Motherhood doesn't mean losing who you're meant to be...

When you become a mum, suddenly, the person you were before feels a bit like a fever dream. It’s not that I want to be her, but I do miss her.. And that’s ok. 

I felt so sure of who I was before I had kids - I was still young and had big dreams. I was a Child and Youth Counsellor starting her career, we had just bought a house; y’know, we did all the things. My big dreams wouldn’t be achieved, though, until I became a mum. I had images of what it meant to be a mum, being the fun, easygoing soccer-mom-type who brought the snacks and the energy to everything I did. 

My world was a bit rocked. I had a traumatic first birthing experience, a difficult health journey postpartum with a lifelong diagnosis, then I fell pregnant again, and… well, I repeated exactly the same experience just in ~different font~… More traumatic postpartum experiences, another difficult health journey unrelated to my first... You could say all of the energy I imagined myself having was quite literally drained from me while not even being able to recover the first go around. 

Throughout all of this, I did sort of lose myself. I was all consumed with what it meant to be surviving through my own health issues, postpartum and motherhood, putting all of what was left of my energy into my two babies. I didn’t know who I was. I just knew who I wanted to be. 

Motherhood doesn’t mean losing yourself - I’d actually argue, it means stepping into potential. At first, lost. Complete, earth shattering loss that you cannot comprehend. For me, it was followed by an undeniable, unavoidable discovery of who I was at my core; a human who longed to be seen, heard, understood and valued. Motherhood has unveiled an extensive list of triggers, appreciations and newfound understanding of the inner workings of my mind, and my experiences. I have stepped into myself, knowing what I have to offer the world, while still, occasionally no, often, second guessing if I am doing it all “right” (what does right mean, anyways?). 

There are still days where I catch glimpses of that old version of me - the one who used to chase ambition with wide eyes and a full tank. Sometimes I mourn her, not because she had it all figured out (spoiler: she didn’t), but because she moved through the world with a kind of naive certainty I no longer carry. But I also wouldn’t trade places with her. Because now, I’ve earned my depth. I’ve lived through the unraveling, and I’m learning to weave something new from the threads.

I’m no longer interested in bouncing back. I’m not even sure I believe in that anymore. I’m more interested in growing forward - carrying the parts of me that still feel true, and allowing space for the parts that have changed. There’s strength in that. A quiet kind of resilience that doesn’t always get celebrated because it’s not flashy, it’s not loud.. it’s just steady. It shows up for the early mornings and the hard conversations and the emotional labour that comes with raising tiny humans while trying not to abandon yourself in the process.

I’m slowly rebuilding a version of me that’s rooted in intention, not performance. I’m learning that self-worth doesn’t come from productivity or perfection - it comes from presence. And presence, I’ve found, is messy and sacred and sometimes impossibly hard to hold onto. But I’m trying. I’m here. I’m still becoming.

- k