The energy in the room couldn’t have been more tense. Some women were yelling, telling their new friends to stand up and leave. Others were glued to their seats, crying in red-carpet-worthy gowns. Contestant Andromeda Peters was in the middle of it all.

A licensed therapist since 2017, Peters felt compelled to help. She instructed the women to close their eyes and feel their backs against the chairs, to feel their feet planted firmly to the ground, some in their 6-inch stilettos. Then she began to lead the group through a breathwork exercise: Breathe in for four seconds, hold for four seconds, she said, and now exhale.

It was the very first day of Miss Universe.

“We were all distraught,” Peters, who was Miss Ghana 2025, told Business Insider about her fellow contestants. “I was going to walk out, but then I realized, there’s a girl crying next to me and she’s holding my hand. There’s a girl behind me crying. So I helped my sisters ground themselves.”

Chaos had erupted among the pageant queens after Miss Universe director Nawat Itsaragrisil yelled at Miss Mexico Fátima Bosch. Their confrontation was captured on livestream, kicking off what would become one of the messiest competitions in the pageant’s 74-year history. When Bosch was ultimately named the new Miss Universe on November 21, many contestants wondered if they had ever really stood a chance at the crown.

Over the weeks that followed, contestants that Business Insider spoke with would accuse the organization of grueling conditions, favoritism, inconsistent rules, and an ever-changing judging process. Interviews with more than a dozen contestants reveal how a pageant marketed as a women’s empowerment platform had fallen apart as the world watched.

Now, some believe that only a dramatic leadership change can fix Miss Universe.

“I could give you the pageant answer, or I could just be real: Everyone has to go, absolutely everyone,” Miss Haiti Melissa Sapini said.

The Miss Universe Organization did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

Drama from the start

As November neared, 120 women packed their bags and began the journey to Thailand, where they’d spend a month attending events across Bangkok, Phuket, and Pattaya.

For many contestants, walking the Miss Universe stage was a childhood dream finally coming true. Some were seasoned pageant queens with multiple crowns and sashes glittering on their shelves. Others were first-timers. Miss Bonaire Nicole Peiliker-Visser was inspired to compete after her daughter won Mini Miss Universe, while Miss Hungary Kincső Dezsény was searching for a purpose beyond modeling.

“If you get beauty from … God, you need to use it for good,” Dezsény told Business Insider.

Whatever their motivation, the women thought they knew what to expect. The three-week competition would kick off with sponsorship events and media opportunities as they traveled throughout Thailand. Then, contestants would return to the capital to compete in the evening gown, swimsuit, national costume, and interview competitions. A panel of judges would determine the results, though one woman would be able to earn a spot in the top 30 by winning the “People’s Choice” category in Miss Universe’s official fan-voting app.

Meanwhile, trouble was already brewing within the pageant’s leadership.

This year’s event was organized by Itsaragrisil, a controversial figure in the pageant world known as “Papa Nawat.” The Thai businessman, who took over the Miss Thailand pageant in February, has repeatedly come under fire for shaming beauty queens at Miss Grand International, a separate competition he founded in 2013. The flashy and over-the-top production is built around Itsaragrisil’s “4B Framework:” beauty, body, brains, and business.

To kick off the Miss Universe pageant, the Miss Thailand Organization announced it would host a “special dinner and talk show” with Itsaragrisil, Miss Universe 2024 Victoria Kjær Theilvig, and a select group of 2025 contestants. This exclusive dinner, which had been a fixture of Miss Grand International, had never been done at Miss Universe. Fan voting would determine the 10 contestants who would be allowed to attend.

Though some Miss Universe contestants promoted the dinner, they weren’t all on board. Some women worried that scoring a seat at the table could influence final judging during the actual pageant. Miss Canada Jaime VandenBerg told Business Insider that she didn’t “condone what feels like women being auctioned off for dinner with a man.”

The dinner was eventually canceled after Miss Universe called it an “unauthorized activity.” The organization’s president, Raul Rocha, reiterated in a November 3 letter that only the four traditional categories of competition would be considered in the judging.

A spokesperson for Itsaragrisil told Business Insider that the dinner had been “a sponsor campaign designed to help contestants express their personalities.” Following Rocha’s letter, the spokesperson said many contestants believed all other activities were optional, and more than 30 contestants refused to participate in sponsorship events.

“Sponsor-related activities are a necessary and standard component of any international pageant production,” the spokesperson added. “Sponsors rightfully expect visibility and engagement in return for their contributions.”

The rising tensions came to a head on November 4, the first official day of the pageant, during the confrontation between Itsaragrisil and Bosch. All the pageant queens had been gathered to receive their official Miss Universe sashes, a tradition one contestant compared to the opening ceremony at the Olympics, but the event didn’t begin as planned.

“We’re going in excited for this big moment that everyone lives for,” Peters said. “This was supposed to be our moment to shine at Miss Universe, and then we’re all being yelled at.”

Contestants told Business Insider that Itsaragrisil said he had a list of 20 countries refusing to do sponsorship posts on social media and repeatedly asked the women to “own up to it” before he started calling out specific countries.

“It got to the point where no one even moved because you felt like if you flinched, he would just call you up,” Sapini said. “All I’m thinking is, ‘Oh my God, please don’t say Haiti.'”

