Folake* (32) thought motherhood would be the happiest chapter of her life. Instead, that big life change came with a traumatic birth, the sudden loss of her mum, a crumbling marriage, and becoming a single mum.

She shares how becoming a mum changed everything, what it feels like to raise a child with little emotional or practical support, and how hard motherhood is even when you love your child.

This is Folake’s story, as told to Betty:

I didn’t realise how unprepared I was for motherhood until I was already inside it. 

Before I had my child, I was excited to be a mum. I thought pregnancy was going to be the hardest part, and once that was over, everything else would fall into place. I had no idea how much motherhood would change my life.

I got pregnant two months after getting married in 2019. It felt fast, but after marriage, children felt like the next logical step. I was ready to throw myself into being a good mum the same way I’d thrown myself into being a wife. 

My husband wasn’t very supportive during my pregnancy. We’d only dated for a year before getting married, and that period was mostly long-distance. We hadn’t spent enough real time together to understand each other properly. Then COVID hit. Suddenly, we were locked indoors together, pregnant, anxious, and under pressure. We argued a lot. 

My mum carried me through that period. She was my emotional anchor. Anytime I felt overwhelmed or upset, I called her.  She was my safe place throughout the pregnancy. 

Things took a left turn in my third trimester. 

It was during the height of COVID restrictions. One Tuesday, in my thirty-third week of pregnancy, I went for a routine antenatal appointment. I expected to return home as usual. Instead, my doctor told me I couldn’t leave. I had preeclampsia and needed an emergency C-section. 

My baby came early. She was premature, but thankfully, stable. That experience terrified me. If only I knew it was just the beginning.

After the birth, COVID restrictions meant I had almost no help. I had quit my corporate job and moved to Ife to live with my husband, so I was in a city where I barely knew anyone. My mum travelled down from Lagos every two weeks. My mother-in-law came on alternate weeks. They rotated their visits like that to help me. My mum would have stayed permanently, but my father was ill and needed care as well. 

Motherhood already felt overwhelming. I was adjusting to marriage, relocation, and a newborn all at once. I was exhausted, but I tried.

Then my mum died.

She had left my house healthy on a Monday after visiting and helping with the baby. By the weekend, she was gone. The family didn’t even tell me when she took ill, or when she got worse, because they didn’t want me to worry. Losing her broke me in ways I’ve still not recovered from.

I was breastfeeding a newborn and grieving the first major loss of my life at the same time. People kept telling me not to cry because I was breastfeeding, and all I could think was, ‘So I’m not even allowed to grieve properly?’ 

Through all of this, my husband still didn’t give me any emotional support.

When I tried to speak with him about it a few months later, he claimed I never told him I needed help. That response ticked me off. We had just gotten married. I had moved states to be with him. I had survived a traumatic birth and lost my mother. Did I really need to ask before he knew that I needed support?  Wasn’t this the part where your partner just shows up?

By 2021, the marriage started to fall apart. 

My husband stayed away from the house for days, while I tried to run a business and take care of my baby at the same time. Emotionally, I was still drowning in grief. Nothing felt stable. I went from being financially independent and mentally engaged to being stuck at home, grieving, caring for a child, and depending on other people. It did something to my mental health. 

Still, I pushed through until 2023 when I’d finally had enough. I could no longer tolerate the lack of care and support, even when it affected my well-being. 

It’s been just my daughter and me for a few years, and I can tell you, motherhood isn’t easy.

There was a point I considered letting her live full-time with her dad because I was exhausted. But she’s a girl, and I didn’t feel safe about that decision. I’d heard too many stories about abuse and unsupervised nannies. I didn’t want to gamble with her safety. So I kept her, even when it felt too much.  Her father pays her school fees, and she spends her holidays with him. That’s the only time I get a break.  Every other day, it’s all me. A child isn’t meant to be raised by one person. When one person carries the responsibility of two, it’s heavy.

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School runs, meal planning, clothes shopping, hair care, everything falls on me. What makes it harder is the absence of a support system. My mum is gone. If she were alive, I would leave my daughter with her and rest or focus on work. Now, who do I trust? Nobody. I carry everything myself.

People talk about motherhood like it’s a magical journey for all women. Nobody tells you how consuming it is. Nobody tells you it’s an unpaid full-time job that never ends. Nobody tells you that you can love your child deeply and still want a break. 

I love my daughter with my whole heart. But motherhood, especially alone, is exhausting in ways I didn’t know were possible.

People sometimes criticise women who admit how hard the job is. They assume it means you don’t love your children. They don’t see the full complex picture. They don’t see the grief, the financial stress, the loneliness, or the mental load. 

Sometimes, I wonder if I want another child, and I’ve never been able to find the right answer. I’m already doing the work of two people alone. I’m tired. I’m living through my daughter’s formative years and giving her everything I have. I couldn’t do this again without real support from a truly present and supportive partner.

Nobody should enter motherhood blindly, and nobody should do this alone.  But if you find yourself here anyway, like me, you deserve grace, support, and a break from it all every now and again.

Because this motherhood thing? It’s hard as fuck.

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