Nothing can prepare you for the moment a doctor tells you that your baby is unlikely to survive. One minute, you’re imagining the first cry, the first skin-to-skin, the first time seeing their face looking up at you. The next? You’re sitting in a small hospital room watching a team of doctors rush your newborn away while your world implodes. That was the moment motherhood truly began for me.
Growing up, I thought I would meet someone, settle down, and, when the time was right, start a family. I imagined my first pregnancy would involve shared giddiness over first scans, endless discussion about who the baby would look like and light-hearted disagreements over potential names. I thought I would step into parenthood alongside someone I loved, ready to begin this new chapter together. What I didn’t expect was that I would be doing this alone. Unfortunately, months after finding out I was pregnant, my relationship broke down as my partner struggled with the life changes having a baby meant. There were no shared appointments or late-night conversations about baby names. Every milestone – every flutter, every scan, every worry – was mine to carry. Pregnancy is emotional at the best of times, but doing it alone brings a different weight. There were many long nights when the questions felt endless: Will I manage? Will my baby miss out because it’s just the two of us? Will I be enough?
Like so many single mothers, I pushed those fears down and focused on the little miracle growing inside me. I told myself that love, determination and support from the people around me would be enough.
My daughter arrived five weeks early, and what should have been the happiest moment of my life quickly descended into the most frightening. Within moments of her birth, it was clear something was wrong. There was no cry, just tiny grunts as she fought for every breath. The room became full of doctors and nurses working around my tiny baby. In the hours that followed, I was told words no parent is ever prepared to hear: that she was unlikely to survive. In that moment, they could not give me any clear answers; all they knew was that her heart and lungs were not working as they should, and she was unable to breathe for herself. They explained that her heart kept stopping, and they had to sedate her as they took over her breathing on a ventilation machine. In an instant, the excitement of welcoming my baby turned into fear unlike anything I had ever known.
She was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit, where she and I would spend the first six weeks of her life. NICU is a world few people truly understand unless they have experienced it. It is a place filled with constantly beeping monitors, bright lights, and rows of incubators holding babies far smaller than you ever thought possible. Tubes and wires become part of everyday life, and every tiny movement feels significant. I spent hours sitting beside her, watching her chest rise and fall, silently willing her to keep fighting. In those moments, the reality of being a single mum felt heavier than ever. There were times I wished someone else could sit beside me and share the fear, someone who understood exactly how terrifying it was to watch your newborn battle to survive.
But I was never truly alone. My mum became my strength when I felt like I had none left. She was there for every hospital visit, every difficult conversation with doctors, and every moment when the fear felt too overwhelming to carry alone. When I thought I couldn’t cope anymore, she reminded me that I could. She held me together during the days when everything felt like it might fall apart. Looking back now, I know I could not have made it through that time without her.
Slowly, my daughter began to grow stronger. We discovered that she had E. coli sepsis, which had caused her to go into multiple organ failure and for her heart and lungs not to work as they should. For someone so tiny, she showed the most incredible determination. The doctors and nurses often spoke about how resilient she was, how hard she was fighting. With a clear treatment plan of specialist antibiotics and the incredible support of her medical team, she grew from strength to strength. She was eventually strong enough to be weaned off the ventilator, and I was able to hold her for the first time 16 days after giving birth. I remember looking down at her and thinking I was the luckiest mum in the world.
Over the next few weeks, she continued to recover, and finally, it was time to go home. Walking out of the hospital with her in my arms, after weeks of walking out alone, was one of the most incredible feelings. Part of me felt an urge to run back in, to ask them to check her again, as I couldn’t quite believe we had got to this moment. However, that night, sitting on the sofa with her on my chest, I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks, like we were finally where we belonged.
Fast forward to today, in what feels like the blink of an eye, she is now 18 months old. She still has ongoing medical issues due to complications from fighting such a huge infection. She has a limited vocal range due to damaged vocal cords and ongoing respiratory problems, meaning hospitals remain a big part of our routine. It isn’t the kind of start to motherhood I once imagined. But what amazes me every single day is her spirit. Despite everything she has been through, she is the happiest little girl you could ever meet. She smiles constantly — the kind of smile that fills a room and makes people forget, even for a moment, how much she has already faced. For someone so small, she carries an incredible amount of strength.
My life with her has changed the way I see everything. Being a single mum isn’t easy. There are days that feel exhausting and overwhelming, especially when the responsibility of caring for a child with medical needs sits entirely on your shoulders. There are moments when I wish I had someone to equally share the worry with, someone to divide the long nights and difficult decisions. But this journey has shown me a strength within myself that I never knew existed. It has taught me that family doesn’t have to look a certain way to be complete. My daughter may only have one parent at home, but she is surrounded by love – from my mum, my family, and the people who have supported us through every step of this journey. Most of all, it has created a bond between my daughter and me that is impossible to describe. From her very first breath, we have faced every challenge side by side. She is my everything.
When I look at my amazing little girl – who is here despite the odds – I realise that this journey may not have been the one I planned. But it is one I wouldn’t change for the world.
For the estimated 1 in 3 mothers who are motherless in the UK, Mother’s Day can feel like a spotlight on everything you’ve lost and everything you’re trying to build. Here's how one woman behind the stat has learnt to cope.
