Motherhood: how all started

My first baby girl was there ...a bit too early

Motherhood has changed me in ways I could never have imagined. I found out I was pregnant at a time when my boyfriend and I weren’t even officially together. We were like butterflies—free, adventurous, and deeply in love with life, yet more focused on our individual dreams than our life as a couple.

At that time, we were living on a farm, taking care of a permaculture project. I was learning everything about gardening—seeds, compost, edible wild plants, harvesting, preserving, fermenting, and cooking. I was delivering my kombucha to a health shop in Brussels, cooking for events, tending the garden every day, moving my body, and actually feeling pretty good.

That spring/summer, my boyfriend and I had planned a 10-day Vipassana silent meditation retreat—a profound dive into ourselves and the amazing capacity of the human mind. Just before leaving, I discovered I was pregnant. And because he would be in silence, I couldn’t tell him. I felt like an explosion in my belly—a fire and a knowing that something enormous was happening.

But I was also scared. I had grown up feeling I might never be a mother—maybe because of my own complex relationship with my mother (that story is for another time). I took five different pregnancy tests before I could truly believe it. Finally, I accepted it: I was pregnant.

We didn’t know what our future as a couple would look like, or how we would navigate this new life. But we made a choice: to love this baby and do our best. We decided this unexpected opportunity was the perfect shift for us. We moved from the farm, found a small apartment, gathered some money, and began creating what I would call a “normal life”—a life filled with love, learning, and growth.

But our story took a different turn. At 27 weeks, while I was at a popular market in Brussels, thinking about potential names for my daughter, my water broke. I panicked. From that moment, I truly discovered what fear means. I was so afraid of losing her—especially when I heard the phrase nobody ever wants to hear at the hospital: “We will do all that’s possible, but we cannot guarantee anything.”

Looking back, I realize I was quite courageous. After a couple of days, I accepted the situation and tried to relax. I was confined to bed, unable to do much. But I was there—writing, talking to her, drawing, listening to music, and yes, staring at the ceiling of a hospital room for many hours.

That time was very difficult for us as a couple. We grew really close, yet at the same time, we missed the dream of creating a nest for our family. A friend of ours moved into the house to help my boyfriend with daily tasks and arranging the home, since he was spending his days traveling back and forth by metro to bring me food (we never, ever ate anything from the hospital!).

I had a C-section at 29 weeks. I even fell off the operation table when they started the intravenous fluids—I guess I was emotional and fainted, I don’t know! All I know is they said this had never happened before: a woman falling off the table just before surgery! It was only for a second, when the midwife looked away

Thankfully, nothing happened—except my husband almost passed out from fear ! Suddenly, all the attention went to him, and they gave him an apple juice so he could feel alive again. Then the C-section began ( fun story )

Our daughter was born. It was the 12th of November—a cold and rainy day in Brussels. But when I arrived in my room, the sun shone strongly through the window, as if to say hello. My husband was running up and down between me and her, and after a few hours, I could finally hold her in my arms.

Everything was fine. She was very small, but very strong. She was here.

I was lucky—I had milk, which I pumped until she could learn to drink by herself. I was lucky I could hold her skin-to-skin for hours. I was lucky my husband brought me food every day. I was lucky I was determined to stay with her as much as I could. And I was lucky that, after some days, I heard her voice inside me saying: “Don’t worry for me. I am strong. I want to live. Stop being afraid. I am fine.”

She has been giving me the biggest lessons since then.

This was also the time when I felt extremely alone. Being in a hospital while holding on to your own convictions is not easy. The day I went home, a new chapter began. I was an Italian woman with a premature baby in the middle of Brussels. I had no reference, no network, no family close to me. Somehow, I needed to figure out how to take care of this little life the best I could.

My first strength was instinct. I didn’t know as much as I do now, but I followed my instincts.

This is just to say: even though today I work with women around holistic motherhood, my own journey didn’t start in the most “perfect” way. I had a tough, rough beginning. I had my struggles, my healing path, my conflicts with pediatricians, even changing them more than once. Mothering myself while mothering my child. Life is not a perfect script

And for a long time, this script held me back because I thought my story wasn’t “perfect enough” to be shared—that I wasn’t perfect enough to help others. The shift came when I realized that the strong emotion of shame had been carried in my family for generations. When things happen, I can choose how to respond—with shame or with empowerment. And that became my work.

So yes, even if it was tough, I am grateful for my story.

And here’s what I want you to remember: never, ever feel ashamed of your birth story or your motherhood journey.

This is your power

Giulia

If you’re navigating pregnancy or postpartum and want guidance on making nourishing choices, I’d love to support you. I offer a free 30-minute discovery call where we can explore your needs and see how I can help you feel your best

If you have questions you can write directly to me at support@holismama.com

Thanks for reading my story,

and you are welcome to share yours :)