Becoming a new mother in recent months has taught me more than any guidebook or lecture ever could. My daughter has become my greatest teacher, shaping the very core of who I am. I spent my whole life dreaming of motherhood—hours spent in my room caring for dolls and stuffed animals, imagining the day I would cradle a real baby in my arms. So when I learned I was unexpectedly pregnant, my tears were of pure joy. This was the moment I had been waiting for all my life.
As an Oglala Lakota Indigenous woman, family has always been a sacred and central part of life. During my pregnancy, I radiated pride and joy, feeling as though I truly glowed with every passing day. I even chose not to find out the gender of my baby, wanting her arrival to be a natural revelation. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of becoming a mother. My energy was consumed by a tiny human who weighed less than a gallon of milk, requiring me to breastfeed, soothe, change, and bathe her around the clock. I had imagined returning to my normal life just ten days after her birth, but the reality was far more overwhelming than I could have ever imagined.
Her birth on September 23, 2019, after an induced and challenging labor, brought a beautiful baby girl into the world. We named her Winona, meaning “firstborn daughter” in our traditional Lakota language. That first breath she took was the beginning of not only her life but a transformation in mine. The joy was immediate, a euphoric rush unlike anything I had experienced—but like the sunset, that euphoria soon faded, replaced by the raw reality: I was now a mother, and nothing would ever be the same.
As an only child raised by a single father, my life had always felt limitless. I had the freedom to come and go as I pleased, to pursue my ambitions without restraint. But now, returning home from the hospital, I was confronted by a new reality: the endless, repetitive, exhausting cycle of caring for my newborn. The Gypsy spirit I had always carried felt confined. I could no longer leave with just a wallet and phone—I was carrying a whole new life. The weight of responsibility was suffocating. I was terrified, isolated, and exhausted, struggling with postpartum reality in ways I had never imagined. I felt resentment for missing school and for not having my mother around to guide me. I wanted to be a supermom, but fear and doubt kept tugging at me relentlessly.
The struggle was both physical and emotional. I had counted down the weeks to my six-week postpartum check, hoping to return to the life I loved—my studies, my CrossFit routine, my independence. But I was shackled to a baby who depended on me for every breath, every need. My nipples bled, my body ached, and every step felt monumental, especially living in a third-floor walk-up apartment. I felt helpless, uneducated, and unprepared, haunted by the absence of maternal guidance. Yet, deep inside, a spark of resilience remained.
I remembered my own beginnings—raised by a single father who fought to take me off the reservation, giving me opportunities few could imagine. If he could create a world beyond limitations, I could find the strength to do the same for my daughter. I started with baby steps. At seven weeks postpartum, I dressed for the gym, placed Winona in her car seat, and left for a CrossFit class. I expected to return home in defeat if she cried—but she slept through the entire session. That small victory sparked a confidence I had never known. Now, at nearly three months old, she sits beside me during my workouts, eyes wide with curiosity, while I lift, sweat, and push forward.
Motherhood has shown me that women truly are limitless. We carry life, birth life, and raise life—this is our strength, our power. I am so blessed to have incredible women guiding me, reminding me that resilience is often mind-over-matter (and maybe some hormones, too). Each day, I strive to give Winona a life rich in love, heritage, and ancestral knowledge. I dream of walking the Red Road with her, honoring her ancestors, and instilling pride and strength in her young heart.
I am committed to pursuing my education, working toward a Master’s and perhaps even a Ph.D. in Native American Studies—not just for me, but for my daughter, my community, and the generations to come. Every lesson I learn is power, every challenge overcome is a testament to resilience. I want her to grow up surrounded by knowledge, support, and love, to know she is never alone. To all mothers navigating similar struggles: it is okay to feel weak, to ask for help. Motherhood is a village, a community of love and resilience. And through it all, we find our strength, one baby step at a time.
