When I tell people I didn’t do pregnancy the way they expect, they raise eyebrows. Or they lecture. Or they just straight-up stop talking to me.
But the truth is—I didn’t spend nine months eating kale and meditating under a full moon. I didn’t download all the baby apps or cut out everything anyone told me was “bad.” I didn’t live in fear.
I lived like myself.
A glass of wine here and there. A smoke on the porch when I needed to think. A night on the couch with music playing too loud and the windows cracked open wide. I listened to my body more than I listened to the blogs.
And you know what? My kid came out just fine. Strong lungs. Bright eyes. Already giving me attitude at age three, so yeah—he’s definitely mine.
I’m not saying it’s the right way. I’m not saying it’s your way. I’m just saying… it was mine. I carried him through the storm that was my life at the time, and I did it without pretending to be some perfect, glowing version of motherhood.
Because motherhood isn’t a checklist. It’s not about living up to anyone’s expectations but your own. I learned that the hard way—when people would tell me what I should be doing, I felt like I was drowning under the weight of their judgments. But here’s the thing: there’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to having a baby, and no one knows what it’s like to be inside your skin, living your life, except for you.
In my first trimester, I worked two jobs just to keep the bills paid. I didn’t have time to make every meal from scratch or have daily yoga sessions. I barely had the energy to make it through the workday, let alone prepare organic snacks for myself. Yet, there I was, on the receiving end of a lot of “advice” from well-meaning friends and family members.
“Are you sure you should be working so much? You need to relax,” they’d say.
“Why are you drinking that coffee? It’s not good for the baby.”
“You’re having another cigarette? My gosh, you should really stop that now!”
I knew they meant well, but all their comments did was make me second-guess every choice I made. It made me wonder if I was actually ruining my pregnancy—if I was going to cause harm to my baby just because I wasn’t following some idealized version of what a perfect pregnant woman should be.
But I had to stop. I had to let go of those worries because they were slowly eating me alive. I couldn’t keep living like I had to be perfect. I was tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being told how to live my life. And most of all, I was tired of feeling like I wasn’t good enough just because I didn’t fit into the little box of “acceptable motherhood.”
One day, about halfway through my pregnancy, I had a moment of clarity. I was sitting on my porch, a cigarette between my fingers, the warm breeze on my face, and I finally let myself exhale—not just the smoke, but all the stress and anxiety that had been building up inside of me.
I realized something important. The pressure to be perfect wasn’t coming from within me. It was coming from everyone else—people who didn’t know the full story of what was going on in my life, what I was going through. And those people had no right to dictate how I should carry my child, how I should feel, or what I should do.
The truth was, I was doing my best. I was getting through each day, even on the days when everything seemed to fall apart. I was creating a home for my child, building a foundation of love and resilience, even if that meant being less than perfect.
The next time someone questioned my choices, I didn’t get defensive or try to explain myself. Instead, I smiled and said, “This is my pregnancy. My way.” It was liberating to let go of the guilt and shame. I didn’t need to justify my choices to anyone. This was my journey, and no one else was walking in my shoes.
When my son was born, he came into the world with a loud cry, strong and healthy. The doctor said he was perfectly fine, his lungs were strong, his heart was steady. He was a little miracle, just like any other baby. And despite everything people had said, I felt proud of the way I had carried him.
I wasn’t perfect. And I didn’t need to be.
As the months went by, I learned something else. People would still judge me. They would still try to tell me how to raise my son. But I no longer felt the need to listen. I would smile, nod, and keep doing things my way. Sometimes it was hard, especially when the judgment came from people I loved. But I had come to realize that I wasn’t going to let anyone else’s opinions define me or my son.
I started to notice that when I embraced my own version of motherhood—flawed, real, and authentic—things started to fall into place. I was happier, more relaxed, and more connected to my son. I wasn’t trying to be perfect anymore, and that made all the difference.
But here’s the twist: As I continued down this path, I noticed something unexpected happening. The people who had once judged me—those who had given unsolicited advice or made me feel guilty—started to change their tune.
At first, it was small. A friend who used to tell me to stop drinking coffee during pregnancy now asked if she could try some of my “unconventional” parenting methods. A relative who once lectured me about eating too much fast food now admitted that maybe, just maybe, I was onto something with my laid-back approach.
Then, one day, my mom sat me down for a heart-to-heart. “I see how happy you are with your son, and how confident you’ve become as a mother,” she said. “I realize now that I was too hard on you. I wanted the best for you, but I didn’t realize that the best for you is exactly how you’ve been doing it all along.”
It was a humbling moment for both of us. The karmic twist of this whole journey was that by letting go of the pressure to be perfect, I had unintentionally shown others the power of authenticity. My journey had inspired those around me to question their own assumptions and expectations—and in doing so, they had freed themselves from the same weight I had been carrying.
This wasn’t about proving anyone wrong; it was about embracing the truth that there is no “one right way” to be a parent, to be a mother, to live your life. It’s about accepting that we are all doing our best, even if it doesn’t look like what others expect.
And so, the lesson I learned—and the one I want to share with all of you—is this: You don’t have to be perfect to be enough. You don’t have to follow everyone else’s rules to live your best life. If you embrace who you are, flaws and all, and do things your way, you’ll find a peace and happiness that no amount of perfectionism can bring.
So, to anyone who feels weighed down by the expectations of others: remember that you are enough just as you are. Your journey is yours to shape, and no one can walk it for you. If you’ve found peace in being authentic, in embracing the imperfect, hold on to that feeling. It’s the most liberating thing you can do for yourself.
If you found this story inspiring, please like and share it with someone who needs a reminder that they are enough just as they are. We all deserve to live our lives without the burden of unrealistic expectations.
