Motherhood and Clinical Trials - More Alike Than You’d Think (and 10 Lessons to Prove It)

Recently I became a mother of a beautiful baby girl. And with that, I thought I was stepping into a completely different world — one far removed from protocols, CRFs, and clinical trials. And while I was extremely grateful and excited for my little burrito of a baby, a part of me was also a little terrified. My whole life, my job has been a big part of who I am. Being a CRA isn’t just work — it is my rhythm, my purpose, my second home. I love my job deeply, and leaving my colleagues at Cromos to go on maternity leave was bittersweet. On one hand, I was excited for this new role; on the other, I felt like I was losing one of the biggest parts of my identity.

But I must say it was naïve of me, to think these two worlds wouldn’t overlap.

Motherhood, it turns out, is the ultimate full-time clinical trial — except there’s no ethics committee to keep things in ethical (just your own questionable decision-making at 3 a.m.), no protocol deviations log (though you could keep one for diaper blowouts — I learned this the hard way after scrubbing poop out of a white nursery carpet), and no database lock — because babies never stop generating data, and there’s no cut-off date for queries. And of course, there’s your most important stakeholder — a very demanding little one — whose needs you’re expected to meet immediately and without negotiation.

The similarities hit me fast: the unpredictability, the high stakes, the emotional rollercoaster, the constant balancing act between planning ahead and simply reacting to whatever chaos has just exploded in front of you.

In both roles, you’re trying to keep everything compliant, everyone alive, and yourself at least vaguely sane.

So, here are 10 brutally honest lessons I’ve learned in the past few weeks that prove these two worlds are far more alike than you’d think:

1. Be patient — it’s a marathon, not a sprint

In both motherhood and clinical trials, there’s no fast-forward button. Progress is slow, unpredictable, and often feels like you’re moving backwards before you move forward.

Starting with pregnancy, it’s a game of endless waiting. Those final weeks feel like they drag on forever (and not only because your own feet are out of reach) — every day you think this could be it, and every day… it isn’t. It gets exhausting. By the end, my pilates trainer was asking me every day, “Oh, come on, are you still pregnant?”

But honestly, at this point I thought “well, this might as well have been a sponsor on a weekly call asking, “Do we have any new patients yet?” :D

The tone, the disappointment, oh such a déjà vu — identical.

In trials, you wait for negotiations to start, ethics approvals, patient recruitment, data entry… and then more approvals. In motherhood, you wait for the baby to sleep through the night, to take a proper nap, or to finally master the art of not spitting up five seconds after you’ve put them down. The trick is to accept the pace. You can’t rush enrolment, and you can’t rush a newborn’s milestones, the baby does not care about your agenda — both will happen when they’re good and ready, not a second earlier. The sooner you let go of the idea that you can “speed things up,” the saner you’ll be.

2. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst

(or how both diapers and CRFs can be full of surprises)

In both motherhood and clinical trials, things can look perfectly fine… until you take a closer look. A CRF can appear neat and complete at first glance. Then you spot it: the investigator somehow entered the patient’s weight in kilograms into the height field, or the entire visit date is logged as the year 2098. Similarly, a diaper can seem harmless — until you open it and realise you should have brought hazmat gloves.

You learn quickly that optimism is fine, but blind optimism will get you in trouble. Always double-check and overpack — whether it’s nappies, wipes, and spare clothes, or monitoring tools, spare pens, and backup printouts. And never assume “this will be quick” — because that’s exactly when the patient will show up with an unscheduled visit, or the baby will decide to test the limits of fluid dynamics.

Preparedness is your safety net. In trials, it keeps you from missing a critical point; in motherhood, it keeps you from having to improvise with a muslin cloth and a prayer in the middle of a public meltdown, while a random granny in the elevator judges you for being a bad mom.

3. Manage (lower) your expectations!

(It ain’t like you’ve seen on Instagram — it will suck sometimes, and that’s okay.)

I once saw a reel of a CRA pulling up to a site visit in a Lamborghini, hashtags blazing: #CRAlife #MakeItRain #WorkAndTravel. I nearly choked of laughter.

Reality check: CRAs do not drive Lambos (we prefer Audi 😜); but more likely an SUV where you can fit the entire ISF in the boot. You get my point.

Motherhood has the same illusion problem. No number of perfectly staged reels of glowing moms sipping matcha in coordinated outfits on their “daily walk” will prepare you for the real deal. I’m not saying those days don’t happen — but they are definitely not the norm.

