From High-Risk Pregnancy to Wild Motherhood: How I Found Myself Again

By Finn van der Aar

Trying to Conceive and a High-Risk Pregnancy

Trying to conceive and pregnancy were nothing like I’d imagined. I watched friends “effortlessly” get pregnant as more and more months ticked by. I remember sitting in a McDonald’s car park crying to my best friend after a year, thinking maybe it wasn’t going to happen for us.

Little did I know, I was already a few weeks pregnant. Yes — we were finally here.

From six weeks on, I was considered a high-risk pregnancy. Constantly in pain, constantly in fear. Consultant meetings every other week. Nauseous every day. On medication for most of my second trimester. I was put on sick leave — as a self-employed marine biologist in marine construction, it was financially devastating.

When I was cleared to exercise again, I built up to swimming five days a week in the pool or sea. My husband and dog Bonnie would come to the beach so I could free-dive close to shore (more like snorkelling with big fins, if I’m honest). I even felt my daughter's first kicks in the pool — I knew instantly she’d be a water baby too.

A Powerful Birth Experience

After being truly rocked by pregnancy, the birth itself was incredible. My snowboarding, mountain biking, mom-of-two friend came over and prepped me like I was going into an ultramarathon. Her sage advice — “this is the pain of effort, not illness” — stayed with me the whole time.

I was armed with a backpack full of snacks and my “Rock & Roll Birth” playlist (think ZZ Top and QOTSA). I managed the one-hour drive to the hospital and laboured almost medication-free, mostly with the aid of water (birthing tub and shower) and my awesome husband coaching me the whole way.

Early Motherhood and Feeling Strong

As someone who’s fiercely independent and often likes to be alone, I was surprised that motherhood felt right from day one. Those early months were soft and supported. I brought her everywhere. I swam, even surfed. I hiked with her in a pack carrier.

I felt strong.

Grief, Moving Countries, and Losing Myself

It wasn’t immediate, but the next two years of my daughter’s life were tough. So many difficult things happened. We moved — Ireland to the Netherlands, then Spain. Four different houses. One of my dearest, closest friends died a few weeks after my daughter turned one. There were more setbacks than I care to detail.

It felt relentless. I was tired. I felt old.

Before all of this, I would have described myself as playful. Bubbly. Lucky. When hard things happened, I would have seen them as a path to something else that was meant for me.

But somewhere in the moves, the grief, and the instability, that lucky feeling died out. I stopped tending to myself. My best friend was horrified to find me one day using some random junk sunscreen as my moisturiser. My hair was lank and uncut. All my clothes had become black, grey, and unflattering.

The colourful surfer girl was gone.

Healing Through Adventure and Community

I didn’t have one “aha” moment exactly that pulled me out of the fog — but many little ones.

I had constant hip pain from the time my daughter was about one and went to an osteopath healer. He told me physically there was nothing wrong, but this is where grief is stored. It felt true.

I joined an MMA gym and got punched in the face by a pro kick-boxer. I realised I’m not made of glass. I can handle tough things.

We bought a little apartment by the sea on the coast of Granada and found out it was above a marine reserve. We often see dolphins from our local beach. I signed up for an advanced version of my marine qualifications and a conference in the Azores Islands.

The trip was the breath of life I needed.

I went to sea with amazing mothers just like me, recording sightings of orca and blue whales. I climbed mountains, swam in waterfalls, and accidentally dyed my hair orange in an iron-rich hot spring.

I felt wild.
I felt alive.
I felt lucky again.

I ended up addressing the 750+ strong conference delegation to highlight the barriers mothers face in the marine sector and held an informal gathering, Motherhood in Marine Science. The response was overwhelming. I’ve never felt less alone.

I went surfing with an amazing mom who owns a surf school on the island. The chats with her reminded me of something I’d lost from those early months — you can live this wild life and bring your babies right along with you.

A Surf Moment I’ll Never Forget

Fast forward to the end of the summer. We set off in our campervan for Cádiz — my husband, daughter, and I.

There, I experienced one of the best moments of my life: dropping in on a wave and seeing my husband holding my daughter at the water’s edge, her entire face lit up and cheering with her little fists in the air.

It was hard to tell with the saltwater, but I was probably crying.

Now we call ourselves adventure chicas — Team Chicas.

Reclaiming Playfulness and Identity After Motherhood

Late last year, I sold almost all my wardrobe and bought an entirely new one — sustainably, secondhand. I made it a game: I could only use what I sold to buy more.

Piece by piece, playfulness returned.

My daughter even noticed and said, “Mama, I love your new clothes. Colour. Much better.”

This year we brought her to the snow for the first time and she freakin loved it. Howling with delight for eight hours straight. I snowboarded while she and my husband tobogganed, and I experienced powder snow for the first time — hooting and hollering like a little kid too.

The next day, I sold my ergonomic office chair and bought my first snowboard at 35.

Recently, housebound during some back-to-back storms, we painted a mountainscape mural on her bedroom wall together. I was amazed that this high-energy outdoor girl had the patience to paint for hours on end.

We had so much fun chatting about all the adventures we have coming up. Her new snowsuit and boots. An upcoming surf trip with friends from Sweden. Hiking. Snowboarding.

And suddenly I could see it, laid out in front of me.

Not just the next trip — but years of them.

A lifetime of adventures.

Team Chicas.