The Birth of AlcheMoms: Transforming motherhood through self-love

It’s barely midday. I sit on the floor of my home, holding my months-old baby as she cries inconsolably. My other daughter, only two years old, clings to my clothes, sobbing. Both need something from me, yet I am paralyzed. My heart pounds uncontrollably, beating like a drum, marking the rhythm of a panic that threatens to overwhelm me.

The air grows heavy, and each breath feels like a struggle. A knot tightens in my chest, making it hard to inhale. My mind fills with chaotic thoughts, while every sound around me amplifies, becoming unbearable. Then comes the anger—an all-consuming wave of heat rising from deep within, ready to overflow.

Almost on autopilot, I place my baby in her crib and gently unclasp my older daughter’s hands from my clothes. I rush to the bathroom, lock the door, and there, the anger finally erupts. My screams bounce off the walls, and the pounding of my fists reflects the despair that consumes me. On the other side of the door, my daughters cry, and guilt, fear, and shame wrap around me like a whirlwind, threatening to pull me under completely.

Love and Compassion: The Beginning of the Journey

In those dark moments, I felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. There were days when I thought my daughters would be better off without me. In the past, I had heard stories of mothers who crossed tragic boundaries with their children, and I judged them harshly, unable to understand how a mother could reach such extremes.

But today, after experiencing the challenges of motherhood firsthand, I see those mothers with empathy and compassion. I no longer ask how they could do such a thing; instead, I wonder what brought them to that point. No one teaches us how to navigate the emotional avalanche that motherhood brings.

While I was fortunate not to cross that line, I know how close I came. However, my story took a different path. I found the strength to raise my hand, even though it trembled, and I asked for help. My husband supported me, and with medical guidance and the right resources, I realized that I was neither alone nor broken.

It has been a slow and difficult journey, but step by step, I transformed that anger into deep love for myself and my family.

Why AlcheMoms?

AlcheMoms was born from this inner struggle and the process of realizing that, to become a better mother, I first had to learn to be compassionate with myself. Motherhood is not a journey that can be traveled on autopilot. It requires pauses, self-care, and tools to help us navigate difficult emotions without losing ourselves in them.

This project is for you, the overwhelmed mom, the one who yells and later cries with guilt. It’s for you, who sometimes wonder if you were made to be a mother. It’s for you, who questions if this is the life you wanted and feels alone in your struggle.

AlcheMoms is a space to walk alongside you, reminding you that you are not alone and that those feelings do not define you. This is not about normalizing anger or resentment but about recognizing them as signs that something needs to change. It’s a call to look inward with love and curiosity, rather than judgment.

Transforming Motherhood, One Moment of Self-Love at a Time

At AlcheMoms, we don’t offer magic solutions or perfect paths. What we do offer is a constant reminder that self-love is the foundation of a more conscious and fulfilling motherhood. Here, you’ll find resources, meditations, and tools to take care of yourself—because when you are well with yourself, you can be better for your children and family.

Each day is a new opportunity to transform exhaustion into gratitude, anger into compassion, and chaos into small moments of peace. This project comes from the deepest part of my heart, with the intention of accompanying you on your own path of transformation.

Because motherhood is not only about raising children—it’s about rediscovering ourselves in the process.

Welcome to AlcheMoms, where every step toward self-love is a step toward a more conscious and meaningful motherhood.


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