When Itsaragrisil turned his attention to Bosch, a heated back-and-forth began. She told the director, “You are not respecting me as a woman,” and he called for security to remove her from the room. Bosch walked out instead, with dozens of contestants following behind her.

“She was shaking,” VandenBerg said of Bosch. “She had tears in her eyes. Victoria popped in and said, ‘Girls, you don’t have to put up with this,’ and I was one of the first to walk out.”

“I was so shocked and angered by the lack of respect that I just did not want to be in that room anymore,” said Miss Armenia Peggy Garabekian, who was among the first to leave. “Then a few of my delegate sisters messaged me and said, ‘Peggy, he’s not letting us out.'”

The women had been seated in alphabetical order for the sashing ceremony, so contestants at the back of the room didn’t have a chance to leave before the Miss Universe staff shut the doors.

“You’re at a loss because you’re uncertain and trying to stay calm,” Miss Malaysia Chloe Lim, who was unable to exit the room, said. “At that moment, we were wondering, ‘Is the competition still going to happen?'”

“It got me really anxious about the legitimacy of the whole event,” Miss Hong Kong Lizzie Li said.

There was a dark cloud hovering over the set the whole time. I didn’t think it could get worse. Then it got worse than worse.Steve Byrne, Miss Universe’s onstage host

Itsaragrisil’s spokesperson said staff temporarily closed the door because “a large number of press and media were gathered directly outside the room, creating a volatile environment.”

The online backlash was swift, but it wasn’t just directed at Itsaragrisil. Some contestants who didn’t leave the room were “being bullied really badly” by fans on social media, Peters said.

“I feel like nobody in the organization did enough; they didn’t care about our mental state and what everyone went through,” Peiliker-Visser, who said she faced online harassment, told Business Insider.

On the day of the confrontation, Rocha said Itsaragrisil’s participation would be limited or eliminated entirely. Yet contestants said he only missed a few events, and Itsaragrisil was quickly and quietly reintroduced.

Itsaragrisil’s spokesperson told Business Insider that Rocha’s promise to limit the director’s presence was never “operationally realistic.” The spokesperson added, “Nawat continued attending activities because he was the only individual with the authority and understanding to ensure the pageant could continue.”

Itsaragrisil tearfully apologized the day after the incident, telling reporters, “I am human. I didn’t want to do anything like that.”

A grueling environment

Turn on a Miss Universe competition, and you’ll see the three-hour culmination of a weekslong whirlwind experience. While the sea of shimmering sashes and sparkling gowns may look glamorous, there’s a lot of sacrifice off-screen.

For many women, the pressure of the competition was sky-high. After all, these pageant queens weren’t just representing themselves — they were each representing an entire nation. Some women came from countries that had sent them abroad to train with top runway coaches or create couture costumes with the most in-demand designers. Contestants from smaller countries, which typically don’t have many sponsors, had paid thousands of dollars out of pocket for their gowns alone.

Once they arrived in Thailand, contestants had to travel to multiple events each day, sometimes taking flights in the middle of the night before they were expected to participate in various activities, fulfill a daily checklist of social media sponsorship posts, and fight off crowds of passionate bloggers and fans — all while looking picture-perfect.

Contestants said they were forbidden from using hairstylists and makeup artists to help them prepare for each day’s events, so they would regularly wake up at 3 a.m. to get competition-ready. Some simply slept with their makeup on.

When food poisoning or an illness hit, as it frequently did throughout the weeks of competition, many women had to decide whether to rest or miss an important rehearsal. Sometimes, they didn’t have a choice. Dezsényi said her bout with food poisoning was so bad that she spent four days in the hospital — but still made it to the final show.

After these long days, the women were greeted at the hotel lobby by hordes of fans or pageant bloggers seeking an interview. Contestants told Business Insider that, unlike past Miss Universe competitions, they hadn’t been given chaperones to help manage the crowds.

“They said, ‘We’re not going to have chaperones because you’re grown women,’ but at the same time, you’re putting us in the public spotlight,” VandenBerg said. “To not have security, to me, is kind of crazy.”

Steve Byrne, the onstage host of this year’s competition, told Business Insider that he was shocked by how the Miss Universe Organization treated the women.

“These girls are cooped up for almost 30 days,” he said. “Every day, they have to go to a sponsored dinner. They have to go to this resort and pretend they’re having fun at the pool. To me, it seemed everyone was losing sight of what’s important here. Is anybody thinking about these women? That’s what bothered me.”

Some contestants enjoyed the action-packed itinerary, which included everything from Muay Thai lessons to gala dinners. Miss India Manika Vishwakarma said she appreciated the “incredible focus on fan interactions.”

Others were dismayed by the daily sponsorship events and noticed a lack of philanthropy in the line-up. Miss Universe’s former president, Paula Shugart, told Business Insider that contestants previously participated in an average of three philanthropy events. This year had none.

“I’m a representative of my country, and you’re telling me, ‘Hey, hold this dietary protein powder or take photos with this luggage,'” Garabekian said. “Throughout the month, we could have been taken to a hospital, orphanage, school, anywhere where we could have helped people in need.”

Itsaragrisil’s spokesperson said the Miss Universe Organization did not request any philanthropy events in Thailand, instead focusing on its digital advocacy platform, “Beyond the Crown,” which required contestants to film a video explaining how they used their title to uplift social causes.

