My Biggest Regret as a New Mom

I’ve wanted to write this post since I started this blog. I began it many times but stopped, feeling the words weren’t quite right. I needed to wait until I could say this clearly and honestly. Now I can: I regret not giving myself the time I needed after my baby was born.

Recently I read another story on social media about a new mother in the United States who was expected to return to full responsibility almost immediately after delivery. Her husband went back to work the very next day, and she was left to care for two toddlers and a newborn alone. She had no opportunity to rest, recover, or bond with her baby. I see variations of that story all the time. Each one is different in detail but strikingly similar in theme. I read them all and I cry for every mother I recognize in those pages. I am one of those moms too.

My biggest regret as a new mom is that I didn’t give myself the time I needed to heal, bond, learn, rest, and truly enjoy my newborn. I let pressure—real and imagined—push me back to work far sooner than I should have. I gave away time I will never get back.

At first I blamed my employer, and rightly so. They knew I was pregnant and I prepared for my leave weeks in advance: detailed notes, organized files, schedules, charts, backups. I even told them I would be available to answer questions and help as little as two weeks after giving birth. Why make such a promise? Because I cared about my team and the events I managed, but more honestly, because I was afraid of losing my job.

That fear wasn’t baseless. These were the same people who called me on my wedding day and tried to change my pay and commission shortly after I announced my pregnancy. I ended up having to threaten legal action more than once to protect my earned salary and position. Still, I accepted treatment that shortchanged my recovery. I might not have allowed my pay to be docked illegally, but I sacrificed the limited maternity time I had to keep my job. That is on me.

I worked with my newborn strapped to me while I sent contracts and took calls. I excused baby noises as interference from an old office phone. I showed up—physically and electronically—so often that I signaled I didn’t need protection or better conditions. By doing so I undercut my own need to recover and bonded less than I should have with my child.

Thinking back makes me physically ill. I should have been focused on healing from a traumatic birth and an unexpected surgery, on resting while I could, and on learning how to be a mother without the constant stress of job insecurity. Instead I spent energy protecting a position at a company that demanded far more than my health and family deserved.

Those early weeks after childbirth are hazy for many new parents, and in my case I believe I deliberately muted some memories because they were too painful. My sadness wasn’t only the exhaustion; it was a deep guilt that I hadn’t been as present for my baby as I wanted to be. I can’t change the past, but I can tell the truth about it.

For months I believed our family couldn’t live on a single income. Six months later I left that job by choice, and one of the best decisions I’ve ever made was discovering that a single-income household can not only survive but thrive. My mental and physical health, and the well-being of our children, became more important than that extra paycheck. I wish I had realized this sooner.

I know many mothers are sole providers and truly have no option to leave their jobs. If that’s your reality, I do not judge you; I know the pressure is real. But our society should not force families into a binary choice between taking maternity leave and keeping a job. Paid and protected family leave shouldn’t be a privilege for some—it should be a right for all who need it.

This conversation isn’t new. Many mothers across the country share the same regret, anger, and sadness. We want systemic change even if we won’t personally reap all the benefits. Until the maternity and family leave system is reformed, acceptance of the status quo will continue to leave new parents vulnerable.

What we can do is speak up. Share your experience, add your voice to the chorus, and help turn isolated stories into a movement. If you’re not ready to tell your own story, share someone else’s. The more voices we add, the harder it becomes for policymakers and employers to ignore us.

We deserve better, mamas. You deserve better.