The bad and your parenting journey

Running on Empty: How Sleep Deprivation Impacts You as a Parent (And Why It’s Okay to Ask for Help)

By Laura Johnstone – The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey

Sleep. It’s something you don’t truly value until it’s taken away—and as a parent, it often is. I knew becoming a mum would be hard, but nothing really prepared me for the relentless sleep deprivation. Especially when you’re parenting a child who just doesn’t seem to need rest the way most do.

This morning, I felt completely broken. That deep, bone-aching tiredness that doesn’t just cloud your head—it takes over your whole body. Amelia has only ever slept through the night once since she was born. One night. And she’s now well past the baby stage. As you can imagine, it’s been tough.

There’s a level of exhaustion that goes beyond yawning and needing a coffee. It affects your mental health, your ability to function, to cope, to think clearly. It becomes part of you—this fog you carry while trying to show up for your child, your partner, your work, and yourself.

This morning I did something I haven’t done in a while: I asked for help. I contacted the Health Visitors team and I’m now waiting for them to get back to me. It was a moment of vulnerability, but also strength—because I know I can’t keep pouring from an empty cup. And right now, my cup feels cracked.

What makes it even harder is how energetic Amelia is. She runs around the flat like she’s powered by the sun, giggling and climbing and exploring every nook. I find myself wondering where she gets her energy from—because honestly, I think she’s stealing it from me!

The sleep deprivation doesn’t just make me tired—it also seriously affects my POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). When I’m exhausted and run down, I pass out more. The chronic fatigue becomes overwhelming, and I often feel like I’m failing Amelia because I can’t always keep up. But then I take a breath, and remind myself: I’m not failing her. I’m doing my absolute best—and that’s more than enough.

Sleep deprivation isn’t just a phase. It can become a health issue if left unchecked. It can impact your mood, relationships, your immune system, and even your safety—how many of us have forgotten where we put the keys, or left the oven on, all because we’re so tired?

And if you’re neurodivergent like me—navigating life with ADHD, dyslexia, and suspected autism—it can amplify everything. That overwhelm hits harder. The executive function needed to juggle parenting, appointments, meals, and emotions just isn’t there.

But you are not alone in this. If you’re struggling with lack of sleep—whether your child is waking through the night, climbing into bed at 3am, or resisting naps—you deserve support. You deserve rest. And you’re not failing because you’re tired.

Here’s what I’ve found helpful (even if only a little bit):

Speak up: Contact your Health Visitor or GP. There might be support or sleep clinics available. Take shifts: If you have a partner, divide the night where possible. One gets rest while the other settles. Lower expectations: The house doesn’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to be perfect. Nap when you can: I know this feels impossible. But even 20 minutes on the sofa while they watch a cartoon might help. Reach out to other parents: Community is everything. Message a friend who gets it.

So if today you’re crying in the kitchen, clutching your tea while the toast burns—know that you’re not alone. You’re doing an amazing job, even if you feel like you’re unravelling. It’s okay to ask for help. And I’m proud of you for making it through today.

Let’s keep talking about the hard stuff.

If this post resonated with you, please like, comment, and subscribe to my blog The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey. You’re part of a community that sees you—even in the middle of the night.

References & Resources:

NHS: Sleep Problems in Children The Lullaby Trust: Safer Sleep Advice National Childbirth Trust (NCT): Tips on Coping with Sleep Deprivation POTS UK: Living with Postural Tachycardia Syndrome Bliss Charity: Support for Parents of Premature Babies [Contact your local Health Visitor Team through your GP or health centre]

What Makes Me Nervous – And Why I Do It Anyway

There’s something I don’t often admit out loud – every time I launch a new book, start a fresh campaign, or share a deeply personal story, I get nervous. Proper butterflies-in-the-stomach, overthinking-every-word, wondering-if-it-will-reach-anyone kind of nervous.

You see, everything I do – whether it’s writing, blogging, or creating new support campaigns – comes from a place of love, grief, lived experience, and sheer determination to help others feel less alone. But putting that out into the world? That’s a vulnerable thing.

I get nervous because I care.
I care about the parents who are quietly scrolling at 2am, looking for hope. I care about the families navigating prematurity, neurodiversity, and trauma, feeling like no one truly understands. I care about people seeing me for who I really am – someone who knows the fear of not fitting in, the sting of loss, the weight of doing your best and still wondering if it’s enough.

