When I became a mother, I knew my life would change.
What I did not know was that my identity would begin asking questions too.
There were days when I wondered if I should pause everything else — stop working, stay home, and give all of myself to my baby. Days when the guilt felt louder than my ambition. Days when I felt unsure of how to be both: a mother and a woman with dreams of her own.
Every time I came close to losing myself in that doubt, my mother brought me back.
She reminded me that motherhood does not mean disappearing. That independence is not selfish. That a woman deserves an identity beyond being a mother, wife, daughter, or daughter-in-law.
She reminded me that standing on your own feet is not just ambition. It is self-respect.
For years, I thought my boldness, intelligence, and strength came from my father. But with time, I realised how much of me came from my mother too — the part that keeps going, the part that holds responsibility, the part that refuses to let dreams quietly die.
Recently, when my baby’s nanny left suddenly, my mother opened her home and simply said, “You go to work. I will take care of her.”
Since then, every morning, I leave my daughter at my mother’s home and come to work with peace in my heart. That peace exists because of her — and because of my maasi, who has stood beside us with the same quiet, unconditional strength.
Together, they give me the safety to continue.
And then there is my sister — thirteen years younger than me, but somehow carrying the fire of someone far ahead of her years. She pushes me, teaches me, keeps me updated with the world, and reminds me of the boldness I sometimes forget I have.
So when I think of the Alfa women in my life, I see three.
My mother, who reminds me not to lose myself.
 My maasi, who gives me the safety to keep going.
 My sister, who pushes me toward the woman I am becoming.
They do not ask to be celebrated.
They simply become the reason others are able to rise.
That is the Alfa in them.
And through them, I keep finding the Alfa in me.