Touched Out, Torn Down and Trying Anyway

We hear more about postpartum struggles these days—mental health, loneliness, the emotional crash after birth—but somehow, it still feels like we’re supposed to smile through it- pretend it doesn’t exist or even be ashamed of it. Like we’re failing if the joy isn’t immediate or constant. There’s this unspoken pressure to be grateful, glowing, and endlessly patient when in reality, many of us feel completely alone in a room full of people. The low moments aren’t weakness—they’re human. They’re simply, motherhood. We are touched out and needed constantly. Our hormones rise and crash like tidal waves, trying to regulate themselves while our bodies run on fumes. We get little to no rest, yet we are expected to keep going as if everything is fine—as if we’re fine. I’m writing this from my rocking chair at 3:41 a.m. with my baby latched onto me. The house is quiet, still, asleep. But I’m not. I haven’t been for a while. And if I’m honest, I probably won’t be anytime soon.

Sleep deprivation is no joke. Your body doesn’t heal. Your mind doesn’t reset. You’re constantly “on,” expected to show up, hold it together, keep everyone fed and safe and happy—all while feeling like a shadow of yourself. I’ve stood in the middle of my kitchen more times than I can count, staring into space, unable to remember why I walked in there in the first place.

These days, the pressure on mothers is intense. We’re expected to return to work before our bodies have even fully healed from childbirth. We’re expected to act like nothing happened—as if we’re the same person we were before. Sharp. On time. Composed. All while bleeding, leaking, and running on broken hours of sleep. Some of us are still waking every two hours to feed a baby while also trying to meet deadlines and attend meetings.

I’m one of the lucky ones—depending on how you look at it. When I returned to work, I was allowed to bring my baby with me. And I was so grateful. Grateful I didn’t have to experience the heartbreak of leaving my 6-week-old in the arms of a stranger. My heart broke for the mothers who didn’t have that choice.

But as the weeks turned into months, the gratitude I once felt began to fade. I thought it would get easier. I thought I’d start sleeping more, that juggling full-time work and full-time motherhood would get more manageable. But the nights stayed long. The sleep never came. And the numbness only grew.

Each morning felt like a mountain. Getting myself and my baby ready, packing up our entire lives into bags, and making the 40+ minute commute—often with her screaming in the back seat because she hates the car—was exhausting. I walked into work late, again, and felt the disappointment on my boss’s face like a slap. He didn’t mean to be cruel, but the absence of compassion hit hard. I started to believe the voice in my head whispering, “You’re failing.”

And the harder I tried, the more I unraveled. Tasks were left unfinished. Emails unsent. Mistakes made. Projects forgotten. My baby crying in my arms while I scrambled to answer phone calls and meet deadlines. Her pulling on my hair while I tried to focus, while my brain ran on 3 hours of fractured sleep and my body screamed for a break.

As I watched myself slowly morph into the kind of mother I swore I’d never become—the angry, impatient, overwhelmed version of myself—I knew something had to change. I couldn’t keep carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders while pretending I was fine. I needed space to breathe. I needed balance. But I also knew we couldn’t survive on one income.

And that’s what led me here.

Here, in the quiet hours of the night, chasing a dream born from exhaustion and hope. A dream that maybe—just maybe—my midnight ramblings and sleepless thoughts could create a space for mothers like me. A place where we could feel seen, heard, and understood. A place where I could build something meaningful, and earn an income without the pressure of bosses or office deadlines.

So, if you’ve made it this far—hi. I’m Kaiti. I’m a wife, a mother, a student, and a woman chasing a softer, more intentional life. I’m here to break generational cycles, build generational wealth, and be present, patient, and loving with the people who matter most.