I never imagined that the moment I faced a huge life challenge would be the exact moment everything would come together.

In the summer of 2020, as the world grappled with the uncertainty of lockdowns and social distancing, I was navigating a very different kind of isolation, the kind that comes from sitting in a neonatal intensive care unit, mask on, heart shaky, beside a baby born three months too early.

She was due in October, but made her dramatic arrival in July, and nothing could have prepared me for the weeks that followed. With no baby bag packed and no clothes we were brought into the hospital as a precaution as the Braxton hicks I was experiencing were far too early! With two children already depending on me, the news that this baby would arrive so soon and so small left me in a daze. It all felt surreal.

But the strange thing about trauma is how it activates something ancient in us. My brain, like many mothers before me, went straight into fight-or-flight mode. And I fought.

In the stillness of that NICU ward, surrounded by fragile newborns and limited to brief, distanced visits due to COVID restrictions, something unexpected began to take root. Between the relentless rhythm of pumping milk every four hours and whispering stories of Alice in Wonderland to my daughter as she lay cocooned in wires and hope, I had a moment of startling clarity: I was going to pivot. I was going to create a future not just for her, but for me. Feeling like a human cow and having a brain like a sieve still didn’t hold me back. I knew it was going to be a tough transition, but my gut said now was the destined time.

That clarity came to life when I received a call from the admissions tutor for an implant course. I had been on their waiting list for a postgraduate implant dentistry programme for years, and out of the blue, a spot had opened up. Someone had dropped out. They asked me if I wanted it. In that moment, with no childcare plan, no mental preparation, and no real way of funding it, I simply said yes. They had asked me yearly in the past, but I simply did not have the gumption or the funds.

All I knew was that the NHS work I was doing no longer stimulated me, and I had already tried every avenue – worked as a final year dental tutor at the Manchester dental hospital, been an educational supervisor for vocational trainees and all sorts. I had a gut feeling, and I followed it. I was already on maternity leave. The rest would work itself out. It had to.

But starting the course two weeks late proved far tougher than I imagined. This wasn’t a course you could casually catch up on. We were expected to submit a research-based essay/discussion every single week, 500 words, expertly referenced, summarising complex journal articles and clinical approaches. With hormones surging, little sleep, and the weight of a NICU baby’s survival on my chest, I honestly considered giving up.

The emotional instability I experienced was unlike anything I’d ever faced. It was a completely normal part of the flood of hormones that surge through our bodies after birth, especially in high-stress environments, but it was still incredibly difficult. I felt overwhelmed, anxious, and raw. My husband gave me unwavering support.

One thing that made a significant difference was working with my personal trainer. He helped me channel all of that emotional energy into something positive: strengthening my body, regaining control over my mindset, and transforming how I felt, inside and out.

Then there was a little pocket of escapism that saved me in more ways than one: my friend at Body Barre Boutique, Michyla, had just launched her business during lockdown, and it gave me something light, joyful, and just for me. Whether it was skincare, self-care, or just a chat about anything other than hospitals and coursework, it brought back a sense of femininity and peace I’d lost track of. She created a gorgeous studio where you could work out, vent and find peace.

There were tears, panic attacks, even moments where I doubted my own sanity. But two men in my life anchored me: my husband and my uncle. Their unwavering belief in me, their calm words, and their practical support —everything from helping with feeds to encouraging me when I wanted to quit —kept me upright. They didn’t just enable my journey; they helped shape it. Without them, I would not have had the confidence or willpower to keep going. My old uni friend George Pynadath gave me an extra push by setting up a female WhatsApp group known as “ Women in Dent Imp Network “ for me to see that there were other women out there who were also excelling in this field.

One moment that stands out was the drive to Cambridge for an OSCE exam. My baby was still very young, and I had to pump and dump breast milk the entire journey, discarding that “liquid gold” to maintain supply while my body and mind juggled education and motherhood. Anyone who has breastfed will understand how painful, physically and emotionally, that process is. Honestly, that may have been the hardest part of learning implants.

As my daughter grew stronger, so did I. I identified gaps in my own knowledge, many of them revealed during long hours sitting alone in the NICU, thinking about everything I had and hadn’t yet learned. I made a decision: if I wanted to excel, I had to own those weaknesses and do something about them.

That’s when I pursued further training with intention. I completed the renowned Implant Success course in Brazil. I enrolled in the all-surgery practical oral surgery course at Dentale. I said yes to job roles that weren’t always glamorous, but which gave me the hands-on experience I knew I needed, opportunities to refine basic surgical skills, work under pressure, and learn from every patient, clinician and every procedure.

My pursuit of an international knowledge base has taken me across the globe, from Venice to Brazil, and this month, to Geneva, Charmaine, and Bulgaria. By the end of the year, I plan to attend an international implant conference in Monaco. Each destination is a reflection of how far I’ve come, not just geographically, but personally and professionally.

Eventually, I took on instructional and tutoring roles, passing on what I’d learned to others while continuing to grow myself. My future aspirations now include full arch rehabilitation training and undertaking a master’s degree to formalise and deepen my expertise. Women often underestimate their resilience until circumstances force us to dig deeper than we knew we could.

It’s in those moments, when there is no one else to rely on but yourself, that you realise: there are no barriers you cannot overcome. You are the force. You are the future. But even the strongest women don’t rise alone.

I want to take a moment to thank all the incredible nurses in the NICU and dentistry. What they might not realise is how much therapy they gave me day by day, moment by moment, in my most vulnerable state. Their quiet strength, gentle words, and tireless care carried me through many days I didn’t think I could face.

To my four sisters spread across Dubai, Malaysia, and Birmingham, thank you for every late-night WhatsApp, every moment of calm you brought. To my mum, dad, and in-laws: thank you for holding down the fort and caring for my other children so I could pursue this dream. It truly does take a village, and I’m lucky mine is full of love.

To all the mentors and friends who have shaped this journey, I offer my deepest gratitude, especially Dr Kash from Dentale, Dr George Pynadath, my current mentor, Dr Karim, and my Brazil course tutors, Nadeem, Wasim and Imran. My colleague Monika, who inspired me at work to pursue what I loved. Your knowledge, encouragement, and faith in me have left lasting marks on both my career and my heart.

Now, when patients ask why I chose to specialise in implants and why I seem so deeply invested in their outcomes, I tell them a version of this story. Not always the whole thing. But enough for them to understand that this isn’t just dentistry for me. It’s legacy. It’s healing. It’s love, in the most unexpected of forms.

To all the dental mums reading this, especially those in the thick of sleepless nights, career uncertainty, or personal storms, know this: the hardest seasons don’t just break us. They can also remake us.

Sometimes, it takes a NICU, a lockdown, and a miracle baby to show you exactly who you were always meant to be.

Also please do not be sucked in by Instagram or any social media, it’s all marketing, no one shows the blue days and there are many but you have to keep focused and push forward. We do have a different challenge to men, but we are the warriors, and they are beside us.