There’s something deep and fierce that awakens in a mother when her child needs her in ways the world says she might not be able to handle.

When my daughter Paisley was born with Thanatophoric Dysplasia, the world quickly labeled her fragile, complex, impossible. The truth is, she was all of those things and still, she was my daughter. And I was her mother. And that meant everything.

I’ll never forget the early days in the hospital. Machines beeped. Alarms sounded. Tubes and wires snaked around her tiny body. Doctors and nurses came and went, each one bringing with them a mixture of compassion and clinical reality. But deep inside me, through the fear and confusion, something else stirred: a steady, unwavering voice whispering: “You can do this.”

I didn’t have a medical degree. I wasn’t a nurse. But I was her mama. And that meant I would show up every single day, learn everything they would teach me, and take my baby home where she belonged.

And I did.

For three beautiful, sacred years, I took care of Paisley with no nursing help, just me and her side by side. I learned how to manage her ventilator, her trach, her G-tube feeds. I suctioned, positioned, adjusted, bathed, cuddled, and carried her. I didn’t just “keep her alive”, I gave her a life full of love, joy, milestones, and moments that mattered.

It wasn’t easy. There were long nights. Scary episodes. Emergency bags by the door. And there were times I felt exhausted and stretched to my absolute limit. But I never once regretted it. Not one moment. Because every little thing I did for her, I did as her mama. And that power, that bond, is something I will never forget.

So to the mama reading this, maybe overwhelmed with hospital instructions, discharge plans, or nursing shortages, I want to tell you:

You can do this.

You were chosen for your child for a reason. You are capable of learning and growing and showing up in ways you never thought possible. And while the world might say “That’s too much for a mom to handle,” I say: They don’t know what a mother’s love can do.

Being a medical mama doesn’t mean you have to do it all perfectly. It means you show up with love, with courage, and with fierce determination to give your child the best life you can. Whether you have nursing help or you’re doing it solo like I did, you are enough. You are powerful. And your child feels that.

I look back at those three years with Paisley with so much pride. I was scared. I was unsure. But I did it. And it was beautiful. And now, even in her absence, I carry the strength I found through her and I share it with you.

You are not alone, mama. You are able. You are brave. And you are exactly what your child needs.

Have you walked this journey of medical motherhood?

Share your story in the comments; your challenges, your victories, and the strength you’ve discovered in the process. Let’s lift each other up and remind one another: We are capable. We are strong. We are enough.