When I share something new, it’s not about attention or praise. It’s a quiet whisper of “I see you. I’ve been there. You’re not on your own.”

But it’s scary too. I worry – will people get it? Will my words help or will they be misunderstood? And most of all – am I doing enough?

Why I keep going anyway
Despite all those nerves, I keep creating. Because the thought that even one parent might feel a little more supported, a little less overwhelmed, a little more hopeful – that’s everything.

I want what I do to be more than content. I want it to be connection. A digital hug. A way to say, “You matter. Your journey matters.”

I hope, truly hope, that what I put into the world – whether it’s a book, a blog, a post, or a campaign – helps you feel supported, valued and seen. That’s what drives me through the nerves.

So, thank you. If you’re reading this, you’re part of this journey. And that means the world.

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Let’s keep this conversation going.
If you’ve ever felt nervous about showing up in your life, your parenting, or your passion – I’d love to hear from you. Comment below, like and share this post, or subscribe to stay connected. Let’s build a space where we can be honest, vulnerable and strong – together.

With heart,
Laura
The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey

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References:

My own experience of parenting a premature baby and navigating life as a neurodivergent mum

Personal reflections on grief, loss, and support

Community feedback and lived experiences shared by families I’ve met through this journey

What makes you nervous?

Parenting with POTS: Learning to Listen to My Body for My Toddler’s Sake

Parenting a toddler is a full-body experience – physically, emotionally, and mentally. When you’re living with a condition like POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), the everyday demands of parenting can feel like climbing a mountain with no summit in sight. There’s no “pause” button when you’re exhausted or dizzy, and toddlers don’t come with a “rest day” feature. But one of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt is that listening to my body isn’t selfish – it’s essential. For me. For her. For all of us.

What Is POTS?

POTS is a form of dysautonomia – a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system – which causes your heart rate to increase rapidly when you go from lying or sitting to standing. This can bring on symptoms like dizziness, fatigue, palpitations, brain fog, and sometimes even fainting. It’s often misunderstood and misdiagnosed, and many of us are left trying to carry on as if everything is fine, while our bodies are quietly screaming for rest.

When I Didn’t Listen – And Why It Mattered

Today was one of those days I should’ve slowed down – but I didn’t.

Ryan was taking part in a race, and our daughter Amelia – not yet 21 months old – was doing her very first toddler race. A proud moment for us both. While Ryan was busy helping out with race admin for his running club, I took Amelia to the toilet. The room was absolutely boiling. By the time I came back into the sports hall where everyone was waiting, I knew I wasn’t okay – and thankfully, so did Ryan. He’d just finished his race and could see I was going down. He ran straight over to help.

I’d pushed myself when my body was quietly warning me all morning. And in the end, we had to get home quickly so I could lie down. As I write this, I’m in bed, recovering from what could have been avoided.

It’s a lesson I keep having to learn – that pushing through doesn’t make me stronger. Listening to my body does.

The Invisible Load of Parenting with POTS

Toddlers are bundles of energy – mine definitely is. She’s curious, clever, and a total escape artist. Blink, and she’s halfway across the garden or halfway up the stairs. It’s beautiful, but it’s exhausting.

On the days when my POTS flares up – when I feel like I’m swimming through fog and my heart is racing just from standing – parenting feels near impossible. But I’ve learnt that pushing through only leads to burnout, and when I hit that wall, I’m not the present, loving mum I want to be.

Tiredness in POTS isn’t the same as “normal” tiredness. It’s deep, bone-aching fatigue. And when I ignore it, my symptoms worsen. I become more irritable, more anxious, and less able to respond calmly to her needs. That impacts her. She senses it.

The Importance of Listening to Your Body

There was a time when I saw rest as a weakness – especially when I became a mum. I wanted to be everything for her. But what I’ve realised is that rest is actually a powerful act of love. When I honour my limits, I show up better for her. I become the safe space she needs, because I’ve taken time to ground myself.

Listening to my body means:

Planning quieter activities on flare-up days. Sitting or lying down more often, even during play. Drinking fluids and adding salt (yes, even salty water on bad days). Asking for help, even when it feels uncomfortable. Letting go of guilt when I need to nap during CBeebies time.