Favoritism takes hold

“Sash factor” is a well-known term in the pageant community, bestowed upon the countries that treat Miss Universe like their own Super Bowl. These fan bases dissect the contestants’ every move with the rigor of a fantasy line-up. Their national queen, the star quarterback, is typically rewarded with millions of social media followers.

Miss Universe is designed to be a fair competition, but even the contestants recognize that the playing field isn’t exactly equal. Countries with significant “sash factor” tend to have more sponsors to cover the costs of the gowns and training, and typically receive far more fan attention outside their country. Contestants said that favoritism was also apparent among this year’s official sponsors for the pageant, who were selecting queens from “sash factor” countries for more photo shoots and media appearances.

“They really are looking for women who are popular and have lots of followers,” said Peiliker-Visser. “And if you don’t, you just don’t count.”

Appealing to sponsors has always been necessary to help fund the pageant, but Shugart said in years past it typically wasn’t the main focus of the contestants’ activities. This year, though, multiple women said they were brought into a room and asked to explain any missing sponsorship posts for each brand that had partnered with Miss Universe during the competition.

“I found this extremely unusual and uncomfortable,” Garabekian said. “It made me feel more like a tool for sponsorship obligations, rather than someone there to contribute meaningfully.”

Itsaragrisil’s spokesperson said the sponsor checklist was a “standard operational requirement, not an unusual demand,” and no contestant was “forced or penalized” for a lack of posts.

“It is important to emphasize: MUO is not a charitable organization,” the spokesperson added.

As the competition progressed, multiple contestants said it became apparent that some women were secretly using makeup artists and hairstylists to get them competition-ready every morning. This hurt morale, particularly among the pageant queens from smaller countries.

“They scared us so much about the hairstylists and makeup artists, we didn’t even try to think about it,” said Peiliker-Visser. “But these girls were allowed. I said, ‘Oh, they must be special because they’re allowed everything.'”

After several contestants complained, a staff member from Miss Universe held a meeting.

“They said, ‘Girls, we understand there’s a lot of favoritism, and maybe you’re feeling down about it. We just want you to know that it’s the sponsors and has nothing to do with the results of Miss Universe. We’re looking for small countries with big hearts, too,'” Sapini said.

Contestants said the organization promised to take disciplinary action against those who brought makeup artists and stylists, but women continued to break the rules and still placed in the top 30 or better.

A confusing voting app

While contestants attended events, fans were logging into the Miss Universe app to vote — after watching ads or purchasing votes in bundles — in categories ranging from best skin and evening gown to “Aura of the Day” and “People’s Choice.”

The “People’s Choice” winner would automatically earn a spot in the top 30 — a prize that has become popular across various pageant systems in recent years — but contestants told Business Insider they were unsure whether fan votes would impact anything else.

Conflicting messages made it worse. Rocha’s November 3 statement said contestants were judged only in the four traditional categories — evening, swimsuit, national costume, and interview. Yet the app said votes contributed “10% to the final score of the top 30 placement.”

Peiliker-Viser said the Miss Universe Organization told her national director before the competition that fan votes wouldn’t count. “My director was really concerned because we’re a population of 26,000 people,” she added. “How are they going to measure a small island like Bonaire with other countries?”

For Sapini, it was upsetting to watch people in Haiti work hard to vote for her when there was so much ambiguity around their worth.

“Haiti is a poverty-stricken country, and people in these villages collected their money to send to the Miss Universe Organization because they held onto hope that this would be something good for our country,” she said. “But the voting system was all over the place. It made no sense.”

Can the real judge please stand up?

Miss Universe hurtled toward its final days just as it began — with more confusion.

Speculation surrounding who was judging this year’s competition began circulating online as judges started dropping out. Behind the scenes, contestants said they were just as unsure about who was deciding their fate.

Three days before the November 21 final, composer Omar Harfouch dropped out as a judge, accusing the Miss Universe Organization of carrying out a “secret vote” to select the top 30 without the official judging panel. Former soccer star Claude Makélélé exited the same day due to “unforeseen personal reasons.”

Harfouch also said Princess Camilla di Borbone delle Due Sicilie resigned that week, but VandenBerg said her exit had been misconstrued and that “she dropped out so far in advance.” The princess never publicly explained why.

In a statement, Miss Universe said Harfouch was confused by its announcement of an eight-person selection committee for the pageant’s new “Beyond the Crown” program, which they said operated “entirely independently” to select a winner that had no bearing on the final results. Contestants told Business Insider it was unclear what the winner of the “Beyond the Crown” title would receive.

That statement added more fuel to the rumors, as pageant fans said on social media that James Irvin Healy, who had been announced as a member of the “Beyond the Crown” selection committee, appeared to be in a relationship with Miss Paraguay, Yanina Gómez, and began circulating pictures of them together.

Gómez, who went on to win “Beyond the Crown” and “People’s Choice,” never publicly addressed the allegations about a relationship with Healy, which fans considered a significant conflict of interest. The Miss Universe Organization removed Healy’s picture from its November 17 Instagram post announcing the eight-person panel.

