When I look back, I realise that almost every job I have ever done has involved mothers in one way or another. The experiences that shaped me have become the foundation of 10 Things I’ve Learned About Mothers Through My Work. I started babysitting when I was thirteen, long before I had any idea what I wanted to do in life. Since then, my path has woven through spaces that always seemed to circle back to mums, sometimes by chance, sometimes by choice.

During my medical training, I worked in a child psychiatry practice. Later, in hospitals in delivery rooms and neonatal wards, I witnessed the raw beginnings of motherhood, exhaustion and euphoria living side by side. I spent time in a small children’s shoe shop, where it was almost always mums who came in. Occasionally a dad would join, but rarely alone. It is funny how often those daily errands, those invisible tasks, still fall to mothers.

Years later, through my healing work with Reiki, crystal therapy and meditation classes, it was again mothers who came to me. Often tired, sometimes overwhelmed, looking for an hour of peace that belonged just to them. When the pandemic came, that space disappeared overnight. We tried to meet online, but I quickly learned that peace is impossible to find on Zoom when you are surrounded by little voices calling for you in the next room.

The Many Ways My Work Has Always Led Me Back To Mothers

I have also worked with mothers of autistic adults or adults with learning disabilities, women who, even when their children were thirty, still carried the weight of care and love every single day.

When I moved to Scotland, my work continued to revolve around families and children. Through my nursery photography in Glasgow, I met so many mothers who stayed to watch their little ones being photographed, often chatting and sharing stories about their families. Some of those conversations still stay with me. And now, through my motherhood photography across the Central Belt of Scotland, I work with mothers again, from pregnancy to newborn sessions, from family portraits to quiet, in between moments that say more than words ever could.

I sometimes laugh about it. I am not a mother myself, unless we count my little furry one, but it is clear that my life has always been intertwined with motherhood. And though I cannot claim to know what it feels like to raise a child, I have spent my life witnessing what it looks like.

Here are 10 of the things I have learned.

1. Many Mothers Grieve Versions Of Themselves

Many Mothers Grieve Versions Of Themselves

I have seen it most often through photography. A mum steps in front of my camera, often for the first time since her baby was born. She has put on mascara for the first time in months, maybe fixed her hair, maybe not. She jokes that she feels like a different person, and she is right.

Motherhood changes everything overnight. One day your life is still yours, the next, it belongs to someone else entirely. Suddenly, even small things like meeting a friend for coffee, going to the Christmas market, or watching a film at night become logistical puzzles.

It is not that mothers wish to go back to who they were. Most would not trade this new life for anything, but it is human to grieve the version of yourself that had freedom, rest, or spontaneity.

I have learned that this kind of grief does not make you ungrateful. It makes you honest. It is the quiet acknowledgement that love can expand your world and shrink it at the same time.

2. Love Looks Different For Every Mother

Over the years, I have learned that love has a thousand languages. Some mums are loud and playful, showering their children with kisses and laughter. Others are calm and reserved, showing love through stability, food, or quiet presence.

One mother might show love by cooking every meal from scratch, another might show it by ordering takeaway so she can sit down and play. Neither is right or wrong. Love wears different faces.

Children are just as individual. Some crave constant affection, while others flinch at too much touch. A good mother learns her child’s language of love and adjusts her own.

What is easy to forget is that every mother is also someone’s daughter, often still learning how to give what she never received. Many of the mums I have met are first time mothers, doing all of this without a map, guided by instinct and trial and error. Watching that has taught me that love does not need to look perfect to be true.

3. A Photograph Can Heal More Than It Shows

There is a special moment that happens after many galleries are delivered. A mum opens her photos and sends a message that usually begins with, “I did not realise I looked like that.”

It is never vanity. It is disbelief, because most women have never seen themselves the way others do. You cannot see your own expression while you hold your child, or the softness in your face when you look at them. You see your reflection in a mirror, but it is reversed, limited, familiar.

A photograph shows you the unfiltered truth, the movement, the gestures, the love in motion. It can be confronting at first, especially for women who struggle with body image after pregnancy, but it is also profoundly healing.

Sometimes, a photograph becomes the mirror that finally tells the truth. It says, “This is you. This is how loved you are.”

4. Mothers Carry Generational Stories In Their Bodies

Mothers Carry Generational Stories In Their Bodies

This is something I have noticed more and more in recent years. My generation, the Millennials, and those after us, are breaking cycles that older generations carried quietly.

When I speak to mothers now, I hear honesty where there used to be silence. We talk about mental health without shame. About therapy, counselling, coaching. We read gratitude journals and manifestation books, not because it is trendy, but because we are trying to understand ourselves before we pass our pain on.

I see women refusing to repeat patterns that once felt unchangeable. And yet, I also see echoes, gestures, words, instincts, that mirror their own mothers and grandmothers. Motherhood is memory made flesh. Healing takes time, but it is happening, one generation at a time.