Because what my toddler needs most isn’t a superhuman. She needs me – present, emotionally available, and responsive.

Teaching Her About Body Awareness

One of the unexpected gifts of parenting with POTS is that it’s teaching my daughter something powerful – that our bodies matter and we must listen to them.

I talk to her in simple terms: “Mummy needs to sit because my body’s a bit tired today.” She doesn’t always understand, but she’s learning. And as she grows, she’ll know it’s okay to pause, to rest, and to treat her body with kindness – values I wish I’d learnt much earlier in life.

You’re Not Lazy, You’re Living with a Condition

If you’re a parent with POTS or another chronic illness, please hear this: you are not lazy, and you are not failing. You’re doing something incredibly hard. It’s okay to feel exhausted. It’s okay to grieve the parenting experience you imagined. And it’s okay to build a version of parenting that works for you.

Because when you look after yourself, you’re looking after them too.

If This Spoke to You…

Please like, share, and subscribe to my blog so we can reach more parents navigating life with chronic illness. You’re not alone in this journey – and neither is your child. Let’s walk this path together, one gentle step at a time.

With love,

Laura Johnstone – The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey

References:

NHS Inform. (2024). Postural Tachycardia Syndrome (PoTS). https://www.nhsinform.scot POTS UK. (2024). Living with PoTS. https://www.potsuk.org Dysautonomia International. (2023). What is POTS? https://www.dysautonomiainternational.org

How I’m Using Social Media to Grow My Business and Campaign for Change

Running a business as a neurodivergent parent isn’t easy — especially when you’re juggling the realities of raising a child who may also be neurodiverse or born prematurely. But one thing that’s become a real lifeline for me is social media. It’s not just a space to share updates or post cute photos — it’s become a powerful tool for connection, awareness, and making a real difference.

In this blog, I want to take you behind the scenes and show you how I’m using social media to grow The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey — my platform, my podcast, my blog, and my advocacy work — and how it’s playing a huge role in my latest campaign, Pumping for Preemies.

Building a Business with a Mission

When I started sharing my story — about being born prematurely myself, the loss of my twin, and then becoming a mum to my own premature daughter — I wasn’t sure who would listen. But through Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and even Pinterest, I found my people: parents who got it. Parents who were also navigating trauma, NICU stays, diagnoses, and daily life that never seems to pause.

Social media has helped me turn empathy into action. I’ve been able to share blog posts, promote my books, and launch a podcast — all rooted in real-life parenting, neurodivergence, and the journey of healing.

Campaigning Through Connection

Pumping for Preemies is a campaign I started because I realised how little support exists for mums trying to express milk for their premature babies. Social media became my megaphone. I’ve used Instagram Stories to share behind-the-scenes moments, Facebook to post educational infographics, and LinkedIn to reach healthcare professionals and policymakers.

I’ve also created downloadable guides and info sheets I promote via Pinterest, helping parents and professionals find what they need quickly. My posts aren’t just about raising awareness — they’re about providing practical help for families in need.

Embracing Neurodiversity in My Strategy

As someone with dyslexia, autism and suspected ADHD, traditional marketing methods can feel overwhelming. But social media lets me be creative, expressive, and authentic. I can schedule posts ahead of time (lifesaver!), use voice-to-text, and repurpose content in different ways for each platform.

For example:

I turn long blog posts into Instagram carousels. I use Facebook Lives to chat directly with my community. I republish key insights on LinkedIn to reach professionals and charities. I pin visual quotes and campaign updates on Pinterest to reach new audiences.

Why This Matters

Too many parents feel like they’re doing it all alone — especially when their child’s journey doesn’t follow the “normal” path. Social media helps me say: you’re not alone. Whether it’s a post about NICU trauma, a funny moment from our daily chaos, or a podcast episode on neurodiversity, it’s all part of creating a space where parents feel seen, heard, and supported.

A Call to Action

If you’re a parent, caregiver, healthcare worker or someone who simply wants to support families like mine — please follow, like, and share my content. Your engagement helps the message go further. It helps parents find hope when they’re searching in the dark at 2am.

Let’s keep growing this community together.

And don’t forget to like and subscribe to the blog for updates, new campaigns, and parent-led resources.

Together, we are changing the story — one post at a time.