After publication, Healy told Business Insider that he stepped down from the “Beyond the Crown” selection committee long before any action was taken by that committee, including Miss Paraguay winning the “Beyond the Crown” award. He added that he was never a judge for the Miss Universe competition and had no interactions with those who were. Healy also shared a letter, apparently written by Mario Búcaro, then-CEO of the Miss Universe Organization, confirming as much.

Gómez didn’t respond to requests for comment.

To maintain transparency, Miss Universe previously relied on a separate preliminary selection committee, which it’d announce on Instagram, to decide which contestants advanced to the top 30 ahead of the televised finals. No such distinction or announcement was made this year.

I’m so glad I saw what it’s like because this world is insane.Miss Bonaire Nicole Peiliker-Visser

Some contestants said they were surprised when they walked into their closed-door interview and saw an eight-person panel that included Theilvig, Búcaro — who stepped down as CEO on December 12, less than two months after taking over the role — a past Miss Thailand, and some Miss Universe staff members.

“I’ve never done a pageant where the staff was judging you,” said Peters, who has competed since 2014. “You typically want a panel of judges with different experiences, backgrounds, and opinions.”

As confusion swirled around the judges, a terrible accident occurred during the preliminary evening gown competition. Contestants were devastated after Miss Jamaica Gabrielle Henry fell off the stage. She remains hospitalized with serious injuries.

“I’ll be honest, there was a dark cloud hovering over the set the whole time,” said Byrne, the onstage host. “I didn’t think it could get worse. Then it got worse than worse.”

A winner is finally crowned

The Miss Universe final began at 8 a.m. local time so that it could air live during the US primetime. Contestants arrived at 1 a.m. for their call time. “We were making jokes with each other backstage, trying to keep our energy up,” Peters said. “It literally felt like we were in survivor mode.”

The final two came down to Bosch and Miss Thailand Praveenar Singh. When the host called Miss Mexico’s name, he said the stadium filled with boos. It could’ve been locals rooting for Miss Thailand, passionate supporters of fan favorite Miss Côte d’Ivoire Olivia Yacé — who placed fourth runner-up — or the shock of Bosch winning after her dramatic start to the pageant. Whatever the reason, Byrne said he knew it would be bad for Bosch.

“I thought, ‘Boy, this woman is going to be put through the wringer,” he said.

As fans started to doubt the legitimacy of the results online, Miss Universe 2005 Natalie Glebova — who joined the judging panel after Harfouch resigned — posted a picture of Singh, the runner-up, on Instagram with the caption “My winner!”

Glebova also noted that, unlike past Miss Universe competitions, there had been no accounting firm to audit the results. “Until then, I don’t think I will be participating as a judge again,” she added.

In the hours following the announcement of the winner, questions about the integrity of the judging process intensified. Harfouch said on Instagram that the organization’s president, Rocha, had told him to vote for Bosch before he resigned as a judge. Fans also alleged that Bosch’s father had done business with one of Rocha’s companies, a claim the pageant queen denied.

Rocha said one of his companies had a 2023 contract with Pemex, where Bosch’s father works, but it was “impossible” that there was any connection between that and Bosch’s win. Her father added in a November 25 statement that his role at Pemex had nothing to do with awarding contracts and that he’d only met Rocha for the first time at the Miss Mexico 2025 pageant in September.

In a separate statement, the president told pageant fans that there were “countless situations” during the three weeks of Miss Universe that went into deciding the winner, appearing to contradict his previous statement that only the four categories of competition would be used during the judging process.

During a November 24 interview on Mexican journalist Adela Micha’s news show, Rocha seemed to indicate that one of those factors was the strength of a contestant’s passport. He told Micha that a Côte d’Ivoire passport, which requires visas for 175 countries, would have made it difficult for Yacé to travel as Miss Universe if she had won the crown.

“She’s going to be the Miss Universe who spent a whole year in an apartment because of the cost of visa processes, of lawyers,” he said.

That same day, Yacé announced that she was resigning as Miss Universe Africa and Oceania — a title she received after placing fourth runner-up — because her values no longer aligned with the organization.

Contestants defended Yacé and questioned whether women from smaller countries ever stood a chance. In fact, multiple contestants that Business Insider spoke with said similar comments were made about their own passports during the competition.

“We need to be valued by our work and what we did onstage, not on the strength of our passport,” Miss Turks and Caicos Bereniece Dickenson said.

A leadership in crisis

Miss Universe’s leadership has weathered several controversies since it changed hands in October 2022. During his interview with Micha, Rocha said he was “fed up” with owning Miss Universe and was looking to sell his 50% stake. What he didn’t mention was the organization’s growing list of legal issues.

The other half of the organization is owned by JKN Global Group, whose founder, former Miss Universe CEO Anne Jakrajutatip, stepped down in June after the Thai Securities and Exchange Commission alleged that she had included false or misleading information in the financial statements. On November 26, the Associated Press reported that a Bangkok court had issued an arrest warrant for Jakrajutatip in an ongoing fraud case. Jakrajutatip hasn’t commented.

That same day, news broke that an arrest warrant had also been issued for Rocha in an investigation involving alleged weapons and drugs trafficking, fuel theft, and organized criminal activity. A Mexican official later said that there was no evidence of organized crime money within Miss Universe. By December 5, Mexico’s Financial Intelligence Unit had frozen Rocha’s bank accounts.

