Starting again: How every chapter builds on the last

When my mother’s first child was born, the community gave her a new name: Mama Anthony. It was a badge of honour, a new identity shaped by the journey of nurturing life for the first time. Anthony introduced her to motherhood: the midnight cries, the baby on her back tied snugly in a suuka, freeing her hands- hands that would now extend to rock beyond the cradle. 

With every chore, every meal, and every act of devotion, my mother sacrificed quietly and celebrated boldly when her child blossomed. She summoned the instinct to protect, the patience to teach, and the courage to grow alongside her child. Then came her second child, a daughter. A new beginning. A child who mirrored her own gender, bringing with her a different kind of experience. Now she was mothering a girl, learning to raise a daughter and navigate a new emotional terrain. 

Yet even with this fresh chapter, she remained Mama Anthony, not because the second child mattered less, but because Anthony had marked the beginning of her legacy. He was the entry point into a lifelong role that would evolve but never lose its origin. Loss Later, she had a third and a fourth child, babies she carried to term but didn’t nurture long enough to see their toothless smiles. This introduced her to the feeling of loss, the ache of unfulfilled dreams. But even then, she was Mama Anthony—with a daughter, and now, two babies she didn’t cradle. Then came the fifth child, another daughter, calmer and gentler than the first. She arrived after a loss. Her mother’s arms cradled her with bated breath, just like the womb had, and she grew to give her, not just a toothless smile but the word Mama. Now she was experiencing the gift of second chances. She was Mama Anthony, with two daughters, and two babies in heaven. Then came the sixth child, who developed a disability after a polio vaccination.

The same desire to protect her child now became entangled with the very source of his vulnerability. The arms that had carried her other children now had to learn to carry him differently. Embrace the new She had to embrace a new kind of caregiving—one that required her voice in hospital corridors, a slower pace to let her son catch up, and greater strength to carry him even as he grew older and heavier. Though her world shifted drastically in this chapter of motherhood, she remained, steadfastly, Mama Anthony. With the arrival of each child, my mother grew in depth and purpose. Each child introduced her to something new: strength she didn’t know she had, wisdom she hadn’t yet earned, and a resilience that quietly took root and bloomed. 

Her motherhood was not just marked by six children, that would only be a count. Her true legacy lies in the landscape of skills, values, and quiet victories she gathered along the way. She became not just a mother of many, but a woman deeply formed by the many ways motherhood shaped her. If, like me, you’re standing at the edge of something new: a business, an innovation, a career, or an assignment, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed and wonder if you truly have what it takes. But remember this: you are not beginning from zero. You are beginning again, from experience. And that is the most powerful place to start. Even trees, when they shed their leaves and grow them back, do so with deeper roots.

The author, Belinda Agnes Namutebi is a Member of dfcu Women in Business Advisory Council