References:

Bliss Charity. (n.d.). Support for parents with premature or sick babies. Retrieved from https://www.bliss.org.uk Sands UK. (n.d.). Supporting families through baby loss. Retrieved from https://www.sands.org.uk NHS. (2023). Feeding your premature baby. Retrieved from https://www.nhs.uk

How do you use social media?

When Milestones Don’t Go to Plan: Thinking of You This Easter Sunday

Today is Easter Sunday. A day that’s often full of chocolate-stained smiles, spring sunshine, and family get-togethers. But this morning, as I watched Amelia run around with her boundless energy and cheeky grin, my heart drifted back to those who aren’t able to spend today as a whole family.

To the mums and dads sitting beside hospital beds, in NICUs and SCBUs, wondering when they’ll get their chance to bring their babies home—I see you. I’ve been there.

And I’m thinking of you.

Days like this can be so hard when your baby or child is in hospital. The world outside keeps turning, full of holiday traditions, while your world feels paused—somewhere between hope and heartbreak.

It reminded me of Father’s Day 2023—Ryan’s first one.

We didn’t get the moment we’d dreamed of. No snuggles in bed. No cute card with a footprint. No breakfast together as a new family. Instead, we spent the day in the Special Care Baby Unit, surrounded by machines and hushed voices. Amelia was still too small to come home, and we were living day-by-day, clinging to every gram she gained and every small step forward.

I remember the ache I felt—not just for myself, but for Ryan. He had become a dad in the most intense of circumstances, travelling long distances to be with us, balancing work and worry, showing up even when I knew his heart was heavy. That Father’s Day wasn’t what we had imagined. And it hurt.

I want to say to any parent who finds themselves in hospital this Easter—you are not alone. Whether it’s your baby’s first holiday or another special day missed due to illness, I promise you that your love still counts. Your quiet presence. Your tireless advocating. Your whispered lullabies through oxygen hoods and feeding tubes. That is parenting. That is love.

So today, as the world celebrates, know that I’m thinking of you. I know how tough it can be when everyone else seems to be moving on, and you’re just trying to keep going.

And if you’re like us, having missed milestones that were supposed to be joyful, please remember: it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means life threw you a detour. And even though it’s painful, you’re doing an incredible job—probably more than you realise.

Ryan didn’t get a traditional Father’s Day that year, but he showed the truest kind of fatherhood—the kind that shows up, no matter what. And to every parent in hospital right now: you’re doing that too. And we’re with you.

If this blog touched you, please like, share and subscribe to The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey. Let’s keep supporting one another—especially on the days that don’t go to plan.

References:

Bliss. (2023). Caring for a baby in neonatal care on holidays and special occasions. www.bliss.org.uk NHS. (2023). What to expect in neonatal units. www.nhs.uk

When a Coffee Chat Turns into a Cause: Changing the Conversation Around Infant Feeding

This week has been a bit of a whirlwind. On Tuesday, I had an exciting meeting with the Ickle Pickles Charity, and I’m thrilled to be doing more with them going forward. But sometimes it’s the unplanned moments that end up making the biggest impact.

On Thursday, I was meant to follow up with NCT and get through a whole list of things — but life had other plans.

At crèche, I met a mum who I’d never spoken to before. She’s usually there on different days, but thanks to the Easter holidays and some clever juggling on her part (her older two were across the road at a dance workshop), she was there that day.

And we met because — wait for it — I asked if we could move a table because I’m short and couldn’t reach (it had beenmoved and wasn’t where it usually is). She replied, “Oh my God, yes! Its why I sat on this sofa not that one” and we ended up shuffling the tables together. A simple, human moment that sparked a really important conversation.

I told her I had planned to do loads of work that day, but the second I sat down, the tiredness hit and I just couldn’t bring myself to open my laptop. She totally understood — because of course, she’s in the thick of motherhood too.

As we chatted, I learned that she works with a local family charity and has a real passion for supporting parents with infant feeding. Naturally, we ended up deep in conversation about our own experiences. I shared how Amelia, after seven weeks, stopped taking the breast and would only take a bottle. It was heartbreaking at the time. I felt like I’d done something wrong.

But I kept expressing. Every single feed, day and night. I expressed until Amelia was five months old — driven by love, exhaustion, and a deep determination to give her the best I could. It wasn’t easy. It was isolating at times. But it was also empowering in its own way. I just wanted to have been able to do it longer.