Amid the flurry of legal action, Miss Universe addressed rumors that a Thailand-based cryptocurrency company, TCG Social Media Group, had purchased the pageant. In a December 3 statement, the organization said it was aware of TCG’s interest but was not in the midst of any sale or negotiation. TCG Social Media Group could not be reached for comment.

Some contestants believe that new leadership would help Miss Universe regain its sparkle.

“I genuinely hope the Miss Universe Organization focuses on transparency,” Miss Bulgaria Gaby Guha said. “Clearer rules, consistent communication, and a visible decision-making process all help build trust, not just for contestants, but for fans who invest their passion into the competition.”

“No matter who wins or who owns the pageant, the power is in the dream and what you do with it,” VandenBerg said. “You can still believe in the dream, the sisterhood, and the impact Miss Universe has made over decades.”

For others, though, the drama at this year’s pageant is too much to overcome.

“This is just despicable behavior to me,” Sapini, who also competed at Miss USA in 2024, told Business Insider. “I can’t preach to the next generation of girls that this should be your dream.”

“I’m so glad I saw what it’s like because this world is insane,” Peiliker-Visser said. “It’s my daughter’s dream to go to Miss Universe, but my kids are not doing this.”

Update: December 28, 2025 — This article has been updated to include comment from James Irvin Healy, who said in a statement sent to Business Insider after publication that he stepped down from the “Beyond the Crown” selection committee before that committee took any action.

• Camille Seigle is a consultant who helps individuals and organizations unlock their potential.
• She co-authored a book with Ali Mann Stevens, inspired by their postpartum experiences.
• This essay is an adapted excerpt from the book, “Maternal Hope: Stories of Unseen Struggles, Unexpected Resilience, and the Untold Ways Families Are Made.”

Last week, someone asked me, “Did you always want to be a mom?”

My instinct was to say yes — but then I paused. Sitting on the floor with my 15-month-old daughter, I realized I’d never actually asked myself that question before. I’d always imagined what kind of mother I’d be, but not whether I wanted to become one.

Motherhood, I would soon learn, has a way of undoing everything you think you know about yourself.

The shock of “after”

When I gave birth to my daughter in January 2020, I expected exhaustion, maybe some tears, and the cliché “nap when the baby naps.” What I didn’t expect was the complete disorientation that came afterward — the fog, the bleeding, the body that no longer felt like mine.

I had a healthy baby, a supportive husband, and a good job. On paper, everything was perfect. But inside, I felt broken. I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. My body hurt, my emotions swung wildly, and the joy everyone said I’d feel seemed to have skipped me entirely.

What I wish someone had told me is this: postpartum is not just recovery. It’s rebirth — and it’s messy.

The illusion of control

Control was my comfort zone. I’d built a career, followed rules, checked boxes. When the world felt uncertain, I worked harder. So two days after giving birth, I did what I’d always done — I opened my laptop and checked my work email.

I told myself it was about staying “connected,” but really it was about control. Work was the one part of my life I still felt competent in. My boss had encouraged me to fully unplug, but I couldn’t. I was terrified of falling behind, of becoming irrelevant.

It’s only now, years later, that I can see how twisted that logic was — and how deeply it reflected the unspoken pressures many working mothers feel. In the U.S., we glorify “doing it all,” and women absorb that message long before we ever have children.

When I think about those first weeks, I wish I had granted myself the grace to disconnect. Work will always be there. You, on the other hand, won’t get those first fragile months back.

The loneliness no one talks about

The first six weeks felt like “Groundhog Day,” nurse, pump, clean, repeat. Friends texted to ask how the baby was. Almost no one asked how I was.

In my journal, I wrote:

I am tired. I feel alone. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everyone is giving me advice, and I don’t even know what I want. How can you love someone so much and be so sad?

I reread that entry now and see a woman unraveling — desperate, ashamed, and scared to admit it. I thought needing help made me weak.

It took me months to understand that asking for help is strength. Motherhood isn’t meant to be done alone. Yet we’re sold this image of the “supermom” who bounces back, breastfeeds effortlessly, and never loses her cool. That image keeps so many of us silent — and suffering.

The darkness crept in

By my six-week postpartum checkup, the pandemic had shut down the world. My doctor asked how I was feeling, and I rattled off a list of contradictions: grateful but empty, lucky but numb, loved but completely disconnected from myself.

She gently suggested increasing my anxiety medication and finding a therapist. I nodded but did nothing. I was too tired to take one more step toward fixing myself.

Weeks later, the darkness deepened. One morning, after feeding my daughter, I walked to our upstairs deck and looked down at the ground below. My mind whispered a thought I’d never had before: What would happen if I jumped?

The shame was instant and crushing. How could I feel this way when I had so much? And yet, that’s exactly how postpartum depression works — it convinces you that you’re both ungrateful and unworthy.

Then I heard my daughter cry. Her small, desperate wail cut through the fog. I walked back inside, picked her up, and for the first time, truly felt like a mother. Her cry anchored me. It reminded me I still had something — someone — to live for.

That moment didn’t cure me, but it cracked open a window of light. I found a therapist soon after.

Reclaiming myself

Healing was slow. Therapy helped me understand that motherhood isn’t about losing yourself — it’s about finding a new version of who you are.

I started saying yes when my husband offered help. I took short walks, journaled, and began exercising again, not to “get my body back,” but to feel strong in it.

