Matria is the place we belong to not through conquest, but through connection. It's the territory of care, of life taking shape, of community and support. A space where growing doesn't mean producing more, but reconnecting with who we are.

Matria is also a way of naming the wisdom of care, cooperation, cycles, the body, and nature as sources of knowledge.

Alma ("soul," in Spanish) speaks to our essence — what lives in us beyond roles, expectations, and demands.

Why Alma Matria?

Because we believe every woman carries within her a creative, nurturing force that expresses itself in infinite ways: in motherhood, in the capacity to care, to transform, to hold, to bring projects and relationships to life, and even to birth new versions of herself.

That whole process starts on the inside. In learning to listen to ourselves again. In remembering who we are beyond the roles we occupy.

Alma Matria was born to support women through their processes and life transitions, offering spaces to meet, share, understand themselves, and grow. Because when a woman returns to herself, she also transforms the world around her.

When we think about having a baby, we picture the pregnancy, the birth, the baby's little face. We're told life will change, that we'll sleep very little… but there's much less talk about a postpartum stage every mother goes through: the puerperium, often called the fourth trimester. And it's probably the most transformative phase of the entire journey into motherhood.

What exactly is the postpartum period?

The postpartum period (or puerperium) is the stage that begins right after birth. It's traditionally said to last about 6 weeks — the well-known "40 days." In recent years, however, perinatal psychology professionals have started talking about the extended postpartum period or emotional postpartum: a stage of transformation that stretches roughly through the baby's first two years, though some experts argue there's no clearly defined endpoint at all.

Why the "extension"? Because we're now recognizing not just the physical dimension of these changes, but the emotional one too. During the first six to eight weeks, the body gradually returns to its pre-pregnancy state: the cardiovascular, respiratory, digestive, and hormonal systems, among others, slowly recover.

But even once those systems return to how they were, the woman is no longer the same. The body recovers from birth, hormones reorganize, and at the same time, identity transforms. The sense of still being yourself coexists with feeling like a completely different person — with new priorities, a new routine, new worries, and new desires.

That transformation, driven by brain changes, hormonal shifts, and the bond with the baby, happens gradually. Becoming a mother doesn't happen all at once — it's a role that has to be learned and practiced. And that transition takes more than 60 days.

During the first months, mother and baby form a deeply connected pair. The mother's breathing, heart rate, and body temperature help the baby regulate his or her own physiological systems. For a newborn, the mother's body is the first safe environment. As French obstetrician Michel Odent put it: "The natural habitat of the newborn is the mother's body."

As the months go by, the baby becomes increasingly interested in the world around them, but still uses the mother as a secure base to explore from. That process of differentiation is gradual and takes time — for the mother too, who progressively holds two needs at once: staying available for her baby, and reclaiming space, interests, and time for herself. That separation is also something that's learned.

That gradual differentiation and individuation is what marks the end of the extended, or emotional, postpartum period.

What almost no one tells you

The social image of postpartum is idealized: a glowing mother, a sleeping baby. Mothers on social media with more than one child, spotless homes, a thriving career, and a body that looks like it never went through pregnancy. The reality can look very different:

• Sleepless nights that pile up week after week
• Constant doubt about whether you're doing it right
• The feeling of having lost not just your former identity, but your time, your space — everything that used to define you
• Loneliness, even when surrounded by people
• Changes in your relationship with your partner
• A body you no longer recognize

You are not failing. You are going through one of the deepest transformations there is. And you deserve to go through it with support.

Why having support matters

In other cultures and other eras, women lived through the postpartum period in community. Grandmothers, aunts, neighbors, and friends surrounded the new mother, caring for her so she could care for the baby. That was their mission — the most important and fundamental one. Even later on, child-rearing was shared too, leaving time and space for the mother to reconnect with her other roles.

Today, many mothers go through this stage alone, having to nurture and raise a child while also going back to being the partner, the friend, the professional they were before. And as if that weren't enough, comparing themselves to unrealistic images on social media. That's where the suffering multiplies.

There's no community. No real role models. No support. No one listening. It's the mother, her baby, and her own mind, swinging between total love and exhaustion, loneliness, and self-criticism, sometimes within seconds of each other.

Coming back to the tribe

Whether it's friends who are also mothers, a postpartum pilates or yoga class, a postpartum support group, or breastfeeding support, what matters is meeting other women who are going through the same thing. There, there's no judgment, no unsolicited advice, no competition. There's listening, understanding, and the certainty that you are not alone. You come to learn that what feels like an isolated experience inside your own head is, in fact, an almost universal part of motherhood — a phase that has to be moved through to make room for a new self, one where both the woman and the mother can exist.

Postpartum has a rhythm all its own. A baby doesn't understand schedules, productivity, or social commitments. Like any newborn, they respond only to their most basic needs: eating, sleeping, seeking closeness, crying when something isn't right. Suddenly, time stops being organized by the clock and starts being organized by another human being's needs. Nature is in charge now.

Adjusting to that new rhythm isn't always easy. A lot of the exhaustion doesn't come only from caring for the baby, but from trying to keep functioning as before: the same availability, the same social life, the same output, the same expectations of yourself.