Pregnancy, even an “easy” one, is exhausting and limiting — emotionally and physically. Birth recovery is painful, babies rarely sleep during the night, at least at the beginning, and on a good day it takes roughly 40 minutes just to leave the house for a simple walk at the park. That’s assuming you didn’t forget the wipes, the diapers, or — heaven forbid — the extra bottle of milk.

In both CRA life and motherhood, the highlight reels don’t show the endless logistics, the fatigue, or the small disasters along the way. Lower your expectations, and you’ll find it much easier to appreciate the moments that actually do go smoothly.

4. It will be painful, but also wonderful — let’s not sugarcoat it

Clinical trials are demanding, high-pressure, and, at times, downright exhausting. The timelines are unrealistic, the workload is relentless, and the stakes are enormous. Every missed deadline, every deviation, every delayed patient visit — it all matters. It’s stressful because you’re not just ticking boxes; you’re responsible for data integrity, patient safety, and keeping the whole thing moving despite a hundred moving parts that could (and will) go wrong.

And yet… for me, it’s the most satisfying work I can do. At the end of the day, you’re part of the progress. You’re contributing to something bigger than yourself — changing the future of medicine, shaping pharma innovation, improving patient lives. When you think about that, it’s worth every late night and stressful call. But I get that it’s definitely not for everybody, and that’s okay.

Motherhood is no different. Something that really bothered me early on was that, despite feeling happy and grateful, I also constantly found myself longing for my freedom. I mourned the version of me who could just hop on a plane for a kitesurfing trip, spend hours driving to the sunset in a foreign country, or go on last-minute adventures without planning three days ahead. And here’s the problem — society doesn’t make space for mothers to say this out loud. If you dare to mention it, the reaction is usually, “But this is the ultimate gift, the happiest time of your life! Shame on you, how could you not be overjoyed?!”

Magical experience, my ass. Pregnancy is exhausting. You’re bloated, emotional, unable to put on your own shoes, and by the third trimester, you can barely do anything without help. Birth is scary, recovery is very painful, your body feels foreign, and suddenly your “me time” is measured in minutes.

And yet… having my baby girl has brought me more joy, happiness, and overwhelming love than I could have imagined. I didn’t expect it, and I didn’t think it would hit me this hard — in the best possible way. But here’s the truth: you can hold space for both kinds of emotions. You can love your child fiercely and still miss your old life. We need to normalise that conversation, both in motherhood and in careers that take everything you’ve got.

5. You will make mistakes — and it’s okay

(As long as you don’t sabotage your trial or kill the baby; everything else will pass.)

In clinical trials, mistakes are inevitable. You’ll forget to follow up on that one query, misplace a document in the ISF, or schedule a monitoring visit on a public holiday by accident. You’ll send the wrong version of a consent form to the site once in your career — and trust me, you’ll never do it again.

Motherhood has the same learning curve. You will clip the baby’s skin while trimming their nails (once), you will dress them in a too-warm outfit in August, and you will forget to pack a spare onesie the one time they decide to blow out their diaper in public. And yes — you will Google completely ridiculous things at 2 a.m., like “What is a normal body temperature for newborns?”

The key in both worlds is this: most mistakes are not fatal, they are lessons. In trials, you document them, correct them, and move on. In motherhood, you cry a little, laugh a little, maybe eat something sweet, and try again tomorrow.

Perfection is not the goal — survival, progress, and keeping the truly catastrophic errors at zero is. Everything else is just part of the learning curve.The unexpected most certainly will happen.

6. The unexpected will happen

If there’s one universal truth, it’s that nothing ever goes exactly as planned. In clinical trials, that could mean patients dropping out minutes before dosing, the courier misplacing your lab samples, or the sponsor deciding to “just” add another amendment halfway through the study. Sometimes it’s the site calling with an urgent safety report while you’re mid–monitoring visit at a completely different location, or a sudden protocol clarification that flips half your data into “to be reverified” mode.

In motherhood, it’s the same chaos in a different costume. A sudden fever at 2 a.m., a diaper blowout precisely five minutes before you need to leave, a nap boycott on the one day you really needed some peace, or the baby discovering a brand-new, high-pitched scream and deciding to test it in public.

Both roles force you to become part detective, part firefighter, part juggler. You learn to think on your feet, adjust your plan in real time, and improvise without showing how close you are to swearing under your breath. The unexpected isn’t a rare emergency — it’s the default setting. The sooner you accept that, the less energy you waste being shocked by it.

