It started like any other day. I packed my son's lunch, double-checked the permission slip, and made sure we were both out the door in time for his school field trip to the zoo. The sun was shining, kids were buzzing with excitement, and I felt grateful to share this little adventure with him.
But underneath the normalcy, something wasn’t right. I’d been feeling off—tired, a little achy—but I brushed it off. I told myself it was probably nothing. Parents push through, right? That’s what we do.
By the time we got home that afternoon, something shifted. My body felt like it was shutting down. My heart was racing. I couldn’t get warm. I felt disoriented, and suddenly, terrifyingly weak. Within hours, I was in the ER. I remember the word “sepsis” being spoken, then “septic shock.” The doctors moved fast. IVs, monitors, teams of people working on me all at once.
Sepsis. That word didn’t mean much to me before. But now I know it’s a life-threatening response to infection. And septic shock? It’s when your body starts to give up. Organs begin to fail. It’s critical. It’s deadly.
I went from seeing gorillas and lions with my son in the morning to fighting for my life by nightfall.
It’s surreal, looking back. How one day can hold so much—joy, normalcy, then fear, and fragility. The contrast is still hard to grasp.
I survived. But nothing about me is the same. Sepsis changed me—physically, emotionally, mentally. It made me aware of how fast things can change, how important it is to listen to your body, and how precious every "ordinary" day really is.
As moms, we’re used to putting ourselves last. We push through headaches, exhaustion, pain—telling ourselves there’s no time to slow down, no room to be sick. There are lunches to pack, schedules to manage, tiny humans who depend on us. We tell ourselves, "I'll rest later. I'll go to the doctor if it gets worse."
But what if later is too late?
The day I went into septic shock, I had ignored the signs. I felt off, but I didn’t want to ruin a special day with my son. I didn't want to make a fuss. I convinced myself I’d deal with it tomorrow.
That could’ve cost me my life.
One of the hardest truths I’ve had to face is this: Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish. It’s necessary. It’s what allows you to keep showing up for your family. Your body doesn’t lie—when it's whispering, don’t wait for it to scream.
Go to the doctor. Reschedule the plans. Cancel the meeting. Ask for help.
You matter. Your health matters. You are not just a mom—you’re a human being with limits, needs, and a body that deserves care and attention. Don’t wait until it’s an emergency. Don’t let "busy" be the reason you ignore something that feels wrong.
Because your life is worth the pause.
