Before I became a mum, I knew who I was. I had dreams I was excited about, ideas I couldn’t wait to bring to life, and plans that stretched far beyond tomorrow. I enjoyed learning, creating, and imagining what my future could look like.

Then I became a mother.

Like so many women, I poured everything I had into this new gift of life I loved more than words could ever explain. Somewhere between the sleepless nights, endless routines, nursery drop-offs, work, cooking, and trying to keep everyone else happy, something quietly changed. One day, I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I had stopped to ask myself, “How am I doing?” Not as a mum but as me.

Growing up, I was taught what many African women are taught: be strong, keep going, don’t complain, make it work. I watched incredible women hold families together with resilience that still inspires me today. They loved deeply, sacrificed willingly, and always seemed to find a way. Those lessons shaped me, but there was one question no one ever asked: Who looks after the woman who is looking after everyone else?

When I moved to the UK with my young family, I brought those beliefs with me. I knew how to cope, how to survive, and how to carry on. What I wasn’t prepared for was the loneliness of motherhood without my village.

Back home, when a woman has a baby, she is surrounded. Someone cooks, someone holds the baby while she rests, someone notices when she’s tired, and someone simply sits beside her. There is an unspoken understanding that when a baby is born, a mother is born too and she needs caring for just as much.

My village was thousands of miles away.

Like many mums, I smiled when people asked if I was okay. I said, “I’m fine,” because that’s what I believed I was supposed to say. But underneath, I was slowly disappearing behind the title of “Mum.” Not because I loved my children too much, but because I had forgotten that motherhood is one role I play it isn’t all of who I am.

Finding my way back wasn’t one big moment. It happened slowly, through conversations with other mothers who shared their own stories. Hearing someone say, “I thought it was just me,” reminded me that I wasn’t failing. I wasn’t broken. I was carrying what so many women carry, often in silence. That sense of shared experience changed everything. It gave me permission to breathe, to dream again, and to believe that I could be fully present for my family without losing myself in the process.

That journey became the beginning of MumsAloud.

I created the community I wish I had found a place where mothers could feel seen, heard, understood, and supported. A place where cultural experiences are recognised, honest conversations are welcomed, and women can reconnect with themselves as much as they connect with one another.

At the heart of MumsAloud is a simple belief: motherhood is one of the most important roles a woman will ever have, but it is not all that she is. She is still a woman with dreams, gifts, ambitions, and a life that deserves nurturing too.

If you’ve found yourself somewhere in these words, then I hope you know this: you are not alone. Whether you’re looking for support, connection, encouragement, or simply a place where you don’t have to explain yourself, you’ve found your village.

Welcome to MumsAloud.

I’m so glad you’re here.

— Bokun

Founder, MumsAloud