At around three months, I remember one day so vividly. I was completely depleted. Amelia had gone through all six bottles of milk I had carefully expressed and stored in the fridge. And I had nothing left to give.

She was screaming — but this wasn’t her usual cry. It was a new, absolutely distraught scream. A sound full of confusion and hunger and frustration, and it cut right through me. I was already exhausted, already running on empty, literally, and the guilt hit me like a tidal wave. I stood there, in tears, feeling like I had failed her.

I gave her formula for the first time that day. And although it met her needs, the guilt in that moment was overwhelming. I had been doing everything I could — and still, it felt like it wasn’t enough.

The scream, the crying, the pressure — it was too much. I remember Ryan stepping in, gently taking Amelia and saying, “Let me take her out for a walk.” He knew I needed some quiet. Some respite. Just a few moments to breathe, to cry, to rest. That simple act of love meant everything.

Shortly after that, Amelia started to refuse my milk altogether. That broke my heart. It felt like the end of something I had fought so hard for.

But looking back now, I find myself asking: Why do we do this to ourselves?

Why do we carry such guilt for simply feeding our babies in the best way we can, with what we have, in that moment? Why do we treat formula as a failure instead of a lifeline?

We talked about how common those feelings are — especially when support is limited, or when your feeding journey doesn’t look like the “standard” path. So many parents are left feeling judged or unsupported when what they really need is empathy and options.

That chat reignited something in me — because alongside everything else, I’m also working on my Pumping for Preemies campaign. It’s all about supporting families of premature babies who are trying to express milk in incredibly difficult and emotional circumstances. For many, it’s not just physically draining — it’s emotionally overwhelming too.

And often, the system isn’t set up to help them succeed. Hospital-grade pumps can be hard to access outside of NICUs, emotional support is patchy, and there’s so much pressure (from society and from ourselves) to “get it right.”

Talking with this mum reminded me why I started Pumping for Preemies in the first place. Because no parent should feel judged for how they feed their baby. Whether it’s boob, bottle, pumping, or a mix — every journey is valid. Every baby is different. And every parent deserves compassion, not criticism.

Feeding our babies should be one of the most natural and supported parts of parenthood. And yet, it’s still a battleground for shame and misunderstanding.

A few hundred years ago, wet nurses were completely normal — feeding was shared, and mothers were supported. So why, in today’s world, are we still asking intrusive questions like:

“Are you breastfeeding?”

“How long for?”

“Shouldn’t you have stopped by now?”

These questions don’t help anyone. They just add to the pressure, and they ignore the nuances of each family’s story.

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So what’s next?

This conversation has made me want to reach out to local breastfeeding support groups and charities to explore collaborative work — whether it’s joint workshops, awareness campaigns, or just creating safe spaces for honest chats.

I believe in building a community where no parent feels alone in their feeding journey — especially those with premature babies or those navigating neurodivergent parenting.

If you’re involved with a charity, support group, or healthcare organisation and you’d like to explore working together — please get in touch. Let’s change the narrative, one honest conversation at a time.

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Let’s Make Feeding Support Inclusive and Kind

If this blog resonated with you, I’d love it if you could like, share, or subscribe to follow more honest stories about parenting, prematurity, and neurodiversity.

Your voice matters — and you never know how your story might help someone else.

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References & Further Reading

• NHS Infant Feeding Guidelines

• UNICEF Baby Friendly Initiative

• La Leche League GB – Support for Breastfeeding

• [Pumping for Preemies Campaign – Coming Soon]

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

Strangers Are Just Friends We Haven’t Met Yet: My Encounter With Barbara

I’ve always believed that strangers are simply friends you haven’t met yet. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, the universe proves you right in the most unexpected ways.

About five years ago, I had one of those days. I was still adjusting to life with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), and one of the hardest changes was giving up driving. It just wasn’t safe anymore — I couldn’t always tell when I was about to go down, and that unpredictability scared me.

I remember it was a normal day. I’d been shopping and was walking near Worthing Town Hall when I started feeling light-headed. The world tilted, and the next thing I knew, I had collapsed. But not just anywhere — I’d passed out in the middle of the road.

It was terrifying.

One of the people who rushed to help me was a woman named Barbara. She didn’t hesitate. She helped me up, guided me to a bench, got me some water, and made sure I felt safe again. What really stuck with me was that she didn’t just leave it there — she asked me to ring her later that day to let her know I was okay. She genuinely cared. I saved her number in my phone and rang her that evening to thank her. And then… life happened. We lost touch.