It is incredible to witness that transformation up close, and to photograph mothers across Glasgow and Edinburgh who are rewriting what love, care and strength can look like.

5. Mothers Often Whisper Their Bravery

The bravest mothers I have met rarely call themselves brave. They are the ones who whisper, “I am fine,” when they are not. Who hold everything together quietly, who breathe through the chaos without demanding applause.

I have seen this kind of courage in hospital rooms, in therapy sessions, in my photography work. It is in the woman who gently coaxes her baby to sleep, even as she fights exhaustion. It is in the mother who smiles through tears so her child feels safe. It is in the one who asks for help, the softest and strongest act of all.

Bravery in motherhood is not about bold gestures. It is the steady heartbeat that keeps going, even when no one is watching.

6. The Quiet Power Of Routine

There is something sacred about the rhythm mothers create in everyday life. The morning routines, the school walks, the bedtime stories, the meals that seem to appear out of nowhere. From the outside, it may look ordinary, but inside that repetition lives something deeply nurturing.

I have seen mothers turn chaos into calm simply by showing up in the same way every day. The familiar sound of their voice, the scent of the same lotion, the small rituals that make a house feel like home. Routine is not monotony, it is devotion. It is a quiet love language that says, you can rest here, I am constant, I am safe.

What I have learned is that routine is not the opposite of freedom. It is the rhythm that allows a family to breathe.

7. Not Every Moment Is Magical And That Is Okay

There is a strange myth around motherhood that every moment should be beautiful. Working with families across Scotland has taught me that this is far from the truth. Some days are full of joy, others are messy, loud, or lonely. Sometimes a session begins with tears or a tantrum, and that is perfectly fine.

I have learned to see beauty in the ordinary and the difficult. A mother soothing a crying child, a parent who takes a deep breath instead of losing patience, a quiet hug after frustration. Those are the moments that speak louder than the perfect smiles ever could.

Motherhood is not a constant stream of magic. It is a patchwork of laughter, exhaustion, love and repair. It is real, and that is what makes it beautiful.

8. Mothers Rarely See Themselves As Enough

Mothers Rarely See Themselves As Enough

Almost every mother I have met has apologised for something before we even begin. They say they are sorry for looking tired, for the mess in the house, for their child being shy. They carry a constant pressure to be more, do more, give more.

But what they do not see is how much already shines through. The tired eyes, the undone hair, the lived in spaces all tell a story of love in action. It is the kind of beauty that children recognise instantly, because to them, their mother is home.

If there is one thing I could give every mum through my work, it would be the ability to see herself through her child’s eyes. To know that she is already enough, even on the days she feels like she is not.

9. Community Changes Everything

During the years I offered meditation and healing sessions, I saw how powerful it is when mothers come together. Something softens when women share space. The exhaustion feels lighter when someone else nods in understanding.

In those gatherings, there was laughter, there were tears, and there was relief. The realisation that they were not alone changed everything. Community brings back what isolation takes away. It reminds mothers that care does not have to be a solo act.

For any mother who is looking for connection, I can warmly recommend The Mum Club. It is a wonderful organisation in the UK that brings women together and builds community in the most natural way. They host regular coffee mornings, walks in local parks, creative sessions, and beautiful events where mothers can simply be together. Many of their gatherings also include inspiring guest speakers who share knowledge, support, and encouragement on topics that truly matter.

If you are in Scotland, especially around Glasgow or Edinburgh, The Mum Club offers an incredible space to meet other mothers, to laugh, to talk, and to be reminded that you were never meant to do this alone.

10. Motherhood Teaches Us About Time

If there is one truth that motherhood reveals again and again, it is how fragile time feels. Mothers live inside moments that are fleeting and endless all at once. The nights are long, the years are short, and everything changes too quickly to grasp.

Through my work in Glasgow, Edinburgh, and beyond, I have seen mothers hold their newborns as if time could stop, and later, watch them run ahead with a mix of pride and ache. They measure time not in hours but in firsts and lasts. The first cry, the first step, the last day of nursery, the last goodnight before independence begins.

Mothers understand that nothing stays the same, yet they find peace in the constant flow of change. They teach all of us that love is the only thing that makes time stand still for a moment, even as it slips away.

Closing Thoughts About 10 Things I’ve Learned About Mothers Through My Work

Working with mothers for so many years, in hospitals, healing rooms, nurseries, and now behind the camera, has changed the way I see women, love, and resilience. It is the heart of 10 Things I’ve Learned About Mothers Through My Work, and it continues to shape how I see the beauty and complexity of motherhood every day. I have come to believe that motherhood is not just about raising children. It is about becoming, un becoming, and becoming again.

Even though I am not a mother myself, I feel endlessly grateful to have witnessed these stories, to have created safe spaces for women to rest, reflect, and see themselves with new eyes. Every time I pick up my camera, I know I am capturing more than an image. I am capturing a quiet kind of truth, the kind that says, you are still here, you are still you, and you are enough.

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