There’s no finish line here. No moment where the critic disappears forever. But there is something deeper. A shift.

It happens quietly. When you choose to show up anyway. When you whisper back, “That voice isn’t the whole truth.” When you find calm, not because the storm is over — but because you’ve made room for yourself inside it.

We are not here to be perfect. We are here to remember ourselves. Piece by piece. Day by day.

I don’t have the final answer. But I have this:

The strength I see reflected back in my son’s eyes. The softness I’m learning to give myself. The belief — still fragile, but growing — that I can rise, even from here. That you can too.

“Like roots beneath the surface, steady and unseen – you’re becoming something strong. Something grounded. Something true.”

If you’re reading this and nodding quietly…

You’re not alone. This space isn’t about answers – it’s about remembering yourself. The next time you hear that old voice whisper, pause. Ask. “Is this mine…or something I was taught?”

Whether you’re journaling in silence, lighting a candle just because, or finally speaking kindly to yourself after years of silence – that’s the work. That’s the shift.

Let This be a reminder:

You’re not broken. You’re becoming. And you’re allowed to begin – softly, messily, honestly – right where you are.