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The Difference Time Makes: A Mother’s PFML Story in Virginia

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June 2, 2026

A personal reflection from Megan Mbagwu

Senior Director of Operations at Voices for Virginia’s Children

Photo by Charri Stewart Photography

Virginia families recently reached a historic milestone with the signing of Paid Family and Medical Leave (PFML).

For years, advocates, families, and organizations across the commonwealth have worked toward a future where people would not have to choose between a paycheck and caring for themselves or someone they love.

For me, this victory is deeply personal.

In October 2020, I became a mother for the first time. My daughter, Adalyn, came after a long 40 hours of labor.

Like so many other parents who welcomed babies during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, my story did not begin with big baby showers, hospital rooms full of excited visitors or family anxiously awaiting news in the lobby. Instead, it began with uncertainty, fear, and isolation.

At the time, I worked for a direct service nonprofit focused on family wellbeing. As the Operations Manager, I was helping staff navigate the realities of a public health crisis while preparing to become a mother myself. Like so many others, I was trying to care for my community while facing uncertainty in my own life.

At the same time, I was preparing to bring my first child into the world. A dream materialized.

Every parent pictures those first days and weeks a certain way. You imagine friends and family filling the hospital room, “oohing” and “ahhing” over the new miracle that you brought into the world. You imagine a revolving front door of visitors eager to capture baby snuggles and drop off meals. It’s an image of support, celebration, and love.

But in October 2020, none of that was allowed.

No one could visit us in the hospital. There were no extra hands to help. No rotating door of support. No village.

Instead, there was isolation and a growing fear of, “How do we keep this tiny human safe in the middle of a global pandemic?”

Like most Americans, I was not afforded paid family and medical leave. I was granted short-term disability for the period during which I was deemed “incapacitated” and unable to work; however, that period was limited to just six weeks, including one week that I was required to cover with PTO before qualifying for any paid benefits. One week of paid leave. Five weeks of short-term disability paid at 60% of my salary. That was it.

Six weeks to recover physically and emotionally from childbirth. Six weeks to learn how to be a mother and connect deeply with my daughter. Six weeks to adjust to an entirely new identity while the world itself felt like it was unraveling.

My husband was not offered any paid family leave. He was given the opportunity to use accrued paid time off, which at his company was minimal. Ultimately, he was only able to take one week. One week to help care for me and our daughter. One week to bond. One week to be truly present.

And then came another impossible reality: childcare.

Daycare centers were closed, operating under strict restrictions, or simply inaccessible. I couldn’t even tour a center if I wanted to. Every option felt uncertain, risky, or unavailable.

I ended up having to make a difficult choice, one so many parents, especially mothers, know all too well. I changed jobs in search of more flexibility so I could care for my daughter while continuing to work. That choice led me to Voices in December 2020, an organization that had been fighting for Paid Family and Medical Leave long before I ever became a staff member.

But what made Voices truly special wasn’t that it advocated for these policies. It lived them internally. Voices offered a place that truly prioritized what it was advocating for. It welcomed both me and my daughter, and in those early days, Adalyn truly became part of the team.

So, my daughter came to work with me. I balanced conference calls with breastfeeding. Emails with naps. Crisis management with caring for a newborn.

Then, in 2022, while still working at Voices, I welcomed my son. This time, I was offered a completely different experience. I was given 12 weeks of fully paid leave. Twelve weeks to bond and build a connection with my son. Twelve weeks to adjust to being a mother of two. Twelve weeks to try to squeeze out the little sleep I could in between feeds and diaper changes. Twelve weeks to heal and simply be present with my family.

The contrast between my two experiences could not have been more stark. My first was full of fear, exhaustion, and impossible choices. The other was grounded in stability, connection, healing, and support.

I was given the opportunity to embrace motherhood instead of survive it.

And that’s exactly why the passage of Paid Family and Medical Leave in Virginia matters. More Virginia families will be given the opportunity to be present for life’s most important moments without fear and impossible choices.

Because families should never have to choose between a paycheck and caring for a new baby. No one should have to return to work before they are physically, emotionally, or logistically ready simply because they cannot afford not to.

Governor Spanberger’s signing of PFML represents more than policy. It represents progress. It acknowledges something families have known forever: caregiving is work. Healing takes time. Bonding is essential. Family wellbeing deserves protection.

For far too long, families have been asked to “figure it out” on their own, patching together leave time and minimal benefit options, relying on privilege or personal support systems. But not everyone has a village.

Paid Family and Medical Leave changes the conversation.

Gov. Abigail Spanberger signing Paid Family and Medical Leave legislation

Gov. Abigail Spanberger signs Virginia’s Paid Family and Medical Leave legislation on May 11, 2026, alongside advocates, lawmakers, and families celebrating this historic milestone.

It tells parents that they are seen. That their health, their families, and their futures matter. It creates a pathway for families to make decisions rooted in care and stability rather than desperation and survival.

I often think back to those early days of becoming a mom, sitting in an office with my little girl, exhausted and anxious, trying to hold every piece together. I think about how different that experience could have been if policies like this had existed then.

And then I think about the families who will now get something so many of us needed: time.

Time to heal. Time to bond. Time to adjust. Time to breathe.