Why do I feel so sad when I just want motherhood to feel soft and beautiful?

Naomi K, 30, Manchester, UK. Mom to a 4-month-old baby boy, Max. 

Naomi is a first-time mom on maternity leave from her job as a graphic designer. She thought she'd fall naturally into the rhythm of new motherhood — but instead, she’s been shocked by the intensity of it. The softness she envisioned feels out of reach, and the grief of that is quietly breaking her heart.

Mama, 

I used to think motherhood would feel like a soft-focus movie.
Golden mornings. Sleepy smiles.
A baby wrapped against my chest while I sipped tea and watched the sun come up.

And sometimes, yes, it looked like that on the outside.
But inside? 

Inside, it was sore nipples, swollen feet, and a kind of tired that made me forget what day it was. Twins are also twice the exhaustion. 
It was bouncing a baby for hours while my food went cold, while trying to get the other one to sleep. 
It was crying because I wanted to love it —but mostly, I just wanted to be alone.

No one warned me that I might mourn the version of motherhood I imagined.

And that grief — for the softness I thought I’d feel —hit me harder than I expected.
Because I thought if I wasn’t soaking in the joy, I must be doing something wrong.

But here’s what I’ve learned:
You didn’t fail because it’s hard. You didn’t miss something magical.
You’re just living the part nobody writes lullabies about.

The chaos doesn’t mean the softness isn’t there.
It just hides sometimes — beneath the burp cloths and the bone-deep exhaustion.
You might catch it in a quiet blink.
A baby hand resting on your chest.
A minute when you breathe and realize —you’re still here.
Still loving. Still trying.

When I created Bloom & Heal, it wasn’t to sell bras.
It was because I wanted something soft in a season that felt like survival.
Something that held me when nothing else could.

Mama — if all you feel right now is grief for the softness you imagined,
I promise you’re not broken.
You’re just brave enough to feel what most of us bury.

That tenderness you’re aching for?
It’s still in you.
It just might take time to rise through the rubble.

You deserve softness too.
And no, you didn’t do anything wrong.

Love,
Lina P.