When I entered motherhood, my pregnancy was incredibly difficult, followed by a very traumatic labor & delivery. Postpartum was not kind to me. I struggled deeply with postpartum depression and anxiety, and my body was profoundly depleted, and what I perceived as broken. I was severely anemic. My hair fell out in softball sized clumps. My fingernails showed visible signs of nutrient deficiency - looking as if they had been smashed with a hammer. I was exhausted and in pain in every sense - physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

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I wasn't caring for my body or my mind the way I needed to - not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know how. I was surrounded by love in many ways, especially through the friends who showed up for me in ways I'll be forever grateful for. But when it came to postpartum specific care - medical guidance, nourishment, and consideration for my healing - there were significant gaps. That absence left me depleted and isolated in ways I don't think I'll ever have words for.

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Sleep deprivation became a constant companion. The middle-of-the-night wake ups felt endless. As a first time mother, I had no idea what I was doing, and the lack of support, care, and nourishment only deepened that uncertainty. 

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My husband was my saving grace. His steadiness carried me through a season where I could not carry myself. Surprisingly, it never occurred to me to call on God for help, not once. Not for myself, anyway. I didn't want to be a burden, even though I so desperately needed Him, too. There was a point that I truly felt that God got it wrong when he chose me to be my son's mother.​

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And in that place - fragile, depleted, and hurting - the seed of Nestled was planted.