Fast-forward a few years, and I’d had my daughter, Amelia. One of our midweek rituals is a Wednesday afternoon playgroup that we absolutely adore. One day, I got chatting to a lovely lady who clearly had a soft spot for the little ones. We made plans for her to come over and play with Amelia — she said she needed a bit of joy and time away.

We exchanged numbers, and when we did, something clicked.

We already had each other’s number saved.

It was Barbara. The same Barbara who helped me when I was at my most vulnerable all those years ago. I still get goosebumps thinking about it. What are the chances?

Now, every time I think of her, I smile. Not just because she’s a friend — but because of how our friendship started. Sometimes, all it takes is one act of kindness from a stranger to make a lifelong difference.

Call to Action

Have you ever had a meaningful encounter with a stranger who became something more? I’d love to hear your story — let’s celebrate these moments of human connection. Leave a comment below, like, and subscribe for more real stories about parenting, neurodiversity, and the power of community.

References:

POTS UK – What is POTS? NHS – First aid: Fainting Worthing Town Hall History

Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.

The Scars That Tell My Story: From Survival to Purpose

By Laura Johnstone

When I look in the mirror, I see more than just my reflection. I see scars—two on my neck from when I survived sepsis, and one on my bellybutton that has been with me since birth. These aren’t just marks on my body—they’re the remnants of trauma, of survival, of a story that began long before I knew what storytelling was.

That scar on my stomach? I used to hate it. It reminded me of being different, of being born far too early—28 weeks and five days, three months before I was meant to arrive. Back then, in 1981, neonatal medicine was only just beginning to understand how to care for babies like me. My twin brother, Nicholas, didn’t survive. But I did.

I carried guilt for years because of that.

But one day, during a quiet conversation, my mum reframed that scar for me. “You don’t need to think of it as trauma,” she told me. “It saved your life. That scar is a miracle.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

Years later, I found myself in a hospital again, this time fighting for my life against sepsis. I was just 15 minutes from not surviving. I woke up in intensive care, tubes in my neck, a new layer of trauma etched into my skin—two angry scars that I still carry today.

But those scars tell a story, too. A story of how far I’ve come, and how deeply this path was always meant for me.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I remember going to the last scan and Ryan couldn’t come, so my mum came with me. She was mesmerised by how far technology had come. She spoke of the long journeys she took from North Wales back to Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham just to get scans done. That moment made me pause—because I, too, had to travel for mine. History, repeating itself—but with progress.

That’s when I realised: this purpose, this work I’m doing to help other families—it’s not new. It’s been with me all along. As a child, I would raise awareness about prematurity and baby loss without even knowing why. Now I know: it’s because I lived it. Because my survival has always carried a story. And I was always meant to tell it.

This business I’ve started—The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey—isn’t just a project. It’s a purpose. It’s my way of making sure no family ever feels alone, like we did back then. It’s about turning pain into power and scars into strength.

Last night, I was talking to Ryan, and he said something I’ll never forget: “I can really see the difference in you now. You’ve found your purpose.” And I have.

So, if you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed, wondering if what you’re doing matters—trust that it does. Your story, your scars, your survival—they all matter.

And if someone asked me what my dream is? I’d say, I’m living it. I’m helping people. I’m making change. And I’m not done yet.

If you found this blog helpful, please like, share, and subscribe to ‘The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey.’

Let’s keep showing up for each other—scars, stories, and all.

References

Bliss Charity UK. (2024). Support for parents of premature babies. www.bliss.org.uk Sepsis Trust UK. (2024). Understanding Sepsis: Causes, Symptoms, and Recovery. www.sepsistrust.org Sands UK. (2024). Baby Loss Support and Awareness. www.sands.org.uk NHS. (2024). Premature birth and neonatal care. www.nhs.uk

The Simple Habit That Changed My Life and Led Me to Help Others

Why Saying Three Things You’re Grateful For Can Transform Your Mindset and Your Mission

Three years ago, I took part in a five-day challenge. At the time, I didn’t know just how much it would shift my mindset—or change my life.

