Becoming Me (Again): Finding Yourself in the Middle of Motherhood
I used to think identity crises were reserved for teenagers and midlife. Then I had a baby, and realized that isn’t the case. They also show up sometime around 2 AM, in milk-stained pajamas, holding a crying baby and wondering who the heck you are now and when the fuck this kid is going to sleep.
Motherhood is beautiful. Sacred, even. But let’s not sugarcoat it, it's also disorienting as hell. One day you’re yourself with all of the freedom in the world then you blink and you’re someone's everything. Their actual lifeline. And in between diaper changes, wake windows, and microwaving your own coffee for the fourth time, you start to wonder: Where did I go?
I Cried More Than I Thought I Would
After becoming a mom, I started going to therapy. Not because anything was “wrong” but because everything changed. I cried…a lot. Not just the soft, reflective tears either. The kind that surprise you. The kind you swallow in the car while your baby sleeps in the backseat. The kind that say I’m not okay but don’t feel like they have a place in polite conversation.
I quite literally ran myself into the ground trying to hold everything together—home, baby, work, marriage, meals, me. I was functioning. Smiling, even. But inside, I was cracked open. I was tired, and honestly, I was angry. Angry that no one really prepares you for this part. That even when you’re surrounded by love, you can still feel so alone.
It Takes a Village (But Yours Might Be at Work, or Overwhelmed, or Far Away)
We’ve all heard it: It takes a village to raise a child. But these days? The village is at work, in another state, or barely keeping their own head above water. Everyone is busy. Everyone is stretched thin. And suddenly, you’re the one doing all the stretching; physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Alone.
This isn’t to say people did help me, they did but only when they could and I get that! I’ll never hold it against anyone but in all reality the amount and consistency of which I needed help was far out of anyone else’s capabilities with their own lives and schedules. Being a mom that works from home and having our child home with me during the week, it was all on me and it was not only exhausting physically but emotionally.
I kept waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, You’re doing a great job. Let me take over for a minute. But no one came. So I started learning to tap my own shoulder. To put the baby in the crib and breathe. To ask for help even when it felt uncomfortable. To admit I couldn’t keep doing it all. It was a hard realization to come to but I realized that while people like to pretend it takes a village, it really is most of the time on me so I needed to learn how to save myself.
My daughter goes to daycare 2 days a week so there are 3 that she is home with me and I have to balance work and taking care of her but we make it work. Some weeks are more trying than other but I have learned to really lean on my 2 days where she is at daycare for anything important/pressing at work or at home. I go to therapy every 2 weeks(ish) and just wake up every day trying my best. While my village can’t be here in the way society and older generations had it, they can be here in different ways and I am still learning to lean on them in those ways. It is a constant learning curve.
The Quiet (and Loud) Identity Crisis
Motherhood cracked me wide open. I didn’t just lose sleep. I lost pieces of myself. My independence, my creative energy, even my sense of humor sometimes and while some of it has come back, it came back different. Reshaped. Wiser.
I used to strive to be the "perfect mom." Calm, collected, always present, never rattled. I wanted to be healed and whole again. But then it clicked, I don’t need to be perfect. I just need to be real. For me. For my baby. For the woman I’m still becoming. Who I show up as everyday is going to be how my little girl shapes her personality, emotions and how she perceives the world and that is motivation enough to keep trying to be better.
Motherhood can be the most intense kind of mirror. It shows you who you are, who you want to be, and what you want your children to see when they look at you. It is a complete reshaping of who you are and while it has tested me in MANY ways, it has made me grow into a totally different person. One that I am learning to love so deeply. One of strength. One of confidence. One of hope.
Realigning With What You Truly Want
Somewhere in the unraveling, I found clarity.
Motherhood forced me to slow down. To reassess what actually matters to me. I started to dream again, differently this time. Not dreams of doing everything, but dreams of doing what feels aligned. I started writing again. I started saying no. I started choosing myself because I want my daughter to grow up watching a woman who knows her worth. Who shows up passionately, lovingly and confidently. I want her to feel so sure about who she is when she moves through this world and I needed to learn to do that myself.
Now I’m becoming someone new. Not who I was before. Not some perfect version of me. Just the version that’s rooted, honest, and growing. One that laughs again. One that rests. One that shows up, not out of obligation, but out of love.
A Few Gentle Reflections for the New You
Grab a pen, or just think on these during nap time:
What part of your old self do you miss and what are you glad to leave behind?
What lights you up now, in this version of your life?
Where are you pretending you’re okay when you’re really not?
If your child grew up to treat themselves the way you treat yourself, what would they learn?
What small act of self-kindness can you offer yourself today?
You’re not lost. You’re becoming someone new and even on the hardest days, that’s something to be proud of.
So here’s to the person you’re uncovering; messy, strong, tired, glowing. Not perfectly healed. Not always cheerful. Just you. Honest, present, growing.
Little eyes are watching. Not to see if you’re perfect but to see how you take care of yourself.
