An honest reflection on early motherhood, identity loss, and postpartum recovery.
No one really talks about what happens to you when a child enters your life. They don’t mention how you’re quietly saying goodbye to the person you once were—someone with more freedom, fewer responsibilities, and a clearer sense of self. There’s no ceremony, no formal acknowledgment, for the part of you that will never return. But the truth is, you emerge as someone entirely new. In many ways, it’s a rebirth.
Taking care of others used to be my profession—as a registered nurse, my focus was always on patients, managers, and hospital demands. Then motherhood changed everything. My entire sense of identity shifted, and suddenly, the only priority became survival—mine and my newborn son’s.
Looking back now, more than three years later, I realize how unprepared I was for the postpartum period. I didn’t expect the emotional and physical toll. There was so much crying—not just from my baby, but from me too. Yes, there were tears of joy when he arrived. I was overwhelmed with gratitude after the long, difficult journey my husband and I endured to bring him into the world during COVID. But along with that joy came exhaustion, anxiety, and a kind of isolation I had never known.
The quiet moments where I could hear myself think? Gone. His voice always came first.
The freedom to leave the house on my own time? Gone—because my husband needed a break too.
The spontaneity of booking concerts, author events, or foodie pop-ups? Gone—thanks to distance from family, the cost of childcare, or the constant cycle of illness.
A full night’s sleep? Laughable. I was constantly checking on him.
Those early months? Brutal. I don’t know how I made it through on 1–2 hours of sleep at night, living off short naps during the day.
Nothing about that time felt “magical.” It felt like I was unraveling.
I turned to online mom forums for reassurance, clinging to the words: “It’s normal. It gets better.” At the time, I couldn’t see how.
I felt like I was drowning. And many of the people in my life just didn’t get it.
Friends without children imagined a life full of cuddles and soft baby giggles.
Coworkers suggested I “nap when the baby naps” or “enjoy the time off.” But maternity leave was never a break. It was relentless. It was harder than any shift I had ever worked as a nurse.
Before motherhood, my life felt easy—maybe too easy. I didn’t know how much I had taken for granted.
Some people told me to go back to work to “feel like myself again.” But I couldn’t. That version of me—the caretaker—was depleted. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. What I needed wasn’t a job. I needed real recovery. Real self-care. And while I dreamed of an actual vacation, it never came.
Now, 3.5 years into this journey, I’m finally beginning to reclaim pieces of myself. Not the person I was before—but a new version. One who is still learning, still healing, and still growing through motherhood.
