Before the app told you when to feed, you knew when your baby was hungry. Before the expert told you how to hold them, your body already knew how to curve around theirs. Before the algorithm told you what stage they were in, you could feel the shifts.

You knew. Not perfectly. Not with certainty. But with something deeper than data: instinct.

And then, slowly, so slowly you did not notice it happening, the apps and the experts and the advice became louder than your own knowing. And you started to doubt. Am I doing this right? Should I feed them now or wait? Is this cry different from that cry? Am I holding them too much? Not enough?

The more you questioned, the more you reached for external validation. The more you searched, the less you trusted yourself. Until one day you realised: you could not hear your own instinct anymore. This is not your fault. But it is time to remember. You were already enough before the first app. And you are still enough now.

What happened to maternal instinct

Maternal instinct is real. It is not mystical. It is biological. It lives in the ventral vagal branch of your nervous system, the part responsible for social engagement, attunement, and connection. When you are regulated, you can feel your baby. You can read their cues. You can sense what they need.

But chronic stress, overwhelm, and external expertise that dismisses your inner knowing all disrupt that signal. Modern motherhood is structured to erode maternal instinct. You are given conflicting advice from paediatricians, lactation consultants, sleep trainers, apps, books, blogs, and WhatsApp groups. You are overwhelmed with data, but starved of validation. And in the noise, you lose the signal.

The moment you started to doubt

For most mothers, there is a moment, or a series of small moments, where self-trust begins to fracture. The nurse who corrected the way you were holding your baby. The app that said your feeding pattern was wrong. The mother-in-law who said, we did not do it that way in my time. The paediatrician who dismissed your concern with, you are just a nervous first-time mother.

Each time you were corrected, overridden, or dismissed, you learned: my instinct cannot be trusted. But your instinct was not wrong. The systems around you were not designed to honour it.

What trusting yourself actually looks like

Trusting yourself does not mean always knowing the right answer, never needing guidance, or ignoring medical advice. It means feeling your way toward your baby, even when you are uncertain. Noticing that your baby seems unsettled, even if the app says they should be fine. Choosing to feed them when they are hungry, even if it has only been an hour. Holding them when they need to be held, even if someone says you are spoiling them.

Maternal instinct is not about perfection. It is about attunement. And attunement requires you to listen, not to the noise, but to the quiet, persistent knowing inside you.

The unlearning

To reclaim your instinct, you may need to unlearn some of what you have been taught. Unlearn that there is a right way to mother. Unlearn that you need an app to tell you what your baby needs. Unlearn that expertise always knows better than embodied experience. Unlearn that asking for help means you are failing. And perhaps most importantly, unlearn that certainty is the goal.

You will not always know. You will try something, and it will not work. You will make a choice, and later wish you had chosen differently. This is not failure. This is mothering.

The practice of returning

Reclaiming your instinct is a practice of returning. To your body. To your breath. To the quiet beneath the noise. The next time you are about to Google a question about your baby, pause. Place your hand on your heart. Take three slow breaths. And ask yourself: what do I already know? What does my body sense? What is my baby telling me, if I just listen?

You may not get a clear answer. But you will get something. A feeling. A sense. A direction. That is your instinct. And it has been there all along.

A note on the experts, including me

I have twenty-three years of experience working with mothers and babies. Training. Credentials. Research. And still, I want to say clearly: I do not know your baby better than you do. I can offer guidance. I can share what I have learned. I can hold space for your questions. But at the end of the day, you are the expert on your baby. Not because you have all the answers. But because you are in the relationship.

Quiet. Steady. Waiting. Not louder than the experts. But truer than the algorithms. Because love creates love, and you have always known how to love.

With care, Gayle.