Why the LALO?

The five years nobody prepares you for

After giving birth, it’s often said that it takes six months for internal wounds to heal, twelve months for physical recovery, two years for hormones to settle, and up to five years to rediscover your identity.

I remember reading this and thinking it was funny. Five years? No chance.

I had plans. I loved planning. I loved working, creating, doing things I was passionate about. I knew myself. I knew how I functioned. I was convinced this wouldn’t apply to me.

And then life said, hold my drink.

So I held it.

Because now — just a few months short of five years — I can say this with honesty: it really did take me five years to heal.

And the most significant healing?That’s only just beginning.

The first year: love and silence

The first year was hard. Beautiful — but hard.

We were new parents, new in town, and still living with the echoes of a pandemic. There were no baby groups. No familiar faces. My husband travelled a lot for work — not by choice, but because he had to. I didn’t drive. Long story. I still don’t — but wish me luck, I have my driving test in March, and it’s time.

So it was mostly me. The baby. The house. The days.

I loved our child deeply. Watching her grow and smile made me cry more than once. We spent as much time together as we possibly could. And yet — something was missing.

Community.

Someone to say, “This is normal.” Someone to casually invite us out for a chat.

Years two and three: moving, grief, starting over

In the second year, we moved again. After three years in a lovely town in the middle of the UK, we hoped this move would make life easier for my husband’s work.

It didn’t. He still travelled. The isolation grew heavier.

Grieving quietly became part of daily life. I started therapy — not because something was “wrong”, but because I needed to talk to someone to make sure I didn’t lose myself completely.

When our daughter turned two, my husband’s company suddenly vanished. Overnight. And once again, we had to start from zero.

I stayed home. Still no community. Still not much to do.

One of the main reasons I didn’t return to work or send our child to nursery earlier was language. We’re a trilingual family, and I felt deeply that the first two or three years mattered. I wanted to give her a strong language foundation before introducing another environment.

And it worked. She’s an incredible speaker now — sometimes we wish for silence — but we are so proud of how confidently she moves through different cultures and communities.

Trying to “get back” — and realising it wasn’t time

At two and a half, she started preschool. I took on a temporary job. On paper, it looked fine.

In reality? She wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy.

My skills were underused. Our daughter started having regressions. So I stopped.

I went back home again. Did the chores. Built a small creative business — polymer clay earrings, little projects, bits and bobs. I loved it. It changed over time, but it mattered.

When she turned three, something shifted. We had a genuinely good year. For the first time, it felt like things were falling into place.

And then — right before Christmas — my dad passed away.

The year everything felt heavy

The year after that was dark.

Anxiety crept in quietly. I gained more weight. There were moments where life felt closed in — like there was no way out.

But somewhere inside, I knew there was. Not immediately. Not loudly. But eventually.

I told myself to be patient. To wait.

And slowly, ideas began to form.

Why LALO began to exist

Even then, one thing remained missing: community.

I’ve always been part of communities. I’ve always organised things. And suddenly it hit me — if there’s nowhere to go, maybe that’s the point.

Maybe it’s time to create it.

A place where you could meet likeminded people. Have a chat. Have a crochet night. Play board games. Be with other mums. Or dads. Or both.

My husband felt it too. He wanted connection — not necessarily a pub, not noise, just space to talk.

That’s when I knew. This is where LALO starts.

Choosing myself — slowly, intentionally

Around the same time, I finally listened to a voice I’d ignored for years. I went back to school. I’m training to become a counsellor — something I always wanted, something I should have trusted myself with earlier.

I passed my theory. I signed up for my practical. I’m doing it now.

Then came another turning point: my health.

Years of stress eating, sugar addiction, weight gain, and severe osteoarthritis left me almost unable to walk. Knowing that every extra kilogram meant four more on my hips was the final wake-up call.

In November, I made a decision.

I called the hospital back home — an incredible team working with robotic bariatric surgery, offering a full year of aftercare and a strong support group. I chose to have a gastric sleeve.

It’s hard. I’m bruised. I inject myself every night. Swallowing hurts.

But I chose health. And I don’t regret it.

Five years later

So here we are.

Five years after becoming a mother. Five years after laughing at that quote.

It took me that long to heal. And now, something new is being born.

A new identity. A clearer vision. A community.

In the next post, I’ll share what LALO is becoming — and how it fits into this new chapter of life.

For now, this is the story. My five years, in a nutshell.