My home is blissfully quiet right now. I sit by the window, watching my boys play outside, when I suddenly hear one of them start to cry. I take a moment before getting up, knowing it’s just a typical sibling spat, and that my youngest, Ben, is already moving on from it.
These serene moments come in quick bursts—five minutes here, maybe fifteen there—interspersed between requests for snacks or band-aids for the latest scraped knee. While I might think of these quiet intervals as a rarity, I realize they happen more often than I perceive. Yet, they feel like fleeting glimpses in a day packed with chaos, hardly sufficient to accomplish anything meaningful.
More often than not, when silence descends, my mind is anything but peaceful. I find myself wiping down the counter while mentally ticking off my to-do list. After cleaning the kitchen, I’ll tackle the laundry, then grab a quick bite. Swim lessons are starting soon, so I need to stock up on sunscreen. What’s for dinner tonight? I should really enroll Noah in dance classes. Any minute now, Ethan will wander in and announce he’s bored again. Have I spent quality time with Mia this week? Summer is slipping away too fast. I wish I could sneak in a nap. What is that sticky stuff on the cabinet? I need to teach these kids to clean up after themselves. Did I ever get around to that life insurance call?
It’s a relentless stream of worries and tasks, a whirlwind of thoughts that rarely slows down. The quiet moments are but a blip in my ongoing mental reel, filled with family needs and obligations.
I often hear the sentiment that women lose their identity to motherhood. Some insist that they haven’t vanished, and I find myself resonating with both viewpoints. While I know I’m still present beneath the mental chatter, there’s little room for my own thoughts amidst the constant juggling of everyone else’s needs. That’s what I mean when I say I’ve lost myself in motherhood—not that I can’t think independently, but simply that my thoughts are often buried under an avalanche of daily responsibilities.
Reflecting on my life before kids, I struggle to recall what it felt like to act spontaneously or make plans without considering the impact on my children’s schedules. That’s the essence of my feeling lost; I can’t remember the last time I sat down without that incessant internal dialogue urging me to check off another item from my list or reminding me to guide a child toward independence.
The thoughts swirling in my mind aren’t solely negative, though. They resemble practicing a vital skill for survival—not just for me, but for everyone around me. Some days, my tasks are less dramatic and might involve locating a lost toy that my toddler can’t stop talking about, yet it still feels all-consuming.
When moms express feelings of having lost themselves, it’s often because they need a quiet moment to reconnect with who they are. Instead, there’s a nagging voice whispering that we should be productive while the kids are occupied, or we find ourselves staring blankly out the window, grateful for a rare peaceful moment, just wishing we could sit without being needed.
In the past, we might have picked up a book in our quiet moments, but now we long to simply zone out for a minute. It takes longer to shift gears, reconnect with friends, or remember our own needs. Those parts of ourselves that existed before children haven’t disappeared; they’re just buried beneath the daily demands of motherhood.
This is why you might see women aimlessly wandering the aisles of Target, captivated by pretty things. For a few moments, it feels indulgent to engage in something mindless. We’re not empty shells—we’re still creative, artistic, and spontaneous; it just takes more effort to quiet our minds and tap into who we are.
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In summary, motherhood often feels like a whirlwind of responsibilities, leaving little space for personal reflection. However, recognizing these fleeting quiet moments can help mothers reconnect with their identities and remember that their essence still exists, waiting to be rediscovered.