I didn't build this from a boardroom. I built it from a hospital bed. Again. And again. And again.

My first C-section was an emergency. I came home carrying a beautiful baby and a shame I did not fully understand yet. The question "was it a natural birth?" followed me everywhere. And for a long time I let it.

My second came just one year later. Two babies under one. No village. No postpartum support. I healed just enough to function — and told myself that was enough. It was not.

By my third I had found my voice. I did my research. I advocated for myself. I chose what was right for my body and my baby — and I stopped apologising for it.

My fourth brought postpartum depression. Not because I did not love my baby. But because I was drowning in silence and nobody around me could see it.

My fifth was my most complex. High risk complications. Placenta Accreta. Placenta Previa. Polyhydramnios. I changed hospitals the day before my baby arrived. I walked into that operating theatre holding onto faith and everything I had learned across four previous surgeries. God carried me through. And I came out the other side with a testimony and a mission.