Invisible Wings

Emma sat on the nursery floor, her back against the soft pastel wallpaper, holding her baby girl as sunlight filtered through the curtains. Poppy cooed, her chubby fingers grasping Emma’s thumb, her eyes—a perfect mirror of Emma’s—shining with trust. To anyone watching, this moment would seem idyllic. A mother and child, wrapped in love.

But inside Emma’s mind, a storm raged.

She’d always imagined that motherhood would feel like a storybook—a glowing bond, laughter, fulfilment. But since Poppy's arrival, Emma often felt...lost. She loved her daughter fiercely, in a way that overwhelmed her heart and left her gasping. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was failing. Every cry felt like proof. Every night she forgot to sterilize a bottle seemed like a towering failure. Other mums seemed to glide through parenting, their Instagram accounts a parade of smiling toddlers and coordinated outfits. Meanwhile, Emma couldn’t even coordinate her thoughts.

The whisper of self-doubt was relentless. You’re not enough. You’re not doing this right. Why would Poppy deserve someone so broken?

Her partner, Liam, tried to help. He’d tell her she was incredible, point to the way Poppy always reached for her, how her cries softened in her arms. But it felt like Liam was trying to patch a dam with sticky tape. His words couldn’t hold back the flood of guilt, exhaustion, and invisible weight pressing down on Emma’s chest.

One rainy Tuesday, Emma finally broke. Poppy had been particularly fussy, her tiny face scrunched in frustration. Emma had done everything—fed her, changed her, rocked her. Nothing worked. Overcome, Emma placed Poppy gently in her crib and backed away, sinking onto the floor outside the nursery. She pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed into her jumper sleeve.

Minutes blurred until there was a soft knock on the front door. It was her mum, Mary, holding a thermos of soup. One look at Emma’s face, and Mary wrapped her arms around her.

Emma crumbled. “I love her so much, Mum. But I don’t feel like I’m doing it right. I feel like...like I’m breaking her.”

Mary cupped Emma’s face. “Oh, love. You’re not breaking her. You’re teaching her something no Instagram account can show—real love. The kind that keeps going, even when it’s hard. Even when you doubt yourself.”

Emma shook her head. “But I don’t feel like I’m enough.”

Her mum gave her a tender smile. “You feel like that because you care so much. That love you feel for her—that’s your strength. Being an amazing mam isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, trying, and loving with your whole heart. And you do that every day.”

That night, as Emma rocked Poppy to sleep, something shifted. The doubt didn’t magically disappear, but she held on to her mum’s words. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about how she saw herself. Maybe it was about how Poppy saw her—the arms that held her, the voice that soothed her, the invisible wings of love that carried her, even on Emma’s hardest days.

Her mum gave her a tender smile. “You feel like that because you care so much. That love you feel for her—that’s your strength. Being an amazing mam isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, trying, and loving with your whole heart. And you do that every day.”