When I returned to work four months later, it was still the height of the pandemic. A male colleague cheerfully asked, “How was your vacation?”

I wanted to scream. I hadn’t been on a beach. I’d been learning how to breastfeed while bleeding through my clothes. But I smiled politely and said, “It was… an experience.”

Moments like that highlight how disconnected our workplace culture still is from the realities of motherhood. Most women return to work before they’re emotionally or physically ready, forced to perform as if nothing has changed. But everything has.

Finding hope in the unfiltered truth

Looking back, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever have another child. The postpartum experience nearly broke me. But it also taught me everything about who I am — and what kind of mother I want to be.

We need to start telling the truth about postpartum. Not the airbrushed version, but the real one — the blood clots, the tears, the loneliness, and the quiet courage it takes to get out of bed every day.

When we share these unfiltered stories, we give other parents something to hold onto: hope.

Because hope, I’ve learned, is what carries you through the darkest nights. And sometimes, it sounds like a baby’s cry reminding you that you still belong here — messy, tired, imperfect, and loved.

Adapted from “Maternal Hope: Stories of Unseen Struggles, Unexpected Resilience, and the Untold Ways Families Are Made,” by Camille Seigle and Ali Mann Stevens, published by Alone No More Press (October 21, 2025). Excerpt reprinted with permission from Alone No More Press. All Rights Reserved.

• China imposed sanctions on several US defense firms and executives on Friday.
• China’s foreign ministry said the move came in response to US arms sales to Taiwan.
• The sanctions list includes Boeing’s St. Louis branch, as well as Anduril founder Palmer Luckey.

China announced sanctions against 20 US defense companies and 10 senior executives on Friday, citing US arms sales to Taiwan as its motive.

In a statement, China’s foreign ministry said its assets within China, including movable and immovable properties, would be frozen and that domestic organizations and individuals would be prohibited from doing business with them.

Individuals named on the list would also be denied visas and entry to the country, the ministry added.

The sanctions list includes Northrop Grumman Systems Corporation, Boeing’s St. Louis branch, Epirus, and Anduril Industries founder Palmer Luckey.

In a statement, a spokesperson for the foreign ministry said: “We stress once again that the Taiwan question is at the very core of China’s core interests and the first red line that must not be crossed in China.”

“Any company or individual who engages in arms sales to Taiwan will pay the price for the wrongdoing,” they added.

When reached for comment, Anduril pointed Business Insider to an X post from Luckey in which the CEO joked that he was honored.

“I want to thank my family, my team, and my Lord Jesus Christ for this award,” Luckey wrote on X. “Anduril has been sanctioned for a while now, as have many of my peers, but it means so much to finally have my non-existent Chinese assets seized and repurposed.”

China’s sanctions follow the US announcement of a $11 billion military package for Taiwan last week.

The deal, which includes self-propelled Howitzers and HIMARS rocket launchers, still needs to be approved by Congress — but it drew a swift response from Beijing.

Lin Jian, a spokesperson for the foreign ministry, said in a statement at the time that China “strongly deplores and firmly opposes” the sales.

China regards Taiwan as a breakaway province that will one day come under Beijing’s control, and Chinese President Xi Jinping has refused to rule out an invasion of the island. Taiwan’s ruling Democratic Progressive Party views Taiwan as separate from China.

Under the Taiwan Relations Act, the US is obligated to assist Taiwan in defending itself.

Beijing has ramped up pressure around the island in recent years, holding frequent military exercises in the surrounding skies and waters.

A 2024 report by the Washington, D.C.-based think tank the Center for Strategic and International Studies suggested that China may be able to exert power over Taiwan without launching an invasion.

The report said China could impose a quarantine of the island using its coast guard.

“The purpose of a quarantine is not to completely seal Taiwan off from the world but to assert China’s control over Taiwan by setting the terms for traffic in and out of the island,” it argued.

“A key goal is to compel countries and companies to comply with China’s terms.”

• I moved from Spain to Florida with my kids and then-husband 21 years ago.
• Initial challenges included culture shock, marital struggles, and financial hardship in the US.
• Finding new love and building a blended family led to lasting fulfillment and stability.

Twenty-one years ago, I faced the difficult decision to move from Spain to the United States with my 3-year-old daughter and 4-month-old baby to follow my then-husband, who had lost his job, in pursuit of a new position in Florida.

I was being asked to leave behind my family, friends, and an established writing career. I was to start over at 41, with no connections, no guarantees, and an already shaky marriage.

My family thought it was a terrible idea, yet my husband’s family felt it was a great opportunity. So, after some soul-searching and many promises of a better life in Florida, I decided to uproot my kids and take the chance.

As I boarded the plane to meet my children’s father (he had come to the US ahead of us), I had mixed feelings: I could feel the excitement of my eldest to see her dad again, but I also feared the unknown. I kept asking myself whether it was really possible that we could fix our marriage and thrive in a different country.

My worst fear came true

Going from living in a penthouse in the old part of Sevilla, where I could walk to just about everywhere, to being cooped up in a tiny apartment in a gated community in suburban Florida, where I needed a car to go anywhere, was brutal to my nervous system.

I felt trapped in suburbia without my own car. And with a history of major depressive disorder, I started having panic attacks and depressive episodes. One day, while driving my children to find a preschool for my eldest, I had to pull over to sob.