What's exhausting about postpartum isn't its rhythm. What's exhausting is never stopping.

This stage has a slow, unpredictable rhythm that invites us, as Carmen Moreno puts it, to "do less in order to be more present." The harder we try to hold onto our old life, the easier it is for exhaustion and the feeling of never getting to everything to creep in.

On top of that, postpartum tends to be a stage of intense emotion. The emotional scale resets, and the extremes get more intense. Joy sits alongside fear. Falling in love with your baby sits alongside exhaustion. Gratitude sits alongside grief for the life you had before. That ambivalence isn't just common — it's part of many mothers' experience. Contradiction is part of postpartum.

So how do you tell the difference between discomfort that's to be expected and something that deserves more attention? There's no exact line, no single moment. This isn't meant to be a diagnostic guide either. But there are some signs worth paying attention to — signs that it might be time to stop carrying it all alone.

When sadness won't let up

During the first few days after birth, it's common to experience what's known as the baby blues: heightened sensitivity, crying easily, sudden mood swings, or a sense of vulnerability. It usually shows up in the first week and fades on its own within a few days.

But when the sadness persists, when crying becomes more and more frequent, or when it feels harder every day just to get up, enjoy things, or handle daily life, it's worth paying attention. That doesn't necessarily mean postpartum depression, but it does mean that suffering deserves to be heard.

When it's hard to bond with your baby

The image of an instant, love-at-first-sight bond between mother and baby doesn't always match reality. Bonding is also something built over time, especially when the birth was difficult, exhaustion is high, or the adjustment is simply proving harder than expected.

What deserves attention isn't the absence of overwhelming love from minute one — it's a persistent sense of distance, emptiness, or guilt for not feeling what you think you're supposed to feel. Talking about it tends to bring far more relief than we expect.

When your world starts to feel too small

It's common to need privacy during the first few weeks. Many mothers feel the urge to withdraw, protect that time with their baby, and limit visitors. That's also part of the postpartum period.

But if weeks go by and it keeps getting harder to leave the house, see people you trust, or ask for help, isolation can end up feeding the distress. Postpartum needs rest, yes — but it also needs a support network.

When your thoughts scare you

Many mothers experience intrusive thoughts related to their baby's wellbeing: unpleasant images, intense fears, or doubts that show up uninvited. These are far more common than we tend to believe, and on their own, they don't mean you're going to harm your baby.

The problem arises when those thoughts create so much fear or distress that they start taking up a large part of your day, shape your behavior, or keep you in a constant state of alertness. Sharing them with a professional is usually the first step toward understanding them and reducing their impact.

When you feel like you've completely disappeared

For a while, it's natural for the baby to be at the center of everything. Their needs are urgent and require a great deal of availability from whoever is caring for them.

But it's a very different thing to feel like you've stopped existing — not eating even when you're hungry, not resting even when someone else could hold the baby, no longer recognizing what you need or want. Caring for a mother is also part of caring for a baby.

Recognizing these signs doesn't make you a bad mother. It makes you a brave mother who wants to be well, for herself and for her baby.

Asking for help is also a form of care

Sometimes it's enough to put into words what's happening and discover that someone is listening without judgment. Other times, ongoing psychological support will be needed. There's no single way to go through postpartum, but there is one thing every mother deserves: not having to do it alone.

If you feel like this distress is taking up too much space in your day-to-day life, talking to someone you trust or to a professional can be the first step toward getting back something essential: the sense that there's also room for you in this new stage.

Becoming a mother is one of the deepest transformations there is. But in that process, many women feel like they lose something: themselves. The daughter, the friend, the professional, the partner, the creative one, the dreamer, the athlete. All of those women are still there, waiting to be remembered.

As life moves forward, we take on different roles. We start out as a daughter, granddaughter, niece, sister… and grow into a friend, a partner, a professional. Until a moment arrives that marks a real turning point: becoming a mother.

Because being a mother isn't just one more role added to the list. It's a role that colors all the others.

It encompasses and transforms them. None of your previous roles or activities are left untouched.

That's why becoming a mother means a genuine reorganization of your life. Internal changes (in brain chemistry, hormones, even sharper senses) combine with external ones (in your body, your activities, your routine). And in the middle of an extreme physical demand to keep the baby alive, your psyche is trying to find its new order.

Matrescence: when a new identity is also born

For a long time, women were expected to go back, as soon as possible, to the person they were before becoming mothers. Today we know that isn't how human development actually works.

There's a concept called matrescence, which describes the profound physical, hormonal, psychological, and neurological changes that come with the transition into motherhood. Its similarity to the word "adolescence" isn't a coincidence. Both refer to a moment of life crisis, a stage of chaos that brings a new order. From a developmental standpoint, motherhood is the biggest transformation of adult life.

And just as we don't expect a teenager to go back to being the child they were, it doesn't make sense to expect a mother to go back to being exactly the woman she was before. Transformation is an unavoidable part of the process.

