Perinatal Psychotherapist and Matrescence Coach The articles I read were all related to motherhood and I felt as though the writer spoke directly to me.
If you’re reading this, it tells me that you would like to know a little more about me and how I got to where I am now i.e being a life coach and a Demartini Method Facilitator who works with mothers. I personally always love to read about someone I am in interested in following online or working with, I hope you enjoy what you read here on my page and feel free to message me if you have any quest
30/05/2026
Touched by sorrow, flavoured with grief and abundant in love.
Sometimes, not all the time, I feel my life in every single cell in my body.
The simplicity, the mundane, they take my breath away.
A mother’s love
I think of the mothers, always.
No mother is free until we are all free.
19/05/2026
Every Friday I stand on a bridge in my local area with a Palestine flag. I’ve been doing it for just over two years. I’ve been made aware recently of what some people think of that.
This carousel is my response and my invitation.
I stand there because a genocide is being livestreamed and I will not pretend otherwise. I stand there because my children sometimes stand with me, and I want them to know that solidarity is not contingent on certainty of outcome.
I stand there because silence has a cost, and I am not willing to pay it.
To those who shout at us, give us the finger, or ask why we don’t “go and fight”, I understand that my presence on that bridge is uncomfortable for you.
And to those who simply find it annoying to drive past every week, you are more than welcome to pull over and talk to us.
We don’t bite. And who knows, you might even want to join us.
Free Palestine. 🇵🇸
15/05/2026
Oh hands of time, what say ye about how slow you moved for the first few years of my motherhood to now whizzing round the clock?
My son is almost 13.
There are moments in time that I thought I’d remember forever but the details, the specifics of the hour, the day, have disappeared into the vastness of my lifetime.
But the feeling, oh the feeling, stays with me.
It is woven into parts of my soul that bask in the presence of my children.
A Mother’s Love ❤️🔥
*photo of a page from my book
There’s no map for who we will become even though we can feel like we’ve failed, gone off track or took the wrong turn.
I had a vision of the kind of mother I would be. I am almost 13 years into my motherhood and I can tell you that I have failed to live up to the fantasy version more times than I care to remember. And I can also tell you that I am in awe of the mother I am at times too.
Motherhood grabbed me by my heart and soul and dragged me down paths of self-discovery I had no idea existed. I ended up so far from who I thought I was that it often felt painful and lonely.
I felt lost.
In the midst of chaos and hurt and birth trauma and learning how to be a mother, I lost sight of myself. I was so dedicated to keeping them alive that I stopped paying attention to myself.
Becoming a mother fragmented my soul in ways I had not expected or imagined.
The time came where I was finally able to catch my breath. To notice the shattered parts of myself that littered the floor I walked upon. When I picked up the pieces, I immediately knew, they were no longer me. It was ok to leave parts of myself in the past and get excited for who I was becoming.
There are parts of me that still feel so new. Still feel like they’ve yet to emerge.
Now I don’t feel lost.
23/04/2026
“This is the sound of one voice”
It started with an idea, in the wee hours of the morning. It became a conversation with a dear friend ✨
Now it’s two voices offering the invitation, offering the call.
“This is the sound of voices two. The sound of me singing with you”
And then another voice says yes. And then another. Until the room we fill holds that which none of us should be carrying alone.
Sometimes the bravery is in showing up alone. And perhaps it’s also about discovering how deeply our roots were already reaching toward each other before we gathered.
That’s what we’re making space for on Monday 1st June.
Croí’s Anam Gathering ❤️🔥
Bective Mills Dome, Co. Meath.
Three hours. Cacao. Gentle movement.
Stillness. Words
€60 · limited spaces.
** And if you want to stay a while longer, we’ll be taking a sauna and a dip in the River Boyne to remind ourselves of what a joy it is to be alive ❤️🔥❤️🔥 This is an additional €15 to do. Completely optional. Completely worth it
Come as you are.
Jaq & Trish
(DM either one of us to save your space)
02/04/2026
In as much as I try to give words to the wonder and the love of motherhood, I do so because the intensity of claws at me.
Putting into words how I feel in a moment is like a release valve for me, it soothes the beast that prowls my soul, sometimes it feels like the feeling is determined to constantly disrupt my peace of mind, of which I have very little of if I’m being honest with you.
Even the love, the joy, the awe, at times feels too much.
I sometimes (a lot of the times) find myself stupified that the world has convinced us that becoming a mother is just one of many things. It doesn’t feel like that to me.
Becoming a mother is the ruin and wreckage of all of who I thought I was. It is the fire upon which I have died and risen from, a phoenix, a mother.
I would lay myself down in the fire every single minute of every single day if it meant I got to become the mother of Fionn and Molly in each and every lifetime but that doesn’t mean I cannot speak of what it feels like to have my skin flayed from my bones as a result of such great undertakings.
The love.
The rage.
The joy.
The grief.
The wonder.
The boredom.
The disbelief that these little beings are mine to mind for a while. That I am theirs.
There are no words expansive enough, sorrow filled enough, to capture what it feels like to be a mother. If I could, I would bleed myself for you to see so you could perhaps glimpse a little of what I am made of.
I am made of them, now. Not just me.
I am made of them
23/03/2026
This mother’s heart cannot imagine what this boy’s mother’s heart is enduring.
We, the mothers, cannot look away from the torture of other mother’s children. Boycott. Donate. Divest. Amplify.
Jawad Abu Nassar is the baby boy’s name.
palestine.network
May every single motherhood/parenthood account on any type of social media say his name and tag their political representatives, their local and national media outlets.
If mainstream media won’t acknowledge what was done to this baby, the least that we, the mothers, can do is to not let them away with their silence.
“I feel so lost but I don’t know how to describe this feeling.”
I have heard this from mothers more times than I can count. And every single time, my answer is the same.
Matrescence.
For nine years I have sat with mothers who say some version of the same thing: “I know something has radically changed in me since becoming a mother. I just don’t have the words to describe it all”
When a mother speaks about her struggles, the systems we go to for help often hands her a label. Postnatal depression. Anxiety disorder. Adjustment disorder. A chemical imbalance to be medicated until it’s gone.
And maybe she accepts it because it’s the only language on offer. But so many mothers I’ve spoken to have quietly rejected it, not because they aren’t struggling, but because the label simply doesn’t cover the deep ache and identity loss. It isn’t big enough for what they’re actually going through.
What they’re going through is matrescence.
A developmental transition, psychological, emotional, social, spiritual, financial, as profound as adolescence (see the work of Dr. Aurélie Athan) The concept has been studied and written about since the 1970s (thank you, Dana Raphael).
And yet I wonder if your GP has ever mentioned it to you? Has your midwife ever said the word? Maybe your public health nurse has brought it to your door?
I’m guessing, for most of us, the answer is no.
None of these people have mentioned it and that silence has a cost. It leaves mothers feeling like they have woken up in a different country and cannot speak the language, as Susan Maushart describes in her book ‘The Mask of Motherhood’. It leaves them believing they are failing, that they are not enough, that something is wrong with them.
What does it feel like to consider, even for a moment, that nothing is wrong with you?
You were never given the word. Never introduced to a concept that had the potential to transform your experience of becoming a mother.
Had you heard of matrescence before today? Tell me below.
