When Attachment Parenting Becomes Self-Abandonment (What I'll Do Differently With My Next Child)
I’ve had this episode sitting on my heart for months. It’s one of those topics that kept whispering to me, asking to be shared, processed, voiced. And I think that’s what this is, really—not a how-to guide, not a perfect Pinterest version of parenting—but a voice note to the universe about what I’ve learned. A reclamation of sorts. This was a podcast episode, raw and real, no script and spoken from the heart, and you can listen here if audio is your preferred format for deep landings.
This is for the mothers who sacrificed everything. For the women who handed over their entire identities in the name of conscious parenting. For the ones who never judged another mum publicly but carried so much shame privately.
This is what I’ll do differently the second time around.
The Shadow Side of Gentle Parenting
Let me say this up front: I believe in gentle, conscious parenting. I believe in secure attachment, responsiveness, connection, nervous system safety. But I also believe in the mother. And I lost myself entirely the first time around.
I overdid it.
I was so obsessed with doing everything right, being everything right, avoiding every possible trauma or wound that I forgot to see the one happening in real-time—mine.
And it very nearly broke me.
Postpartum: The Loneliest, Hardest Time of My Life
The first time around, I thought I was prepared. I had the home birth plan. I had the research. I had the doula—for pregnancy. But what I didn’t have? A postpartum plan, or any knowledge at all on how to handle a newborn (because “mother’s intuition” will just guide me, right?)
I assumed I’d be resting, breastfeeding in the sunshine, reading a book while my baby napped, maybe even having so much free time that I can start another business!
But the reality? My daughter Azura stopped napping at 8 weeks old. My nipples were raw and bleeding. I lost so much weight, I was just skin, bone, and tits. I had no time to eat, shower, or breathe. I was bouncing on an exercise ball in a dark room for hours, singing lullabies with tears running down my face for the entire first year.
I wasn’t just in survival mode. I was drowning.
I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t even know how to. And the guilt of that still sits in my body.
What I’ll Do Differently
Let me walk you through it—point by point, story by story. Not just what I’ll change, but why. The full truth.
1. I Will Be Supported (and I’ll Let Myself Receive It)
Postpartum doula. Non-negotiable.
Night nanny for the very start.
My partner will be involved—feeding, settling, doing nights, holding our baby.
I carried the full mental and emotional load last time, because I felt obligated to, that I had to. That this newborn was my responsibility, and that Sam, my ex and Azura’s dad, shouldn’t be burdened after a day of work.
This time, I won’t martyr myself. We parent together—or not at all, and I will be very certain in this when choosing my next partner.
2. I’ll Nourish My Own Body Too
Meal deliveries. Freezer stocked. An abundance of nutritional snacks.
Supplements. Postnatal care. Naturopath + chiropractic adjustments (not just for baby).
Last time, I wasted away. I didn’t eat because I did not have time to cook, and when I did receive a meal delivery service about 10 months in, I devoured it. Next time I’ll be more prepared.
3. I Will Have Secondary Birth Plans
I still deeply believe in home birth, it feels right and natural to me. But last time, I was naive. I refused to even research hospital transfers or interventions because I didn’t want to “manifest” anything going wrong.
That level of control was fear dressed up as faith.
Next time, I’ll still plan a natural birth—but I’ll also book the private hospital suite. I’ll have a bag packed. I’ll face all the possibilities and know that being prepared doesn’t mean I’m calling in doom.
4. I’ll Prioritise Sleep
I didn’t catch up on sleep until over 2.5 years into motherhood. It was tumultuous and I was in survival mode for at least that first year. Sam needed rest for work + the gym (and I didn’t want to be the burden who impacts change in his life), so I took every single night feed and wake up. Azura mostly fed to sleep too (something I’ll change), so it ended up just being all on me to be able to do it.
Next time:
I will express milk so others can feed them and the weight isn’t all on me, without the fear of the baby preferring a bottle over my breast (that really f*cked me up)
I will get at least one full night of uninterrupted sleep every week with my partner doing nights on the weekends.
I’m also open to bub being in his own room instead of co-sleeping, as Azura only slept through the night when she weaned (2.5yrs in). I still co-sleep with Azura now because it’s just her and I, but I really would love to be in bed with my partner again and have a full night sleep.
5. I’ll Have a Bedtime Routine (From the Start)
With Azura, bedtime was chaos. Midnight walks around the marina. Me in tears. Her screaming.
This time, I want rhythm. Flow. A gentle routine. One that feels good for me and baby, instead of rocking or feeding her in a dark room for hours on end, hoping for them to just pass out.
I’ll also show my next baby safety around falling asleep without being breastfed every time. I’ll honour their nervous system and mine.
6. I Will Let Them Play On Their Own
Last time, I never let Azura sit without me.
I didn’t scroll. I didn’t read, I didn’t game, I didn’t work or study.
I felt that if I looked away or did my own thing, she’d feel abandoned. And all of that stemmed from my own abandonment wound.
This time:
I’ll keep running my business.
I’ll be more relaxed and let them play on their own.
I’ll drink cacao, read my book, maybe even scroll a little, do some meditations or breath work or workout.
I’ll breathe. I’ll be human.
7. I Will Heal As I Go
I won’t wait until it all falls apart. I won’t shove my birth trauma down because the baby’s wellbeing is more important than my own. I’ll make time for myself in all the ways that matter.
I’ll get therapy. I’ll process. I’ll honour that giving birth—even beautifully—is a massive energetic and physical rupture.
And I’ll include my partner in that too. Because Sam was traumatised witnessing me go through it—and we never had space to process it together, which began the unravelling of the beautiful relationship we had together.
The Nervous System Is Everything
I see it all so clearly now: Azura couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t relax. She couldn’t be put down because my nervous system was in survival mode. She needed to be held constantly because I felt unsafe.
This time, I’ll focus on:
Food
Sleep
Glimmers
Community
Regulating myself first, so my baby feels it
It all starts there.
What I’ll Keep Doing
Some things worked so beautifully that I’ll absolutely do them again:
Baby-led weaning — Azura is the best eater I know.
Sign language — an incredible way for bub to communicate before they can speak (trust your little one, they’re more capable than we give them credit for!)
No screen time under 1 — I’m very firm on this and have been up to age 3. Babies need books, music, and faces, not pixels.
Babywearing — especially for the fourth trimester. It’s necessary in those first few weeks to get anything done around the house when they want to stay close.
Responsive parenting — no cry-it-out, ever.
No vaccines — my personal decision which I have deeply researched.
No daycare under 3 — again, I know I have the privilege and luxury to choose this, and I intentionally created my life and business to be able to be with my baby from 0-3. It’s what feels aligned for us.
The Bottom Line: I Matter Too
Last time, I forgot myself. This time, I won’t, and neither will my partner.
This time, I will:
Ask for help.
Allow rest.
Honour my body.
Say no when it feels heavy.
Say yes when it feels true.
Be the kind of mother who shows her children what it means to be whole.
If You’re Still Reading
Thank you.
This was a long one, and the podcast episode is an hour long, but it deserved to be. Because there’s so much pressure on mothers to just “figure it out”, to be perfect, to have no needs, to never get it wrong, and to carry the entire load themselves because it’s “just what you do” or “just how it is”.
But we are human and each of our experiences are different. So we can choose to try again, with more wisdom, more softness, more truth, more connection and awareness.
If you’re on your first, second, or fifth round of motherhood and you needed to hear this? I hope it gives you permission to rewrite your own story too.
Feel free to DM me on Instagram @caitypotts if anything landed. I love hearing your reflections, as this conversation truly is sacred.
With love, always—
Caitlin x