This is no small process. For a long stretch — months, even years — this new mother may feel "strange" to herself. The sense of still being herself coexists with not quite recognizing herself at all: she may not enjoy the same activities, may not connect with the same people, and new needs may show up. Time takes on a different value and runs by different rules; with her partner, dinners on the couch turn into knowing glances exchanged during night shifts when the baby cries. Exhaustion, companionship, and love aren't expressed or experienced the same way anymore.

Going back to work is another moment that tends to confront many women with new questions — not just about balancing work and family, but about who they want to be, how they want to divide their time, and what place work now holds in their life.

Motherhood reorganizes your scale of values, your priorities, your projects. What was desirable before may not be desirable now. And you don't have to be and do everything you used to. You have to pause and listen. You need the calm, patience, and support to move through this time of change, to be able to see the new order taking shape. And from that new normal, to recognize and accept what's truly important to you at this point in your life. That's why, rather than trying to pick up your old life again, you have to put the puzzle back together in a new way.

Why coming back to yourself matters

When a mother completely forgets about herself, she isn't the only one who suffers. The relationships around her suffer. The energy she parents with suffers. The model her children receive of what it means to be a woman suffers.

Taking care of yourself isn't selfish. It's one of the greatest gifts you can give your family.

Reconnecting with yourself doesn't mean getting your old life back. It means building a new version of yourself that can hold the mother without making the woman who already existed disappear. And that takes time. Psychologists talk about the "parental transition" precisely because becoming a mother doesn't happen in an instant. It's a process of learning, adapting, and reorganizing your identity. Perhaps, rather than searching for immediate answers, this is a good moment to ask yourself new questions.

What still matters to you?

This isn't about going back to doing exactly what you did before becoming a mother. It's about asking yourself which activities, relationships, or interests are still part of who you are today.

What version of yourself do you want to hold onto?

You may no longer have time for everything. But there are probably parts of you — your creativity, your curiosity, your sense of humor, your need for movement or for silence — that still need a place in your life.

What can you let go of?

Not everything that mattered before has to keep mattering now. Motherhood also invites you to review expectations, projects, and demands that may no longer fit, and that can be released.

Who can help you take care of that part of yourself?

Reconnecting with yourself is rarely a solitary path. Your partner, your family, your friendships, or a support network can all help make room for you too.

The question isn't how to go back to being the woman you were before having children. The question is how to make room for the woman you are today.

I'm Lilén. I'm 35 years old, I'm Argentine, and I've been living in Málaga for five years now.

Up until three years ago, that would have been my whole introduction — a brief, very brief summary of who I am. But these last few years have changed so much that today I'm writing this in a simple, personal way, hoping to tell you something a little deeper.

Who am I today? And why do I do what I do? These are questions that can't really be separated.

Sometimes I feel like the path shaped me, more than I shaped the path. That life kept showing me where to go. And when I say "life," I mean the people who live in it — those two small human beings who transformed and redefined me without my fully noticing.

But I don't want to get ahead of myself. Let's go back a little.

From Patagonia to the world

I'm from a small town in Argentine Patagonia (one of the most beautiful places in the world, by the way), though I also lived in Buenos Aires, where I studied and earned my degree in Psychology.

After graduating, I didn't go straight into private practice. I felt a strong need to travel, to see the world, to expand. For several years I worked in different countries and very different fields, with the goal of exploring, learning, discovering.

Málaga, and the first awakening

In 2021, my husband and I settled in Málaga. That's when all that accumulated experience started to come together in service of my profession. I specialized in early intervention and began working at a foundation supporting people with autism. It was a valuable, meaningful stage.

The following year, I got pregnant. And that's when something started to shift.

During the pregnancy, but especially in postpartum, I felt very clearly that the world isn't designed for mothers. The pressure to "get back to normal" — back to work, back to your body, back to your commitments, as if nothing had changed… when in reality, everything had.

It's not just your routine that changes. Your identity changes. Your priorities change. The way you inhabit time and your own body changes.

I began to develop a deep interest in perinatal psychology and in working with women. I trained, read, researched. But when my leave ended, I went back to the foundation. I went back to who I was before. Because that's what you're supposed to do after having a child: go back.

Writing this now, I'm still struck by how easily we accept that premise.

The second pregnancy, and the decision

In 2024, I got pregnant again. And during that second maternity leave, the calling became impossible to ignore. I felt clearly that I wanted to work with women and motherhood — understanding motherhood in a broad sense, as an experience that runs through women's lives whether or not they have children.

Those were months of sorting through my thoughts, listening to myself, finding the courage. Until I made an important decision: I quit.

I quit to start over. To build work that was coherent with where I was in my life. To be present in my family life. To be honest with myself. To support other women through processes I had gone through myself.

Thank you for being here.

This is an English translation provided for your convenience. The original Spanish version is the legally binding text and shall prevail in case of any discrepancy.

In compliance with Spanish Law 34/2002, of July 11, on Information Society Services and Electronic Commerce (LSSI-CE), the following information is provided:

• Website owner: Lilén Sabrina Negro
• Profession: Licensed Health Psychologist
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