Who Moved My Cheese… and Why It Was Crying at 3am

Pregnancy: traumatic but survived. Labour: feral, but complete.

Then came after. The part no one explains. The quiet bit.

The bit where your identity, routine, sleep, and general grip on reality politely excuse themselves without saying goodbye.

Enter: Who Moved My Cheese?

A tiny book about change that I last read through a work lens and then was reminded of accidentally while holding a newborn who refused to sleep unless she was physically attached to me like an emotional barnacle.

Turns out, when you have a baby, your cheese doesn’t just move. It vanishes. Leaves crumbs. And replaces itself with something that screams.

Lesson One: The Cheese Will Move (And It Won’t Ask Permission)

The first night in the birthing centre with Brooke was blissfully calm. She slept. My partner slept after what can only be described as a CEO level labour performance. And I lay awake, holding Brooke’s tiny hand, counting every breath like I’d been promoted to Head of Oxygen Monitoring.
I couldn’t believe how lucky we were.

I also made an exceptionally poor decision. Because instead of sleeping, I stayed alert. Wired. Vigilant. Completely unaware this was the universe saying, “Enjoy this, it’s a limited edition.”

Change does that. It gives you just enough peace to make you cocky.

Lesson Two: Clinging to Old Cheese Makes You Tired and Weird

By night three, my bedroom became a prison. Sleep was now a shift pattern. Three hours on. Three hours off with my partner. Brooke would only sleep if she was held, so one of us stayed awake while the other attempted to experience something resembling rest.

“Sleep when the baby sleeps,” they say. Yes. Lovely advice.

Unfortunately, Brooke slept only when held, so unless I grew a detachable torso, that wasn’t happening. I worked out that in three hours I could watch exactly three episodes of Game of Thrones. Enough action to stay awake, but not so much that I’d jump.

I briefly tried The Walking Dead but quickly realised watching zombies wasn’t helping, as I was already becoming one. Somewhere around week one, I became convinced my partner was secretly adjusting the clocks. Because three hours of sleep felt like ten minutes, and three hours awake felt like a minor lifetime.

Classic cheese behaviour. I wasn’t adapting to the new maze, I was desperately trying to make the old one work.

Lesson Three: Fear Loves a Spreadsheet (and Hand Sanitiser)

Then there was the hand washing. Oh, the hand washing. My hands were red raw from over washing, terrified I’d infect this tiny human. Wash. Sanitise. Wash again.

And wow, hand sanitiser is aggressive when every knuckle is bleeding and your skin has resigned. Fear told me I was being responsible. Reality told me I was just hurting myself. Fear doesn’t actually keep you safe, it just convinces you control lives in repetition.

Leadership does this too. When change hits, we grip tighter, not smarter.

Lesson Four: Sleep Deprivation Will Gaslight You

One day, im going to call it the miracle of miracles - I slept when Brooke slept. I woke convinced I was holding her and urgently needed the toilet. Took “Brooke” to my partner, asked him to hold her while I went. He looked confused. I escalated.

“Scott, PLEASE hold her.” Now grumpy.

“Scott, I really need the toilet.”

At which point my own tone woke me enough to look down and realise I was holding…Nothing.

Brooke was in the bassinet. Next to Scott. Sleeping peacefully.

“I bet that really freaked you out,” I cackled, skipping back to bed.

Sleep deprivation is genuine torture. It turns you into a haunted Victorian child.

And it turns out, when you’re exhausted, your brain manages realities that no longer exist.

Lesson Five: Letting Go Is Not Quitting

Breastfeeding. I really wanted to do it. I’d read the articles. Googled the stats. Fully bought into the vision. My body, however, had other plans.

After everything it had been through, it simply couldn’t keep up. I tried. I persevered. I negotiated.

Then the midwives did a very swift u turn on the benefits when Brooke’s weight wasn’t increasing, and suddenly a bottle and some formula became the fastest route to peace.

I gave in biologically and emotionally too. And here’s the thing: regardless of the stats and the hope I know i didn’t fail. I adapted. On that occasion, I stopped looking for the cheese myself for some relief.

That’s the lesson. Letting go isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s leadership.

Final Thought: New Cheese Is Quieter (But Better)

Who Moved My Cheese? doesn’t promise joy. It promises relief. The bottle didn’t feel like victory. It felt calmer. More sustainable. Less crying (from everyone).

The best changes don’t arrive with fireworks. They arrive with slightly less tension and one fewer breakdown at 3am.

Change doesn’t ask if you’re ready. But it does reward noticing.

And sometimes, the smartest thing you can do, in leadership and in life - is stop trying to eat cheese that simply isn’t there anymore.

Your turn:

Where has your cheese moved… and what are you still pretending exists? (Extra points if it happened at 3am.)

Melissa

This blog is part of a series first published on LinkedIn by Melissa Woodall, Client Relationship Director at Wates Group