A few months later, my husband lost the job we had moved to Florida for. And so began one of the most difficult periods of our lives.

In four years, we moved several times within Florida, always because of his new jobs. I found work freelancing for newspapers and magazines and wrote more books for publishers in Spain. But our relationship was always floundering.

As our marriage crumbled, we took a time-out under the same roof. We went to marriage counseling, enrolled in self-improvement seminars, and so on. Trust, respect, and admiration had been completely lost, and in 2008, when the Great Recession hit, we had no money, no savings, and no jobs.

I walked away from my husband with my laptop, my books, joint custody of our children, and the huge regret of having moved so far away from my family and friends. But I stayed in Florida, because I didn’t want my children to be far from their father. From one day to the next, I found myself a single mother on food stamps.

I met the love of my life

Nearly a year after separating, 16 years ago, I met the love of my life. We had many similarities: we were both newly single, bilingual and bicultural, and had children of a similar age. We were writers focused on creating a better life for our kids and ourselves. The best part was that neither of us had given up on love despite the tough times we’d lived through.

For nearly two years, we dated long-distance, spending only weekends and holidays together. One of us would drive two hours to meet the other, sometimes with the children, and when the kids were with our respective former spouses, we met alone.

We were both trying to rebuild ourselves personally and professionally, and together we made a great team. I once again moved for love, but this time with no regrets. Four years later, we married at sunset on the beach, surrounded by our children and close family.

Our kids are all in their 20s now, and we’ve been through the highest highs as well as some pretty rough times. But our relationship was never in question. We’ve cheered each other on and thrived together.

Whenever I think of past regrets and how I shouldn’t have moved to the US 21 years ago with my ex, I realize I would have missed out on finding true love. And I would never have built the stable and dependable family I always wanted.

• I spent last New Year’s Eve on a solo trip, celebrating with new friends from around the world.
• It felt meaningful to start the year focused on what brings me joy: new experiences and connection.
• Now, I hope to spend every New Year’s Eve that I can surrounded by new friends.

As the crowd cheered among the explosive crackle of fireworks, upbeat dance music, and cries of “Feliz Ano Novo,” a surge of gratitude coursed through my body.

It was New Year’s Eve 2024, and I was hugging and cheering with new friends I had met just hours before.

Earlier that year, I’d spent two months gallivanting around London, Berlin, Amsterdam, Rome, Florence, and Prague solo. Although I loved returning home to San Francisco, it didn’t take long for my wanderlust to set in again.

I knew my thirst for adventure could only be quenched by revisiting Europe. I missed the walkable cities, the slower lifestyle, and the abundance of fresh food.

I decided I’d spend mid-December to mid-January abroad. After doing tons of research on the best cities for solo travelers, I settled upon Lisbon as my monthlong home base.

To avoid the holiday rush and the inevitable spike in prices and crowds, I left San Francisco on December 7 and made plans to head home about a week after New Year’s Day.

Lisbon was the perfect early holiday destination — and I got to connect with other solo travelers

The first two weeks of my trip were a dream come true.

I loved spending my afternoons checking out bookstores (Livraria Bertrand is worth it), getting lost in the alleyways, taking in the vibrant art scene, and even trekking up a grueling hill to get to my local market.

Since I arrived early in the month before peak tourist season, I felt like I was experiencing Christmas markets and festivities alongside locals.

As December 31 approached, I began to crave some more companionship. So, I logged onto Facebook and searched for Girl Gone International’s Lisbon group.

An online community for women traveling solo, Girl Gone International had resources I’d utilized in the past. This was my first time scrolling through one of its Facebook groups in search of friends, though.

To my surprise, I stumbled upon tons of posts from other solo travelers, all hoping to find New Year’s companions. One in particular caught my attention: a post that said “I’m getting the girls together for a New Year’s celebration” with a link to a WhatsApp group.

She had a dog in her profile photo. What could go wrong?

That’s how I found myself eating steak and sipping Douro Valley wine at a table with eight strangers.

We all came from different countries and backgrounds: the Netherlands, Serbia, and South Africa, to name a few. We quickly bonded over our shared love of travel and the palpable energy of the night.

After dinner, a few other travelers from the Facebook group joined us. We squeezed our way into the crowds to the Praça do Comércio, the main square in Lisbon. The square was packed like sardines, and we held hands so we wouldn’t lose each other.

One of them held up a sign to make sure stragglers could see us. Amid the excitement, I witnessed the most spectacular fireworks display of my life.

My solo New Year’s celebration helped me connect with my values

After that epic night, the real magic of serendipitous connection took place.

I stayed in touch with two solo travelers and one local for the remainder of my trip. We met several other times to explore restaurants, visit parks, and even take a day trip to see castles in Sintra.

I believe that starting the year in a new country — and with new friends — softened my approach to achieving my goals. In the past, I felt pressured to set certain resolutions: Become fit, work harder, or be a certain way.

Instead of focusing on external validation or achieving rigid goals, though, I started the year with a focus on what actually brings me joy: adventure, global community, and authenticity.

I made new friends, too. Our short-lived connections empowered us to become vulnerable quickly, and I opened up in a refreshing way.

Ironically, it took leaving my country to remember that I am never truly alone.

