I’m so glad I took those silly little photos in the lift. At the time, they felt like a small way to mark the days. But if I’m honest, they were also my way of coping with the overwhelm of being a NICU mum. Every time those elevator doors closed, I’d brace myself for bad news—fearing there’d be another tube, another hurdle, or that something had changed. I wanted to be excited to see Rudy, but the fear and stress were constant companions.
Even now, when I think back, I feel silly for having such big feelings about it all. Logically, I know our journey wasn’t as difficult as some, and yet it still affected me deeply. That’s the hard part, isn’t it? The battle between what you feel and what you think you’re allowed to feel.
It’s a mental block I still carry with me. I look at Rudy now, healthy and thriving, and I’m so grateful. But when I think about having another baby, my mind drifts back to those early days in the NICU. The long hours spent staring at monitors, the worry that never seemed to ease, the loneliness of not knowing if anyone else truly understood—it all comes rushing back.
And then there’s that nagging voice: “Why do I still feel like this? It wasn’t that bad.” But here’s what I’m learning: it’s okay to feel deeply about something that was deeply hard.
During that time, all I needed was for someone to sit with me in those feelings. To say, “Yeah, this is tough. You’re allowed to feel that way.” I didn’t need solutions or silver linings. I needed empathy. I needed to hear about other mums who’d been through their own shit storms, so I didn’t feel so alone.
That’s why I want to talk about this now—not just for me, but for you. If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed, scared, or like your emotions are “too much,” I hope you know they’re not.
Our days in the NICU were long. Each morning, I’d pack up everything I’d need and head to the hospital, healing from an emergency C-section while navigating this new, uncharted territory. Once there, it was a cycle of feeds, expressing milk, cuddles when I could, and keeping up with Rudy’s progress.
Physically, it was exhausting. Mentally, it was a rollercoaster. The NICU is full of hope and fear, progress and setbacks, all wrapped into one. Every milestone feels monumental, but every setback feels like a punch to the gut.My husband was there as much as he could be after work, and he supported me in every way possible. But during the day, it was mostly me, navigating it all. I’d meet family at the café for a breather or head home briefly to sort out Rudy’s nursery, which hadn’t been finished before he arrived.
The lift photos became my little ritual. They marked another day, another step forward. Even now, looking at them is bittersweet. They remind me of how far we’ve come, but also how heavy it all felt. If you’re reading this and you’ve been through something similar, I want you to know you’re not alone. Whether your journey was NICU life, postpartum anxiety, or just the relentless chaos of motherhood, your feelings matter. They don’t have to “measure up” to someone else’s to be valid.
It’s not a competition of who’s had it harder. It’s about being honest with yourself and allowing others to sit with you in those hard moments.
That’s why I created the Beige Mum Community. It’s a space to share those unpolished, raw moments so we can remind each other we’re not alone. If you have a story—about NICU life, parenting struggles, or anything in between—I’d love for you to share it.
You can submit your story anonymously or with your name on the Beige Mum Community page on my website. Your story could be the one that makes another mum feel seen, heard, and a little less alone.Big feelings aren’t silly. They’re human. And you’re not alone in yours.