When I first stepped (or wheeled) into the NICU to see my baby, I was overwhelmed. The machines, the alarms, the unfamiliar routines, and the weight of the unknowns hit me all at once. The NICU wasn’t part of the plan. Suddenly, I was trying to figure out how to be a mom in a space that didn’t feel like home.

Over time, I discovered that small actions, quiet rituals, and mindset shifts helped me stay grounded. These simple things didn’t just help me survive the NICU stay: they brought comfort, joy, and a sense of connection.

NICUs are built for safety and healing, not for comfort. The sterile environment can feel intimidating at first. But you can bring softness into the space with small, familiar touches. I brought books to read to my baby. When she could finally wear clothes, I carefully chose soft onesies and filled her drawers. I kept one of her blankets nearby and brought my own to stay warm during long bedside visits. Having snacks and water on hand also helped me stay nourished. These small comforts reminded both of us that this was still our family’s story, not just a hospital stay.

In the NICU, milestones look different. They aren’t about first steps or first words. Instead, they might be measured in grams gained, in moving off oxygen, or in trying a bottle for the first time. I learned to celebrate everything. The first outfit. Fewer wires. Holding her without monitors. Every step forward felt like a win. These moments helped me focus on progress, even when it came slowly.

Kangaroo Care, also known as skin-to-skin contact, brought me healing and calm. It helped regulate her heart rate, temperature, and breathing. More than that, it made me feel like her mom, not just a visitor. Holding her tiny body against mine reminded me of our connection. Those moments grounded me and gave me the strength I needed.

The NICU chapter feels long when you’re in it, but one day it becomes a memory. Taking photos and videos helped me tell that story. I documented her first outfit, the keepsakes the nurses gave us, the machines, and even our quiet moments together. These photos became reminders of how strong she was and how much we had already overcome.

Watching your baby connected to machines and surrounded by medical staff can make you feel helpless. I started to view my daughter as a warrior. She was fighting battles I couldn’t fight for her. Her strength inspired me every single day. Reframing our journey helped me focus less on fear and more on her courage.

The hardest part for me was remembering to care for myself. The NICU consumes your thoughts, energy, and time. But I learned that I couldn’t care for her unless I also cared for me. Stepping outside for fresh air, grabbing a warm drink, or taking a short break allowed me to reset. Those little acts of self-care made it possible for me to keep showing up.

The NICU is a journey full of fear, love, resilience, and hope. As a NICU mom, I found strength in the little things: creating comfort, celebrating progress, and leaning into love. If you’re walking this path, please know you are not alone. Your story may not look how you imagined, but it is still powerful, beautiful, and yours.

One day, you’ll look back and realize that while your baby was fighting, you were too.

This blog post was written by our Chicago Family Doulas admin Courtnay Copeland who is a proud NICU mom to her daughter, Violette, who was born at 32 weeks. Her experience navigating the NICU journey ignited a deep passion for advocacy and supporting other families walking a similar path.