Though this year’s New Year’s Eve will look a little different — I plan to spend the night locally with friends and family — I would happily ring in the New Year again with strangers in a foreign country.

No matter where I find myself in the world, I’m excited to continue bridging the gap between stranger and friend.

• In August, I took a 48-hour break from motherhood to see the Backstreet Boys in Las Vegas.
• Logistics and maternal guilt made planning the trip tricky, but I committed to the experience.
• The experience highlighted the importance of self-care and reclaiming joy for mothers.

When the Backstreet Boys announced their Las Vegas residency at the Sphere this past February, I was 26 weeks pregnant with my fourth kid. Within minutes, my two college friends with whom I’d spent countless days and nights belting out karaoke versions of “The Call,” dropped the news into our group chat. “When are we booking?” they asked.

They were right, of course. We had to go. Not just because it was the Backstreet Boys, though they were the soundtrack to so many of our college and post-collegiate experiences, but because it was the Sphere, a new futuristic arena that everyone was buzzing about.

Still, with shows scheduled for July and August, I knew it would be nearly impossible for me to get there. By then, my baby would be just 2 months old. Add him to my three other children, the oldest only 6, and the thought of leaving felt borderline ridiculous. Even with my mom and nanny helping, I couldn’t imagine asking my husband to manage it all alone.

To his credit, my husband was mostly okay with it. “Go,” he said when I mentioned the idea. He wasn’t exactly enthusiastic; it was more of a pragmatic “I don’t get the appeal, but don’t skip it because of us. I can handle it.” But still, he gave me the green light.

Planning the trip was a lot

The logistics were daunting. The shows were only scheduled Friday through Sunday, which clashed with my observance of Shabbat. That left Sunday night, which would mean flying out in the morning, dragging myself to the concert exhausted, and asking my nanny to work her usual day off. Add in my hesitation to commit before giving birth — part superstition, part maternal guilt — and I kept letting go of my potential plan.

Then May arrived. I gave birth and, though I started circling potential weekends, I still held back. The baby was tiny, I was breastfeeding, and I wanted to wait as long as possible to see if anything would change.

By late summer, however, it seemed the Backstreet Boys had taken over my algorithm. Clips of the show flooded my social media feeds. My friends kept sending me videos of fans in white, losing their minds at the Sphere. One meme in particular lodged itself in my brain: a mom boarding a plane to Vegas, captioned, “Me: a 40-year-old mom on my way to the Baskstreet Boys concert that I paid for with my own adult money. But I still had to ask my mom’s permission to go.” I’d never felt so seen.

I went for it

In July, I cracked. “I’m ready,” I messaged my friends. Within hours, three of us booked a round-trip ticket from New York’s JFK to Harry Reid International Airport: out Sunday morning, back on the red-eye Monday, just in time for Tuesday’s camp drop-off.

The tickets for the concert, though, were another story. Prices had surged with the show’s popularity, and I ended up paying more than $500 for my ticket. I told myself it was worth it for a memory that would last a lifetime. Still, when I clicked purchase, my hands shook.

It was 100% worth it

The trip lasted exactly 48 hours, but it felt like a pilgrimage. A millennial rite of passage that didn’t involve children but somehow connected me back to them, because the band I flew across the country to see was the same one that defined my own adolescence. For a weekend, I was not just a mother of four but the girl who once choreographed dorm-room routines to “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back).”

Two moments, in particular, crystallized everything. The first was the walk from our hotel, the Wynn, to the Sphere. The hotel had mapped out a route for the flood of fans: through the convention center, across an elevated bridge to the Venetian, then on to the Sphere. At each turn, more fans — all dressed in white, humming along to Backstreet Boys songs blaring overhead — merged into the stream. By the time we reached the glowing orb, we were a sea of white, exhausted but euphoric. That’s when it truly felt like a pilgrimage.

The second was inside, when Brian, AJ, Kevin, Nick, and Howie launched into “Get Down.” I hadn’t danced like that in so long, and neither had, apparently, the 20,000 other people around me. It was no longer a concert; it had become a giant dance party, an unforgettable experience.

Of course, the trip wouldn’t have been possible without my husband holding things down at home. But I can’t help but also think of what would happen if the roles were reversed. Before leaving, I had to write down lists and make calls to make space for my absence, plus pre-cook meals, lay out outfits, arrange carpools, pack snacks, and orchestrate all the small details of family life that are part of my everyday.

The truth is that in our household, like so many others, the invisible labor often falls on me, the mother. Which is why it felt so monumental to reclaim a weekend, even just two days, for myself.

While there were men at the concert, it was undeniably a female-led affair. It wasn’t just about boy-band nostalgia. It was about women in this stage of life reclaiming the pieces of themselves that existed before partners, careers, and children.

I left Vegas tired but renewed, reminded of the importance of joy and friendship. Because if there’s one thing I want my kids to learn from me — besides how to cook chicken cutlets in advance — it’s to seek out joy, and protect it. Sometimes that means singing your heart out in a giant blue orb in the middle of the desert.

And here’s the kicker: given the overwhelming success of their past residency shows, the Backstreet Boys will be back at the Sphere this month during Christmas and New Year’s and then again in February. This time, you’ll find me at home with my four kids, cheering on any other woman who decides to leave real life behind for a night of nostalgia-fueled, larger-than-life (see what I did there?) joy.