working while pregnant (the guilt, capacity and illness)

When I found out I was pregnant back in early February, I felt all the things you would expect. Gratitude. Excitement. Hope. But if I'm honest, I also felt fear.

Not because this baby wasn't deeply wanted, because believe me, they are wanted, but because I remembered.

I remembered the back pain. I remembered the struggles with my mental health in previous pregnancies. I remembered how much pregnancy asks of a body. And this time, I wasn't entering pregnancy with the same body I had before. I was already navigating chronic fatigue syndrome and I already understood what it felt like to live with limitations. And a part of me wondered how much more my body could hold.

Nothing quite prepared me for those first four months. Though, I'm not sure anybody could have been prepared for what I experienced.

People often speak about morning sickness as though it's something you push through. Maybe a few crackers, some ginger tea and carrying on as normal. That wasn't my reality. Far from actually.

I was incredibly sick. Most days, I barely left bed. Sessions had to be cancelled and rescheduled. My husband had to take over all household and kid duties. Walking to the bathroom made me want to vomit. But of course, it wasn't possible to simply stop working for four months. I hold space for people who are navigating some of the hardest seasons of their lives. I have commitments, responsibilities and clients who rely on that support.

So I rested where I could. I rescheduled where I needed. I adapted as best as I knew how. And I felt guilty. So, so guilty.

Not because anybody made me feel guilty. My clients have been nothing but understanding and supportive, they have been so happy for me too. But guilt has a way of showing up when your capacity changes.

I felt guilty for the sessions that had to move. Guilty for the messages I didn't reply to immediately. Guilty for not showing up on social media the way I normally would. Guilty for the newsletters I hadn't written. Guilty for the blog posts sitting unfinished. Guilty for not creating enough. Guilty for not marketing enough. Guilty for simply being human.

Now in the second trimester, things are different, but not necessarily easier. The sickness has eased, but the fatigue is relentless.

Having chronic fatigue syndrome already meant I was no stranger to exhaustion. But pregnancy has taken that exhaustion to another level. There are days where even simple things feel incredibly hard. Days where my body feels heavy before I've even begun. And yet life keeps moving.

I'm still a mum to two beautiful boys who need lunch boxes packed, games played, cuddles given and stories read. I'm still supporting my husband's business. I'm still running my second business. We're renovating. We have a puppy. We've had birthdays and social events.

Normal life hasn't stopped simply because my body has changed.

And somewhere amongst all of that, I volunteered to support TEDxNewy this year. I was excited. I genuinely wanted to contribute. But eventually, I had to acknowledge what my body was telling me. I couldn't do it. And it absolutely wasn't because I didn't care all of a sudden, or that I wasn't committed or didn't want to help. But instead, it's just because I had reached my capacity. Maybe even beyond capacity as it was.

Pulling back felt incredibly hard. There was disappointment. There was guilt. There was that same old familiar voice wondering whether I was letting people down.

I think so many women know this feeling. The feeling that our worth is somehow measured by how much we can carry. How much we can juggle. How much we can continue giving, even when we're running on empty.

Pregnancy has highlighted just how deeply this belief lives within me, even despite alllllll of the work I've done in my life to overcome it.

Because despite everything my body is doing every single day, growing a human being, increasing blood volume, building organs, supporting life, I still catch myself believing I should be doing more.

Isn't that incredible... that we can be creating life and still convince ourselves we're not doing enough?

Something I've noticed throughout this pregnancy is that slowing down doesn't just affect what I physically do. It affects identity. I like showing up for people. I like creating content. I like writing newsletters and podcasts and blog posts. I like supporting clients. I like contributing. I genuinely love my work. So when I can't show up in the ways that feel normal to me, it brings up grief because I didn't stop loving what I do, but because I've had to accept that I can't do everything the way I once did.

And maybe that is one of the hardest parts of any season where capacity changes. Not the physical limitations themselves. But grieving the version of yourself that could once do more.

At the same time, this pregnancy has been different in another way. Because of everything I've experienced in previous pregnancies, I'm supporting myself far more intentionally this time around. I'm prioritising my mental health. I'm listening to my body. I'm saying no more. I'm resting more. I'm asking for help. I'm being proactive rather than waiting until I completely fall apart.

And while all of that sounds wonderful, it comes at a cost too. Because every yes to my wellbeing is a no to something else. Every extra hour of rest means less work gets done. Every appointment takes time. Every boundary means disappointing someone. Every decision to honour my body requires letting go of the expectation that I can do everything.

And maybe that's what pregnancy has been teaching me more than anything... that capacity is not character. Needing support is not failure. Rest is not laziness. And slowing down doesn't mean I care less.

I've also noticed how much fear surfaced when I told clients I would be taking time off when the baby arrives. Not because I didn't deserve time with my baby. Not because I didn't trust the incredible professionals I could refer them to. But because I never wanted anyone to feel abandoned.

As someone whose own story includes abandonment and loss, I understand how painful those feelings can be. I wanted to make sure everyone had options. Referrals. Flexibility. Support. I wanted to make sure they knew they mattered.

And even after doing everything I could, it still felt hard. Because caring deeply can sometimes make boundaries feel painful. But I'm learning that being unavailable for a season is not the same as abandoning someone. I'm learning that people are more resilient than my fears tell me they are. And I'm learning that I don't have to sacrifice myself in order to care for others.

I think that's the invitation this season keeps offering me. To stop measuring my worth by my output. To stop seeing rest as something that needs to be earned. To stop believing that love must always come through self-sacrifice. To trust that I am still me, even when I move more slowly.

I think we often romanticise working while pregnant. We celebrate women who do it all. Who keep going. Who push through. Who carry impossible loads without complaint. But I wonder what would happen if we celebrated something different.

What if we celebrated women who listened? Women who changed plans. Women who rested. Women who acknowledged their limits. Women who asked for help. Women who stopped trying to prove they could do it all.

Because maybe strength isn't found in overriding ourselves. maybe it is found in our willingness to honour the season we're in.

This season won't last forever. There will be other seasons for productivity. Other seasons for growth. Other seasons for pouring into work and projects and dreams. But right now, my body is growing a baby. Right now, my body deserves compassion. Right now, my family needs presence more than perfection. And right now, maybe the most important work I'm doing isn't the work anyone can see.

Maybe it's learning, once again, that my worth was never meant to be measured by how much I could carry. Maybe it's learning that I don't have to earn rest. And maybe it's remembering that being human was always enough.

If you're in a season where your capacity has changed, whether through pregnancy, illness, grief, motherhood or simply life, I hope you know this. You do not have to prove your worth by exhausting yourself. You do not have to keep up with a version of you that no longer exists. And you do not have to do it all.

Some seasons are for building. Some seasons are for holding. And some seasons are simply for allowing yourself to be carried for a while.

There is no shame in that. There never was.

With love & support,

Shorina | Mindful Soul Collective

Holistic Counsellor, Wellbeing Coach & Business Mentor

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