“My daughter remembers picking up on my sadness, which makes me ache. But she also says it gave her depth and empathy”

Dr Nerina Ramlakhan, 61, lives in Kingston, Surrey. A sleep expert and author of four books on sleep, energy, trauma and healing, she became a mother at 40, just two years after losing her sister.

“To be completely honest, I found motherhood tough and bewildering. I was 40, still reeling from the sudden death of my sister when I unexpectedly found myself pregnant with Maya. I discovered it the day after running a marathon; we were celebrating at Carluccio’s when I ran to the loo and threw up. I worried that the 26.2 mile run might have caused problems, but I booked a scan immediately and it showed she was fine. In fact, her due date turned out to be the anniversary of my sister’s death. Magical, but threaded through with grief.

“After Maya was born, my career took off; I wrote my first book, Tired But Wired, and found myself on TV and radio. I was considered a trailblazer in the sleep and wellness world, but sometimes felt guilty about nursery drop-offs… then guilty about not feeling guilty. Then, when she was seven, Maya developed crippling migraines – to the extent I’d have to take her to A&E in the middle of the night. My husband was doing long shifts, so I was handling the brunt of it all, and then I unknowingly entered perimenopause (no one talked about it then) which made everything feel so much harder. Our marriage collapsed.

“Through it all, my work was where I felt in control; I wrote another three books, began speaking via bigger platforms and to bigger audiences – but looking back, I can see I sometimes used it as a crutch; a means to escape. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I didn’t even realise I needed help. I was highly functioning and, often, hiding my own needs by helping others.

“Motherhood changed me not just as a woman, but as a human being; it softened me. It taught me to rest, to cry, to allow myself to be vulnerable, to find safety within myself rather than without. Maya – now 21, sensitive and wise – has always and continues to teach me how to meet life with gentleness. I’ve had to learn how to continually keep letting go and acknowledging that Maya also has her path and I can’t make life perfect for her, much as I’d want to, but it gives me great joy to hear her laugh and to know that she is feeling safe in herself. She doesn’t live with me now but I love that she knows she can just come over and hang out; that there’s no need to talk if she doesn’t want to. I just hold space for her to rest.

“What do I regret? Not much. I never really engaged in any ‘school gate’ narratives, and I always made a point of shutting out the noise and listening to my own intuition. I would, though, tell my younger self to slow down, ask for help, stop striving for perfection. That what mattered weren’t the “perfect” holidays but the silly, spontaneous moments: camping, laughing until our sides hurt. Maya remembers picking up on my sadness, which makes me ache. But she also says it gave her depth and empathy. And today she tells me my work inspires her. That’s enough.”

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