In the first months of 2021, two doctors—on two separate occasions—delivered news that would forever change my life.
Before we get to that, let me remind you what was going on, globally. COVID was still dominating headlines. We had all adjusted to some version of working from home and, in big cities like Atlanta where I live, getting food and household goods delivered to our doorstep. Everyone had access to N95s by this point, but whether or not people chose to put them on was a different story.
Personally, this was a period of intense focus. I was going full-tilt with building my business that I co-founded with my sister. The company was still in the early phases and all of my energy was funneled into surviving that three-year mark where most companies typically fizzle out.
That February, in the middle of this “unprecedented time” and at peak professional capacity, I took a pregnancy test. Then another. Then two more.
High Highs and Low Lows
The sunlight dappled my bedroom floor as I paced back and forth. My husband was sprawled across our king-size bed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. His ease and excitement contrasted sharply with my shock as I reeled from the fact that I was pregnant.
We weren’t trying. In all my 39 years, I had never been pregnant. A week later, my OB confirmed that I was five and a half weeks along. Tears filled my eyes, not from fear or confusion, but sheer joy. Becoming a mom—especially at 40—was the first life-altering revelation that 2021 delivered.
A few weeks later, the second one came, but the tone couldn’t have been more different.
Gone was the warm sunlight and smiling husband. Instead, I was in a chilly exam room lined with posters about A1C levels. This time, it wasn’t me in the flimsy paper gown. It was my mother, who had been battling cancer for the last three years. She sat calmly beside me, prattling on about what we’d grab to eat afterward. I had no interest in food; I was bracing myself for what the doctor had to say.
My worst fears were confirmed when she walked in with that look on her face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bowden,” she said. “There’s nothing else we can do. We’ll need to transfer your mother to comfort care and arrange hospice.”
I walked into the hallway, sank to the floor, and cried. I knew, deep down, that my mother wouldn’t be there to meet my baby, and the weight of that truth crushed me.
Superwoman Takes Off Her Cape
I was preparing to become a mother, while at the same time, I was losing my own. The “superwoman” in me—who could solve everyone’s problems and who stayed ready so she didn’t have to get ready—was paralyzed for the first time in my adult life.
I was the oldest daughter. A business founder. A retired VP of Operations who had once led teams of more than 2,000 people. Not knowing what to do was new to me.
I drove home in a fog, barely able to see through the tears, and collapsed onto my bed. I sobbed until I fell asleep. The next morning, still overwhelmed by profound joy and deep sorrow, it hit me that I was feeling surprisingly rested. With a clear mind, it occurred to me that this was an assignment. With two literal lives on the line—my mother’s and my unborn child’s—the most important decision I could make was to take care of me.
So I pressed pause. For the first time in my professional life, I stopped. No new projects, no revenue-generating ventures, no side hustles. I had always kept my plate full. But this time, I slowed everything down and my only job became pouring into myself.
During this journey, I realized that to care for my mom in her final days and prepare to welcome my son into the world, I needed to be truly well, not just functional. Which meant I had to prioritize my self-care. And assemble the village I needed.
I started therapy to navigate the grief I was anticipating.
I enlisted the support of local family members and care services to help with my mother’s needs.
I found an incredible midwife who mothered me in ways my own mom couldn’t at the time.
The people who loved me stepped up, and I let them. I allowed myself to be cared for and, importantly, I started celebrating every win. I celebrated how beautifully I cared for my mother, how lovingly I created a nurturing space in my body for my son, and how I led with light even when a part of the looming outcome was heavy. I spoke to my son daily in utero, explaining the joys and sorrows prevalent in the world. I practiced asking for help where I needed it and honoring my emotions without falling into the trap of attempting to be “strong” and press on with business as usual.
On July 4th, 2021, my radiant mother, Jacqueline Renee Bowens, joined the ancestors. I was six months pregnant and had just finished a hike with my maternal wellness group. In the parking lot, I got the call. My knees buckled. And once again, I was on the ground in grief.
Three months later, I gave birth to my son, Zaire Aasir.
When I saw his face, I cried tears of relief and joy. I had asked my mom to guide him safely into this world, and I could feel her presence with us.
Because I had chosen to pour into myself, my mother’s best days were in her last days, and my son entered the world surrounded by peace. And I came through it deeply connected to myself, my lineage, and my son.
This is the power of true multidimensional self-care.
After Zaire’s birth, I continued to choose myself. Namely, in those bleary first few months of motherhood, I learned to redefine rest as productivity. I unlearned the belief that my worth was tied to constant doing.
When I was ready to un-pause and return to work, I did so with a renewed sense of clarity. Lucrative projects and ideal clients flowed effortlessly to me, and my business soared. Why? Because I had doubled down on self-care and self-celebration. These essential practices help me today, years later, live a busy life without burning out.
You might be thinking, “That’s great for you, Lakila, but I don’t have that kind of support. I can’t afford to pause.”
And I hear you. But in a world that keeps asking you to put yourself last, it takes courage and fortitude to prioritize yourself.
Don’t wait for the “right time” to care for yourself; there’s no better time than now. Start by believing that you are worth prioritizing.
When mothers prioritize themselves, everyone and everything in their orbit benefits. So take this as your invitation, your permission slip: Wherever you are on your parenting journey, prioritize your self-care. Promote your own creativity and brilliance. Celebrate your wins, out loud.
You deserve to be the most well-cared-for version of yourself.
This original essay features excerpts from the author’s book, “The Sho’ Nuff Principle: A High Achieving Woman’s Guide to Self-Care, Self-Promotion, and Self-Celebration” (Oct. 2025)
