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Being nominated for Women of Newport’s Mother’s Day celebration means a lot to me—but I’ll admit, it feels completely bizarre too. The incredible words written in the nomination don’t always feel like they reflect me. I’m just someone who’s been trying to get through life, like many others, and to offer people what I wish I’d had more of: hope and belonging.
My own childhood wasn’t easy, but it was the people around me who made life worth living.
That’s something I’ve always held on to—the idea that if I could offer even a little of that to someone else, then it’s worth it.
I had children young, which came with its own challenges, but I was lucky to have support. My eldest was an absolute dream baby—he made me proud to be his mum. When my second son was born, I felt that same deep love, but things were different. He had a severe dairy intolerance and would cry constantly. I remember a health visitor joking that he was one of the most miserable babies she’d met—but it was said with good humour, and I clung to that. Not long after, I found out I was pregnant again—and suddenly I had three children under the age of three.
Life became incredibly hard. My second son was non-verbal, and everyday situations overwhelmed him. We couldn’t go out—if anyone made eye contact with him, he’d scream until we got home. It was tough on all of us.
We’d been going to a baby group since my eldest was a few weeks old, but we had to stop going because it became too distressing. I begged professionals for help, but instead of support, I felt blamed. They put me on parenting courses, told me “he’ll get there,” and acted like the problem was me. Eventually, he was referred to ISCAN. I’ll never forget a paediatrician saying, “If he was autistic, he wouldn’t be playing with toys,” and “labelling him with autism won’t fix him.”
It felt like we were thrown out into the world with nothing. He was given a diagnosis of attachment disorder and global developmental delay—both of which, again, felt like the blame was being placed at my feet.
There are days as a parent—especially one of a child with additional needs—where professionals make you feel like you don’t know what you’re talking about. But I want to remind every parent reading this: you are the expert in your child. The only person who can advocate for them the way they truly deserve is you.
School didn’t support him either. I was told he was happy and progressing—until one day he wasn’t.
I overheard a staff member tell him he “wasn’t a baby, so didn’t need a pram”—a pram that had been specially provided by a charity for his needs.
At parents’ evening in April, I was told he hadn’t spoken to any staff all year—until that week. They were proud. I was heartbroken. Every day had been a battle: getting him out the door, watching him run into traffic, knowing he was terrified. I made the decision to move him to a new school and promised myself I’d never force him into that situation again. He later told me that teachers at his old school had warned him, “If you’re not good and quiet, nobody in this school will like you.” That broke something in me. I still carry guilt for not seeing it sooner—but I’m so incredibly proud of how he’s grown, and how his brothers have stood beside him through it all.
Since moving the boys to a new school, I’ve met incredible women who inspired me to help start a support group for parent carers. We wanted to create a space where people could feel safe to be vulnerable, to share, and to grow. Parenting is one of the hardest transitions in life—one minute you’re only looking after yourself, and the next you’re responsible for someone else. There are no classes, no real guidance. And when your child has additional needs, the pressure multiplies. It’s exhausting. It’s lonely. And it makes you doubt yourself more than anything else ever could.
Everyone spends so much time trying to fit in and be the “perfect” parent—but the truth is, that doesn’t exist.
Nobody is perfect. Just being your true, authentic self is more than enough, and you should own that.
Your children don’t need perfect—they need you. That’s why our group exists. To empower parent carers, to help them advocate for themselves and their children, and to remind them that they are doing so much more than they think.
Whether you’re holding it all together or hanging on by a thread, the fact that you got out of bed this morning shows just how amazing you are. I want to thank my children for getting up every day, for showing me what true strength looks like, and for reminding me that even when the world feels against you, you don’t just give up without a fight.
I also want to thank my friends and family for helping me through every battle, every setback, and every time I’ve wanted to give up. Truthfully, I wouldn’t be here without the people I have in my life. There are things I still don’t talk about even now, but I want everyone to know this: you are not your past. Don’t let it stop you from building something incredible in your future. So if you’re reading this—thank you. Thank you for giving me this opportunity, but more importantly, thank you for everything you do. You probably deserve to be recognised too.
