It’s been a month since I returned to work after 12 months of maternity leave.
A whole year of being “mum” as my main role. A year of milestones, routines, sleepless nights, and a complete shift in identity.
And if I’m honest, coming back has felt heavier than I expected.
Not because I don’t love my job — but because somewhere along the way, I changed.
The story really starts before maternity leave even began.
Support before the pause
I had a tough pregnancy, with more appointments and monitoring than I’d anticipated. There were moments of worry and uncertainty. Throughout it, Versantus showed flexibility and understanding that meant more than I probably expressed at the time. Appointments weren’t questioned. Adjustments weren’t made to feel inconvenient. I was trusted. That trust meant everything.
And yet, despite that support, I was still afraid.
The fear of being replaced
While I was away, I came back into the office occasionally. Each time, everything was running smoothly. People were busy. Happy. Progress was happening.
Instead of feeling reassured, I felt replaceable.
A quiet voice started asking uncomfortable questions:
What if they don’t really need me?
What if my absence has shown I wasn’t as essential as I thought?
What if there isn’t really a place for me anymore?
Taking maternity leave can feel like pressing pause on your career while everything else carries on evolving. You change. The business moves forward. And somewhere in that space, self-doubt grows.
Then came the return.
And the hardest part wasn’t the workload.
It was the drop-offs.
Because the little girl I leave at nursery each morning isn’t just “my child.”
She’s strong and independent already. She’s clever — she knows exactly what she wants. She has a magnetic personality and the biggest blue eyes that somehow say everything before she can fully articulate it. She hates being the centre of attention (just like me), but she loves being around people — engaging, observing, socialising in her own way.
And for now, at least, she’s a mummy’s girl.
There have been tears in the car after nursery drop-off — the kind where you sit a minute longer than you need to before walking inside.
Moments at my desk refreshing the nursery app more times than I’d ever admit. Phone calls “just to check” she’s settled. A low-level hum of worry that doesn’t switch off when the workday starts.
There’s a tug and pull that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
On some days, I worry I’m letting work down because part of me is still at nursery — replaying whether she ate enough or needed one more hug before I left. On other days, I feel guilty for enjoying sitting down with a cup of tea and finishing a task uninterrupted. For appreciating adult conversation. For remembering that I am more than just someone’s mum.
The guilt runs both ways.
And layered underneath it is the quiet pressure to prove nothing has changed. To show I’m still ambitious. Still capable. Still committed.
Motherhood doesn’t diminish you — but it does reshape you. It softens you and strengthens you all at once.
What makes the difference
What has made this transition gentler is the environment I’ve returned to.
I’ve been able to adjust my working schedule to make nursery logistics realistic. I’ve had the flexibility to work from home when needed. Most importantly, I’ve been given time to find my feet again — without pressure to return at full speed from day one.
That understanding hasn’t removed the guilt. But it has eased the weight of it.
Holding both
International Women’s Day is about celebrating women’s achievements. But it’s also about acknowledging the invisible load so many women carry.
The mental checklists.
The emotional juggling.
The quiet tears in car parks.
The pride.
The doubt.
Supporting women at work isn’t just about hiring them. It’s about standing beside them through the life stages that reshape them — pregnancy, maternity leave, and the complicated return that follows.
One month in, I’m still finding my rhythm. Some days feel steady. Others still feel overwhelming.
But I’m here.
I’m proud to work somewhere that supported me before I left, trusted me while I was away, and welcomed me back with empathy and flexibility.
And I’m proud to be raising a strong, independent little girl in a world where I can show her that ambition and motherhood can coexist — even when it feels messy.
To every mum wiping away tears before walking into work — you’re not alone.
You’re not failing at either role.
You’re learning how to hold both.