Once and Forever a Rising Star
I’ve always been ambitious.
From the start of my career, I said yes to every opportunity. I worked long hours, I travelled anywhere at any time, and I was always on the lookout for growth. People used to call me a rising star back then.
Ironically, the doors I knocked on constantly remained closed for years—until the moment they opened at a time I no longer had the same flexibility. I had become a mum.
One day, a new manager gave me a vote of confidence. I stepped up, and I kept climbing. But everything changed when I returned to work after maternity leave.
I thought I’d get back to adult conversation, intellectual stimulation, and space for myself again. Instead, COVID hit. I was working from home with no nursery and a small child to care for.
Still—I delivered. I was promoted again, this time into a senior leadership role. I was the only woman at the table. No one made me feel out of place, but I felt it anyway. Because I couldn’t see anyone like me.
At first, we all played on a level field. Everyone had kids at home. No one was travelling. But when restrictions lifted, I quickly fell behind. Most of my male colleagues had wives who could manage things at home while they resumed travel and extended work hours.
I didn’t have that. I was the wife.
There was no conversation, no agreement—I just quietly stayed back, picked up the slack, in benefit of my then-husband’s career. I also returned to work part-time. Because my child won’t be little forever. Because I want to be there for the time she still wants to spend with me.
My priorities had shifted—but my drive hadn’t.
Returning to Work After Maternity Leave: The Silent Struggle
When a mum returns to work after maternity leave, we often don’t talk about how hard it really is to fit back in. Sometimes it’s been months—other times, over a year. In that time, the workplace has changed: people have moved on, new ones have joined, systems and tools have evolved. Your peers have progressed, and you return to a landscape that feels familiar yet foreign.
I was on that boat, and I didn’t even realised. I just felt the pressure building up inside me, until I exploded.
I came back grateful for the time spent with my baby—nothing could replace it. But that time wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a holiday. It was round-the-clock care, emotional intensity, physical recovery, identity shifts, and isolation. I returned to work craving adult interaction, wanting my own space again. But it came with guilt.
The guilt when I’m at work, for not being fully present with my child.
And the guilt when I’m at home, not being fully present with my work.
Our brains change. We may struggle to focus on detail, to absorb new information quickly, to keep up the way we used to. That doesn’t mean we’re less capable—it means our cognitive load has expanded. We’re adapting. But it feels like we’re failing, both at work and at home. Impostor syndrome doesn’t whisper—it shouts.
And let’s talk about timing. Today, many women have children later—because of career, finances, personal choices. Which means we return to work as mothers and soon-to-be perimenopausal women. Brain fog, mood shifts, hormonal upheaval—they’re all part of it. But still, the expectations don’t change. We’re still expected to perform as if none of it exists.
In my case, it’s ADHD. It’s mental health after trauma. It’s single motherhood. It’s perimenopause. It’s ambition that hasn’t dimmed. It’s capability that’s intact—but constantly doubted by others.
I’m the living, breathing reality of intersectionality—and it’s exhausting to constantly explain yourself to people who don’t live it, don’t see it, or simply don’t want to.
The Quiet Truth About Workplace Inclusion
How many mums have been quietly pushed out of their jobs and roles—not just after maternity leave, but over the years that follow, while their children are still young?
How many have seen opportunities disappear the moment they ask for flexibility?
How many have watched their responsibilities slowly slip away after choosing part-time hours or remote work to balance caregiving?
Dismissed—not with honesty, but with quiet shame.
Subtly encouraged to step aside.
Moved out of leadership—not because they can’t do the job, but because accommodating them is seen as too difficult.
We’re met with redefined roles: more travel, longer hours, rigid structures.
Jobs we can’t apply for—not because we lack ambition or capability, but because the role was never designed to include someone like us.
And let’s be honest: it’s not by accident.
If roles can be redefined to ease mums out of them, why can’t they be redesigned to keep us in?
To let us keep being rising stars—at work and at home.
Not just for the women with strong networks or supportive partners.
But for those of us parenting alone, too.
Because let’s face it: men in similar positions are moved sideways. Sometimes roles have been crafted for them. But that same effort is not extended to us mums.
And companies still say things like:
“We’re not getting enough women applying for senior roles.”
Well, I am one of those women. I want those roles. I’m qualified for them. But I—and so many others—can’t access them, because they’re designed for people with support systems, for full-time availability, for 24/7 travel.
Not for working mums. Not for carers. Not for people like me.
