More Than Mumma: The Sacred, Silent Cost of Motherhood

This piece is a heartfelt reflection on the unseen emotional and mental labor mothers carry in silence. It sheds light on how society often glorifies motherhood with ideals of strength, sacrifice, and selflessness, while failing to recognize the immense personal cost these expectations can bring. The writing challenges the romanticized notion of the “supermom,” emphasizing how this narrative contributes to the invisibility of a mother’s emotional struggles. Through vivid expressions and honest admissions, the writer gives voice to countless mothers who feel unheard, overwhelmed, and undervalued, despite giving their all to their families.

The final sections underscore the urgent need for acknowledgment, compassion, and open conversations about the realities of motherhood. The emphasis is not on seeking pity but on reclaiming the space to feel, to rest, and to be human. It encourages mothers to speak up, ask for help, and allow themselves to exist beyond their roles. The message is clear: in order to build a better, emotionally healthy future for our children, we must first start by nurturing the emotional well-being of mothers themselves. Recognizing their invisible load is the first step in honoring not just the idea of motherhood, but the women who live it every single day.

More Than Mumma

We talk about how beautiful motherhood is.
But what about the weight no one sees?

Let me say this upfront: this is not a pity piece.
It’s not about “poor moms” or “motherhood is suffering.”

I love being a mom—with all my heart.

Motherhood is powerful. It’s transformative. It’s sacred.

But somewhere along the way, culture wrapped that sacredness in silence—
in expectations, in myths we never questioned.

And because of that, motherhood can feel… invisible.

Over the years, we’ve turned mothers into superheroes.
And that sounds like a compliment—until you realise:
Superheroes are expected to do it all.
Without a pause.
Without asking for help.

The Invisible Load We Carry

You do everything:

Pack the lunchboxes.
Fold the little socks.
Remember every birthday, every doctor’s appointment, every school event.

You cheer the loudest.
You love the hardest.

And somehow… you’re still the last person to get a “How are you doing?”

That’s the disadvantage. The part no one warns you about.

We hear it all the time:

• Mothers are selfless.
• Mothers always put family first.
• Mothers are meant to be strong.

And so, we do.
We give.
We bend.

Because strength has been romanticised.
Because sacrifice has been worshipped.

It’s the idea that you’re not allowed to feel overwhelmed by it all.
That if you do somehow, you’ve failed.

Motherhood slowly becomes an identity that swallows every other one you had.
You’re no longer the writer, the dreamer, the dancer, the girl with silly quirks.
You’re just—“mumma.”

A beautiful title, yes.
But also a heavy one.

The Silent Sacrifices

It’s in the way the world expects you to be okay. All. The. Time.

You’re expected to keep the ship sailing, even when you’re drowning below deck.
To smile through exhaustion.
To juggle everything with grace.

We’ve been conditioned to believe that motherhood means being the eternal caretaker, even at the cost of our well-being.
Somewhere along the line, self-care became a luxury instead of a necessity.

This isn’t about blaming anyone.
Our grandmothers did it. Our mothers did it.
And now, we’re expected to continue—without questioning the weight passed down from generation to generation.

The silent strength of holding it all together while coming undone.

There are days when the weight of motherhood feels heavier than I can carry.
There are nights when I lie awake, wondering if anyone truly understands the mental load I carry.

There are moments when I question whether I’ve lost parts of myself in the process—whether I’m still me, or just a collection of roles.

It’s a constant balancing act:
Trying to nurture your family while also trying to nurture yourself.
Trying to be everything to everyone, without completely losing yourself in the process.

And no matter how much we try, the guilt creeps in.
If we take time for ourselves, we feel selfish.
If we push through exhaustion, we feel like we’re failing at motherhood.

The unspoken disadvantage?
We’re not allowed to feel both exhausted and loved.
Both burned out and worthy.

The Quiet Strength We’ve Come To Expect

There’s a certain quiet strength in motherhood.

It’s the strength that says, “I’ve got this,” even when you’re on the brink of collapse.
It’s the strength that keeps you going, even when you feel like you’ve given all you have to give.

And yet—it’s the very thing that makes it hard to ask for help.
To show weakness.
To admit when you’re struggling.

Because we’ve been taught that if we don’t make it look easy, we’re failing.

I’m here to tell you:
You’re not failing.
No one has it all together all the time.
Not even superheroes.

And maybe it’s time we stop expecting ourselves, as mothers, to be superhuman.
Maybe it’s time we start acknowledging the weight we carry—
and stop pretending it doesn’t exist.

What’s Missing: Acknowledgment, Pauses, And Support

Don’t get me wrong.
I wouldn’t trade motherhood for anything.

But I do wish for:
More acknowledgment.
More pauses.
More hugs.

So here I am, saying it out loud.
Not for sympathy.
But for love.

The real weight of motherhood isn’t in everything we do—
It’s in everything we silently feel and don’t share,
Just because our emotions might be ‘too much’ for the world.

Motherhood is all-encompassing.
But that doesn’t mean it should take everything away.

It’s okay to say, I need a break.
It’s okay to feel tired, overwhelmed, and unsure.
And it’s okay to take a moment.

Because when we do, we create space for ourselves and our families.
Space to breathe. To be honest. To be heard.

And that honesty?
It makes our relationships stronger.
It helps us let go of silent grudges.
It helps us release the blame.
It helps us accept, with love.

If we want something better for our daughters, our sons, and ourselves,
We have to start talking.
Out loud and unfiltered.

Because motherhood deserves honour that’s worth protecting.
But mothers?
They deserve to be seen, too.

Even the strongest hearts need rest, and even the kindest souls deserve to be seen. Acknowledgment can be the beginning of healing.