Chapter 0 — The Reason

Before you read my story, I want to tell you why I’m writing it now.

I am not writing this from the middle of the storm. I am writing this from what came after.

I am a mother. I am a woman who nearly died. I am a woman who put her career aside, along with some of her illusions and parts of her identity, to create a family and who is now slowly beginning to rebuild herself.

During the summer of 2025, I didn’t know if I would make it — physically or mentally. I went through more than I ever imagined I could endure: the memories of a traumatic first birth, years of trying to conceive again, and a second birth where I nearly died. And yet, at the center of it all, there was always love.

My first daughter — who is now seven — is one of the greatest gifts of my life. She is beautiful, intelligent, kind, and deeply empathetic. From the very beginning, I felt overwhelming gratitude for her. Loving her came naturally, powerfully, and fully. And at the same time, I knew my heart had space to love more. I felt a deep desire to give her a sibling — not because she was “not enough”, but because love, in my heart, felt expandable. I wanted to grow our family. I wanted to give her the gift of another life beside hers. That longing carried me through nearly seven years of trying to conceive again — years filled with hope, disappointment, patience, fear, and quiet resilience. I carried these experiences quietly. Some of them felt too heavy to say out loud. Some felt too complicated. Some felt unsafe to share. And some — I didn’t yet have words for.

Over the years, I’ve realized that many women carry stories like mine — stories about womanhood, birth, motherhood, loss, fear, rage, love, disappointment, and survival — and yet feel alone inside them. We are taught to be grateful. To be strong. To move on. To not make others uncomfortable with our truth.

This column — and this platform, Woman on a Mission — is my way of breaking that silence.

Not to shock. Not to blame. Not to seek pity. But to tell the truth. To honour the parts of my story that were minimized. To give language to experiences that often stay hidden. And to remind other women: if you see yourself in these pages, you are not broken, weak, dramatic or alone. You are human. You are resilient. You are carrying more than others can see. You are doing your best. You are seen. You are understood and most importantly: you are not too much — you are just enough.

I am writing from my present — from a place of reflection, grief, gratitude, anger, healing, contradiction, happiness, and love. Some entries will be heavy. Some will be happy and light. Some will be tender, filled with love and others may be messy or unresolved. They are not written to perform strength. They are written to be honest.

This chapter exists because I am still here. Because I am healing. Because telling this story is part of how I stay. And because sometimes, speaking is how we survive. This is not just a story about trauma. It is a story about becoming. About losing parts of yourself and slowly choosing what to rebuild. About identity and the quiet power of reclaiming your voice.

This chapter is the beginning. Not because the story starts here — but because I am finally ready to tell it.

Dear Diary, thank you for holding this.

Until next time, 

your Woman on a Mission

-Do you have a story to tell? If you want to share - I'm all ears under on maurer_alexandra@yahoo.de anonymously or open, it's your choice. x