The challenge was all about mindset and daily habits. There were lots of helpful suggestions and tools to try, but there was one that stuck with me. One that quietly made its way into my everyday life and has stayed with me ever since:

Saying three things I’m grateful for—every single day.

It seemed simple. It was simple. But it also felt hard at times. Especially when you’re surviving on broken sleep, dealing with the aftershocks of birth trauma, or trying to support a neurodivergent household.

There were days when I couldn’t think of anything at all. But even on those days, I forced myself to find something—however small.

I’m grateful that my daughter smiled at me this morning. I’m grateful for a warm cup of tea. I’m grateful I made it through the day.

That little act, repeated over time, created a shift. A shift in how I saw the world, how I responded to challenges, and even how I saw myself.

It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly I found that I was more present, more hopeful, and more determined. And with that shift came something unexpected: clarity. I realised I wasn’t just surviving anymore—I was ready to help others do the same.

Because of that one habit, I found the courage to start this business.

Because of that one habit, I’ve been able to create resources for other parents who’ve faced premature birth, NICU journeys, baby loss, and the overwhelming realities of raising a child with neurodiversity.

This business didn’t come from having everything figured out—it came from gratitude and growth, even on the hardest days.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’re in the thick of it right now. Maybe you’re feeling broken, overwhelmed, or just so, so tired. I’ve been there. I am there sometimes still.

But I promise you, starting a simple gratitude practice—three small things a day—can be the first step to seeing life differently. And who knows where it might lead?

So here’s my challenge to you:

For the next seven days, say three things you’re grateful for every morning or every evening. Write them down, speak them aloud, or even whisper them into the dark if that’s all you can manage.

Let that be your anchor. Let it change you the way it changed me.

Call to Action:

If this blog resonated with you, please like and subscribe to stay updated with more honest, heartfelt content for parents navigating life after NICU, living with neurodiversity, or finding hope after loss. I’m here to walk this journey with you.

References:

Emmons, R. A., & McCullough, M. E. (2003). Counting Blessings Versus Burdens: An Experimental Investigation of Gratitude and Subjective Well-Being in Daily Life. NHS (2023). Mental Wellbeing – Tips for Mental Health. Mind UK (2024). Practising Gratitude: How Small Shifts Can Make a Big Difference.

Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.

Building a Relationship That Survives Parenthood

Yesterday, I was chatting with a friend of mine who had a baby around the same time I did. She recently went through a breakup, and it made me stop and think. Later, I spoke to my husband Ryan about it, and we both reflected on how incredibly lucky we are to have made it through some of the hardest times by truly supporting one another.

Having a baby—especially if your little one arrived early or there have been extra challenges—can put a huge strain on any relationship. But what’s kept us going is that we genuinely show up for each other every single day. If one of us is worried, we talk about it. If one of us is struggling, we listen. And we laugh—together—not at each other or at anyone else, but in that kind of comforting, shared way that helps ease even the heaviest days.

And honestly? That kind of connection is rare.

If you’re reading this and you’re in a relationship, or you’re thinking about having a baby, or you’re even just hoping for something more—please make sure that person is like your best friend. Choose someone who listens, laughs with you, and truly understands what makes your heart feel safe.

Before Ryan, I was in relationships where I was told all the right things—“I want marriage, I want kids”—on the very first date. And I believed it, because I wanted to believe it. But saying the right things and living them are two very different stories.

Sometimes, we tolerate things we shouldn’t. We accept being treated in ways that slowly wear us down. But let me say this loud and clear, in case you need the reminder today:

You deserve better.

You deserve kindness, respect, and honesty. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to feel loved. And above all, you deserve to smile—not just when things are perfect, but when life is messy and loud and overwhelming.

So if you’re a parent navigating life with little ones, or dreaming about the future, hold on to this truth: it’s not about the perfect relationship. It’s about having someone who sees you, stands beside you, and laughs with you—even in the chaos.

Let’s lift each other up. Let’s model the kind of love and support we want our children to grow up seeing.

Like what you’ve read?

If this blog resonated with you, please like, comment, and subscribe to stay connected. Your support helps us grow our community of parents who are learning, loving, and showing up—every day.

Let’s keep going, together.

References & Further Reading:

Mind (2023). Parenting and mental health. www.mind.org.uk Relate (2024). Relationships after having a baby. www.relate.org.uk Tommy’s (2024). Looking after your relationship. www.tommys.org