My name is Brittany Larson, and I’m from Texas, USA, currently residing in Utah. My journey to motherhood was long and heartbreaking. We’ve had eleven pregnancies: one beautiful living daughter, one current pregnancy that gives us hope, and nine devastating losses. Each loss shattered me in ways I didn’t know were possible, but it also taught me something profound—that sometimes the things we want most are worth every tear, every fight, every moment of waiting.
During my husband’s military service, getting proper medical care felt impossible. Doctors dismissed my concerns, and I quickly realized that if I wanted answers, I’d have to find them myself. I became my own detective—researching, paying for tests out of pocket, learning everything I could about nutrition and how my body worked. I even went back to school to study genetics because I was desperate to understand why this kept happening to us. It was exhausting fighting a system that didn’t seem to care, but I learned something important: a mother’s instinct isn’t just a feeling—it’s real, and you have to trust it, even when no one else does.
When our daughter Maple finally arrived, it was the most beautiful and terrifying day of my life. She wasn’t breathing when she was born. Those first minutes felt like time stood still. All I could do was trust the NICU team to save her. And they did. She’s here, healthy and perfect, and that moment will forever be the greatest win of my entire life.
But then came the part no one really talks about. The postpartum period hit me like a truck. My hormones were all over the place, my body felt foreign to me, and I was crying while simultaneously feeling grateful beyond words. How can you be so happy and so sad at the same time? It confused me. I struggled with severe postpartum depression, but because I’d been let down by doctors before, I didn’t speak up right away. I kept thinking, “We finally have our miracle baby—why do I feel so dark inside?” The guilt was crushing.
During a routine check-in, a NICU nurse picked up on something in my answers and gently told me I needed more help. It was almost Christmas, so getting care immediately was tricky, but I promised to keep us safe and to keep trying. Shortly after, I found an incredible psychiatrist who actually listened to me—really listened. She looked at my history, understood my genetics, and fought for me. That care saved my life.
Motherhood has changed me in ways I never saw coming. I’ve competed as an IFBB Pro and stood on stage feeling proud, but nothing compares to the pride I feel knowing my body carried and delivered Maple after everything we’d been through. Becoming a mom also brought me closer to other women. Before her, I kept people at a distance because talking about babies and pregnancy hurt too much. But now, I’ve softened. I’ve learned to let people in, and I feel connected to other moms in a way I couldn’t before.
I’ve discovered that I’m braver than I thought but also softer than I ever allowed myself to be. Real strength isn’t about pushing through everything alone—it’s about asking for help, being honest about your struggles, and still choosing to hope. I’ve learned to trust my gut even when it’s hard, to let myself grieve without shame, and to hold onto small daily rituals that keep me grounded: drinking water, stepping outside for fresh air, taking five deep breaths. Sometimes the tiniest habits are what hold you together when life feels overwhelming.
Right now, my biggest challenge is balancing everything. I finished my doctorate, I’m still in school, I run a business full-time, and I’m starting a new role that requires tons of learning upfront. I feel guilty about time constantly—like I’m not doing enough at home or enough at work. But I’m so grateful my husband is a stay-at-home dad. He loves being with Maple, and since I work from home most days, I still get to hear her giggles throughout the day. I’m also learning to let go of perfection. I used to stress about keeping everything clean and organized. Now? I’m grateful for the mess. I prayed for this mess for so long.
What brings me the most joy? Her giggle—always her giggle. Watching my husband light up when he plays with her. The way she wraps her little arms around my neck. The tiny moments when she discovers something new. She’s gentle, kind, funny, and so smart. With everything we went through to get her here, every little thing feels like a miracle. Her laugh, the way she explores, even the food smeared under her high chair—I soak it all in because I know how fast it’s going.
Mom guilt is real and it’s heavy. I constantly feel like I’m not doing enough. But every time I talk to another mom, I realize we’re all carrying the same weight. You’re not alone, even when it feels like you are. We’re all doing our best in a world that expects us to be superhuman. So name the guilt, talk about it with someone you trust, and remember—your love matters way more than being perfect.
When I’m overwhelmed or stressed, I lean on small things that help me reset. I take five slow breaths before walking into a room. I step outside for ten minutes and feel the sun on my face. I drink water and eat something with protein. I remind myself out loud, “This is just a season.” I reread a favorite line from a book I love. I let someone help me. And I remember how far I’ve come—my body and I are on the same team.
If I could tell new or expecting moms anything, it would be this: You’re not alone. Reaching out when you’re struggling is one of the bravest things you can do. Most moms have had the same scary thoughts you’re too afraid to say out loud. Let your house be messy. Make time to reconnect with your partner every day, even if it’s just ten minutes. Hold onto the little moments with your baby. Ask for help. You and your partner are a team, even on the days when you’re so tired you’re basically passing each other like ships in the night.
And here’s something I wish someone had told me: Lower your expectations for perfection, but never lower your expectations for love. Your baby doesn’t need a perfect house or a flawless mom—they need you, present and cared for.
If you’re in the thick of it right now—dealing with loss, fighting for answers, drowning in postpartum fog—I want you to know something. Courage doesn’t always look big and dramatic. Sometimes it’s making one phone call. Taking one nap. Sending one email asking for your medical records. Telling one friend the whole truth. Keep going. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—in the middle of the process. And that’s how families are built, one messy, brave step at a time.
Thank you so much for the opportunity to share bits of my story. Wishing you all the love and happiness in the world Miriam.
Brittany Larson @coachmusclenugget
@Brittany, not every woman would open up about something this raw — thank you for doing it, because it shows us that trusting your instincts, even when no one else does, can change everything.
