Before I became a mother, I thought I was ready. I had spent nearly a decade preparing for my own journey into motherhood—studying birth, holding space for hundreds of women and families, witnessing the power of motherhood unfold in others. I knew what mattered: presence, safety, connection. And I had the knowledge, the experience, the tools. What I feared wasn’t birth itself. It was doing it all alone. I had seen what the absence of a village does to women. I had held the tears of mothers trying to meet the needs of everyone but themselves. I promised myself I’d do things differently. That I’d be surrounded. Supported. Held. And yet, when motherhood came—the village I thought I had didn’t.