Realistically, as a gay woman, I never thought motherhood would be something I could actually achieve.
For most of my adult life, I was consumed by my career. I had a wonderful social circle, amazing friends, and plenty of life experiences—but I was a workaholic through and through, always chasing the next milestone, the next goal, the next dream. Children were never part of that vision.
For many in the LGBTQIA+ community, the reality is that access to fertility treatments has long been limited. In Australia, IVF was historically out of reach financially for same-sex couples because Medicare considered us “socially infertile,” rather than medically infertile, which meant we weren’t eligible for the same subsidies. Without a fertility specialist willing to explore every option, the cost per IVF cycle could easily top $10,000, not including consultations, medications, and insurance excesses. It was a steep barrier.
Jaz and I met in our 30s, and from the moment we started talking about family, there was no hesitation—we both wanted to be parents and we both wanted it yesterday. So, if you ask me when I knew I wanted to be a parent, the answer is simple: the moment I met Jaz. Before that, my life plan looked very different—an elegant city apartment, a growing whiskey collection, maybe a dog, and a quiet, orderly life.
Pregnancy came surprisingly quickly, on just our second round of IVF. I can’t say I loved being pregnant; I continued to work throughout, only stepping away at 37 weeks to go on maternity leave. Even then, I would have kept going if legally permitted. Labor and birth were traumatic for both of us, and complications sent me back into the hospital just three days postpartum. Our first days as parents were far from the Instagram-perfect visions we had imagined. Anxiety shadowed everything: leaving the house was terrifying, every car ride felt like a challenge, and I constantly questioned whether “mom life” was really for me.
In search of clarity, I started writing a blog as a form of therapy, which eventually led me to start an Instagram account. I poured my heart out:
“During all of this drama and pain, I’ve failed to truly know our son. I feel like I’ve been trying to fit him into a cookie-cutter mold rather than seeing him for who he is. I’ve heard the adorable noises he makes while sleeping—but have I really adored them? I’ve held him when he was constipated from formula—but have I soothed him? I honestly have no idea.”
I rarely saw realistic portrayals of parenthood, especially for same-sex parents in Australia. Same-sex marriage was only legalized in 2017—while I was heavily pregnant—and rather than simply legalizing it, our government put human rights to a public vote. Even today, few of us represent the real, raw, unpolished side of parenting—on social media or in real life. We live in a culture that constantly compares and competes, where even parents feel pressured to “one-up” each other.
The early months weren’t all bleak. I made a wonderful friend at a mother’s group, our sons adored each other, and sunny walks filled with gossip about Love Island kept me sane. Yet, I still felt lost—a shell of the person I had been. I struggled with self-purpose, self-gratitude, and self-love. My identity seemed buried beneath the endless cycle of feeding, soothing, and surviving.
At ten months postpartum, I returned to work part-time, sharing responsibilities with Jaz. Slowly, I began reclaiming myself. Our son thrived at his early learning center, and I started to feel like me again. By the time he was 18 months old, a major career opportunity came my way. I dove in headfirst, juggling full-time work, a toddler in daycare four days a week, and grandparents caring for him on the fifth. It was exhausting, high-pressure, and at times soul-draining—but I had purpose beyond being a mother, and I was alive in my own skin again.
Then, in 2020, the world changed. The COVID-19 pandemic hit, and my career evaporated almost overnight. First I was stood down, then months later, made redundant. I was devastated—but something unexpected emerged from those long, isolated days at home with a toddler and my partner: I found myself. With proper support for my anxiety and mental health, I regained balance. I discovered the joy of creating a work life on my own terms, surrounded by good people, creativity, and passion. I pinched myself to believe it was real.
And then we decided to have another baby. True to form, I didn’t do anything halfway: IVF, launching a new business, raising a toddler, nurturing my marriage—all at once. To outsiders, it seemed insane. To us, it was perfect. I still didn’t love pregnancy, but I was calm, content, and empowered. I pinched myself again, grateful for the journey.
Two weeks postpartum, I was back at work, juggling clients, business responsibilities, and a newborn. Jaz was endlessly supportive, our son was in daycare, and I’d perfected the art of feeding while typing on a laptop.
Parenting in the public eye comes with unsolicited opinions. People questioned our choices constantly. But you learn to delete, block, and set boundaries. Even then, doubts creep in—because parents always wonder if they’re doing it right. Most days, our family is thriving. We’re warm, fed, and healthy, even if my hair is perpetually messy. Some days are chaotic, some days nothing gets done—but at night, holding my babies close, inhaling their giggles and tiny smells, I smile. I feel whole. But even more, I feel like myself.
I often wonder how my children will remember us. Will they see two mothers who chased dreams, fought for equality, and lived boldly? Will they feel proud of our choices and the life we built together? I hope so. Every beach trip, cooking disaster, and spontaneous family moment was real, imperfect, and full of laughter. That is our perfect.
The life of a working parent is complex and not always understood by others. Some mothers stay home, some pursue careers—there is no universal formula. The key is creating your own version of perfect, no matter the noise or judgment from the outside world.
Empower yourself. Fight for what you want. Live boldly. So that one day, maybe, your children will say, “My mother? She was a force. I hope I can be just like her.”