So instead of asking why we’re not applying, ask us what we need.
We need:
- Flexible hours
- Part-time senior roles
- Remote work options
Not so we can work less, but so we can do both—well. So we can lead and parent without burning out in the process.
The Transformation of Motherhood: A New Sense of Belonging and Purpose
Becoming a mother has given me something I never had before: a true sense of belonging, a sense of purpose. My child has made me an advocate, not just for her, but for myself, too. Through her, I see the world differently—a perspective I never would’ve had if I hadn’t become a mum.
Since she’s been in my life, I feel complete. It’s like everything clicked into place. The things that once mattered too much—the pressures of career advancement, climbing ladders, meeting every expectation—no longer seem as important. They fade into the background.
What really matters? She’s taught me how to distinguish that. The noise of the world—things that once felt like everything—now feels insignificant compared to the love and joy she brings into my life.
I never expected how much motherhood would change me, not just as a person, but as a leader, and an individual navigating the world.
The Real Value of a Career Break: More Than Just Time Away
I’ve loved (almost) every minute I’ve spent with my child so far. Watching her grow, sharing quiet moments of connection, and navigating the beautiful chaos of parenthood—it’s nothing like I imagined it would be, but not in a bad way. It’s deeper, messier, and far more meaningful than I ever expected.
I’m making sure to make the most of every precious second of her childhood. I have no regrets. She’s taught me more than I could have ever imagined.
But being a mum is not everything.
Many of us face career breaks—whether it’s just maternity leave, part-time work, or longer stretches of time off to care for our children. Some of us choose this; others are forced into it because there’s simply no affordable, reliable childcare available.
For those who haven’t experienced it, motherhood might look like a step back from professional life. But what they don’t see are the skills we build quietly, every single day.
As a mum to a neurodivergent child who struggles with emotional regulation and sensory processing, I’ve had to develop patience deeper than I thought possible. When she’s overwhelmed, I can’t demand compliance—I have to guide her, gently, through the storm. I’ve learned to stay calm in chaos, to speak softly when everything inside feels loud. I’ve become a negotiator, a coach, and sometimes a crisis manager, all in one morning.
I constantly motivate her when she’s hard on herself, reminding her of how amazing and unique she is. I advocate fiercely when others misunderstand or underestimate her. I’ve developed a kind of empathy that isn’t just about understanding others—it’s about truly seeing them, even when the world refuses to.
I manage our time, our finances, and our emotional well-being. I juggle appointments, school meetings, work deadlines, and the ever-shifting needs of a growing child. I manage expectations—mine, hers, and those of everyone around us. I adapt on the fly. I multitask by default. I champion her wins, no matter how small, and motivate her to keep going when the world feels too big.
These aren’t just “mum skills.”
These are leadership skills.
These are boardroom skills.
These are life skills.
And yet, so many people in the workplace still look down on the time mothers take to raise children—as if we’ve paused, regressed, or somehow lost our edge. What they’re really missing is the extraordinary value we gain. The skills we carry back into the workplace aren’t theoretical—they’re lived, tested, and resilient.
We don’t return from a career break with less.
We come back with more.
Inclusion That Only Exists on Paper Isn’t Inclusion
When companies say they’re inclusive, I look around and I don’t see it. Not for people like me. Because intersectionality still makes people uncomfortable. Because my needs don’t fit their narrow views of what leadership looks like.
Yes, there are women in leadership—but often only those who can mimic male patterns of leadership: full-time, always-on, always away. Good for them. Truly. Some women have supportive partners and strong networks.
But I don’t have that.
And I still exist.
I still have ambition.
I still want to grow.
I hope for a future where leadership roles are not handed down from outdated templates, but built around the strengths and needs of real people.
I often wonder: if the men I worked with had been offered flexibility—less travel, more time with their families, more manageable hours—would they have taken it?
We’ve all been forced into gender stereotypes.
But not all of us are punished for breaking them.
I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever felt quietly pushed aside after becoming a mum—your role reduced, your growth stalled, your presence slowly fading from view? Not out of conflict, but out of convenience?
Have you been made to feel that your ambitions no longer fit?
If any of this resonates, I’d love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments—I read every one.
And if this struck a chord, don’t miss my conversation with Elizabeth Willetts, founder of Investing in Women, on the Intersecting Voices podcast. We talk about flexible work, gender equity, and what it takes to build workplaces where working mums can thrive.
🎧 Listen or watch the episode now.
The Intersectional Hub 
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