Women like me are not supposed to be mothers—we are not the mothering type. And when I say women like me, it’s women that party like I party and work in fast-moving industries. People told me, people close to me told me, that they could never imagine me as a mother. Those milestone years that one may attach to motherhood, for me had passed—25, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35—all those years had passed, and I hadn’t had children. When I’ve been told that you’re not supposed to be a mom…that you’re not the mothering type, you start to doubt yourself. I’d ask myself, “Do I have motherly instincts?” I don’t know what we think motherly instincts are, but whatever they were, I was sure I didn’t have them. I did not always have or want to be around kids. I didn’t have to hold the baby if one was around me. You know, I didn’t have those typical motherly urges. I always thought I was lucky because I have my mama. And my mama would definitely fill in the gap for me if motherhood ever came into play—if I ever needed guidance, she’d be there. But outside of that, it’d be me, the baby and my husband fending for ourselves.

When I had my first son, Obie Q, I had a self-funded maternity leave. I had, against doctor’s orders, traveled until I was 37 weeks pregnant. I wanted to prove that I was a team player. I wanted to prove to my boss and colleagues that I could still hold down my job while expecting. I returned to work 7 weeks after delivery. My first day back on the job was a Wednesday, I was on a plane that Friday. I have a great partner, an amazing husband, and he’s very hands on and was home with our son while I was away. I text my husband when I landed back home. I told him I was in an Uber heading their way. He replied and let me know that our son was awake. He asked if I wanted him to give our son the final bottle of breastmilk we had at home or if he wanted me to wait so that I could feed him myself. I asked him to hold off for me. Emotionally, mentally and physically I was ready to be reunited with my family and connect with my son.

I walked into our house. I dropped my bags by the door and headed down the hall into our bedroom. My husband was sitting in the rocking chair with my baby in his arms. The moment I walked in, I heard my baby take a breath. It was a deep, slow breath. It sounded labored. It was the first breath he’d taken since I walked into the room and I knew something wasn’t right. I freaked out. I asked my husband, “What’s going on?” He said, “He’s had a little cold. I didn’t want to worry you about it. He’s been fine, I think he’s feeling better.” I said ok. But I knew something wasn’t right. I held my son and latched him. The whole point of me staying in the breastfeeding game is because I can provide the nourishment and nutrients my baby needs. I didn’t sleep that night. And he didn’t sleep in his bassinet, he slept with me. I stayed up online. I don’t google symptoms, so I didn’t do that, but I did search to find out what time my pediatrician’s office opened. And when they opened the next morning, I was their first appointment. I knew something wasn’t right. And if it ended up being nothing more than a well-being check, fine. I needed to hear from a professional. And my husband, he didn’t tell me I was over exaggerating. He indulged me, he said, “Do whatever you feel is best.” So, we went.

My son’s pediatrician wasn’t there, but another doctor I have a relationship with heard our name on the roster and called us back. She hears my baby breathe. He’s even more labored at this point. Short, shallow breaths. I could see his stomach rise and fall with each breath. I could see my baby’s ribs. So she takes him, she hears him and she says, “He has respiratory syncytial virus (RSV).” He had a respiratory illness. No one wants to hear this about their tiny, new baby. I freak out and go to the extreme. I’m like, will he be able to play sports? And although she made no mention of asthma, my mind raced. I thought, little black boys have asthma at higher rates than other races, is there something I could have done? The doctor does her job and calms me down. She says, “This is just something we’re dealing with right now. He has a respiratory issue, we’re going to send you home with a breathing machine and keep watch.” That day, we went home with a machine, defibrillator, steroids and other meds. We went home with a whole kit. I gave my son his first breathing treatment. He was so small. The portion of the machine that attached to the face had a cartoon animal on it, so he wouldn’t be as scared of it. As I sat there in the moment, and at this point, it might not have been 24 hours since I landed—that’s how fast I reacted—while I sat there, the guilt of it all fell on my shoulders. That was the first time. Not in the doctor’s office. Not while I was busy problem solving. As long as I was busy, I felt as though I was actively taking care of him. But when I sat down to give him that treatment, the weight, the guilt…all of that swooped in and overtook me. I cried. And as I cried, he fussed and cried because he has this foreign machine on his body. And at that point, my heart felt as though I never wanted to leave my child again. I had to work. I had to. And like so many other mothers, I was in a position where my heart wanted to stay, but in order for our family to function, I had to leave.

That moment was a pivotal one for my approach to motherhood and my attitude toward work. It was the first time I was able to be fully transparent with my employer. Before then, I wanted to be a team player. A lot of being a team player centers around your colleagues’ perception of you. I wanted to be perceived as someone who had it together. I think there is some ego involved in that. I wanted to be someone who could say, “Oh, motherhood hasn’t changed me.” The truth was and is, motherhood completely changed me. After his diagnosis, I was so sleep deprived that I couldn’t sugar coat or think about the professional way to say ‘my child needs me right now and today that’s going to be my priority.’ So, that’s what I emailed. And they responded positively. It was my first time being brave and transparent with work and that’s something I’ve stuck with even today, five years later. I know now that everything doesn’t have to be all or nothing. In that one moment in the doctor’s office, I had already taken him off of a soccer team that he wasn’t even on. I didn’t think he was going to be able to play sports. The doctor, who was a mom herself, brought me back to the present through reminding me, ‘This is just where we are now. This is not setting any precedent for the rest of his life.’ That’s something that I refer to often. You have to parent in the moment. I had to give him a breathing treatment right then. Now, he doesn’t have asthma, he doesn’t have any breathing issues at all, so I had to stay very present and really focus my energy and attention on my baby right then and not worry about what was happening in the future.

So, in that moment, the moment I heard my baby’s first breath when I walked into a room, I knew I had the instinct of a mother. With one breath, I knew to take action. That is amazing. There’s no science behind that. No one else can predict that. I instinctively knew that this was a top-level concern. I refer back to that moment often because it affirms that I possess so much more than I realize. I was clinging to this image of the woman I was pre-pregnancy by saying that motherhood has not changed me. That’s why I’m on a plane. That’s why I’m traveling so much. That’s why I’m in Vegas for 5 days at 37 weeks. Motherhood hasn’t changed me. Seven weeks after delivery, I recognized that motherhood had changed me and that it changed me for the better—in a way that made me a better person for my child. And my second child has the benefit of inheriting a mother who has the confidence of being an amazing mom—with instincts and all. I wasn’t that woman with my first child, but I am now. I want other women to know that they impact their own story…their own journey. And that others perceived reality of them is not necessarily who they are. Parenting is full of phases and with every phase there’s something different. And that’s how life is. So, if you don’t feel like you have what it takes to step into a new season of your life, that’s ok. That’s because life has not called you into that yet. That does not mean that it does not live within you. Just because life has not called it to the top—just because it has not risen within you yet. That does not mean that you do not possess it. That’s the key. As I step into business or friendships, or anything else, I do not question whether I possess the qualities it takes to rise to the occasion because maybe this situation…this person…is here to call it out of me. That’s it.