7. Your team is your lifeline

(Crucial for keeping your sanity.)

When I was a junior CRA, I had this idea that I was the “main character.” I was cocky, convinced I could do everything better myself, and significantly underestimated the importance of working in a team.

Man, I was such an asshole.

It took a few valuable lessons — and a couple of near disasters — to realise that without my team (IHCRAs, coordinators, PMs, LCRAs), I was completely lost. It took me even longer to learn to ask for help. At this point in my career, I can say with full confidence: your team is everything. They’re the make-or-break factor. This is one of the main reasons I’m so happy at Cromos — I genuinely enjoy working with the people here, and that makes all the difference.

Parenthood is no different. Your partner becomes your lifeline. No, it won’t always be 50–50 — we, as mothers, do tend to take on more of the childcare responsibilities — but having a loving, caring husband is priceless. The one who preps everything for your “night shift” with the baby, who takes the baby in the early morning so you can get a bit more sleep, and who devotes evenings and weekends to the family so you can finally put your feet up.

In those moments, I’m reminded exactly why I married my guy. 😉 So choose your teammates wisely, it goes long way.

8. Things will not always happen on your timeline

So leave room for error — and yes, error will happen. See point 6.

As I mentioned above, the baby does not care about your agenda. It’s not like you can send her a meeting invite and get a polite acceptance. You may have perfectly laid plans — “We’ll feed at 6, nap at 7, leave the house by 8” — but so does she. And her plan may involve a 45-minute screaming protest right when you’re just out the door.

In motherhood, flexibility is survival. You learn to leave room for delays, setbacks, and full-on derailments, because they will happen. You prepare in advance — extra snacks, extra clothes, extra time — and you stop expecting the day to go exactly as you pictured.

The same is true in CRA life. This job is extremely dynamic, and “fires” erupt all the time — a site calls with an urgent safety issue, a patient drops out last minute, or an urgent RFI from the sponsor lands in your inbox at 5:45 p.m. This is why I believe CRAs shouldn’t be booked to 100% capacity. If you’re maxed out, there’s no room to absorb emergencies or last-minute changes, and that’s when everything starts to unravel. A good CRA schedule has buffer built in — not because you’re slacking, but because reality will eat your perfect plan for breakfast.

In both worlds, the key is to plan well, but hold those plans loosely. Leave space for the unexpected, and you’ll avoid the complete disaster that comes from being caught with no wiggle room.

9. Keep calm — everything will be alright

In both clinical trials and motherhood, panic is your worst enemy. Yes, some situations feel urgent, dramatic, and like the world might collapse if you don’t fix them right now. But in most cases, a deep breath and a clear head will get you much further than frantic scrambling.

In CRA life, you quickly learn that not every “urgent” email is truly urgent. The PI can’t find the lab report? It’s probably filed under the wrong tab. The sponsor is worried about a missed visit? There’s usually a logical explanation — and a documented one, if you’re doing your job right. Nine times out of ten, the problem isn’t a catastrophe, it’s just noise.

Motherhood teaches you the same. The baby’s crying? Sometimes it’s hunger, sometimes it’s gas, sometimes it’s… nothing in particular. You don’t need to solve it in the next 30 seconds to be a good mom. Most things will pass on their own — and the ones that don’t, you’ll handle better if you’re not in fight-or-flight mode.

So as long as no one dies — you’re good.

The real skill is learning to assess before reacting, to choose where to spend your emotional energy, and to remind yourself that this too shall pass. Whether it’s a stubborn site or a sleepless night, staying calm won’t fix the problem instantly — but it will keep you sane long enough to find the solution.

10. Bonus tip — enjoy the small wins and the little moments

The last thing I realised is that the time moves faster than you think. In CRA life, you’ll never have your first on-site visit again. You’ll never randomise your very first patient again. You’ll never pass your first audit or get that first approved IMP for the first time again. Those moments are one-time milestones, and they deserve to be noticed before they’re gone.

Motherhood is the same. You’ll never have your first baby again. You’ll never relive those first newborn cuddles, the first playful giggles, the first bleary-eyed night feeds, or that first independent stroller walk in the park, after a painful recovery from birth. They might not always feel magical in the moment — especially if you’re tired, stressed, or juggling a hundred other things — but they are moments you’ll look back on with a smile.

As crazy, chaotic, and unpredictable as it all gets, you might as well enjoy it. These experiences — in trials and in life — will never repeat.