Once upon a time, I was a passionate runner. Before parenthood, we all had our identities—artists, musicians, avid readers. Many find ways to keep those passions alive after having kids, but I couldn’t manage it.
When my first child arrived, the demands of daily life, combined with postpartum depression, left me feeling overwhelmed. Without family or friends nearby to lend a hand, I struggled to carve out a space for myself. Slowly, I felt myself fading into a new role, one I didn’t recognize or know how to embody. I often questioned where the person I was before motherhood had gone. With all the changes that came with being a wife and mother, there seemed to be no room left for me. I didn’t know how to balance the needs of my family with the urge to reconnect with the woman I once was.
For 16 years, I ran—wearing my favorite blue baseball cap as I navigated the pavement, dirt paths, and trails of Washington state. Running was my escape, my therapy, my way of coping with the chaos of life. Rain or shine, I ran. It was my freedom, and through each step, I felt a sense of control over everything life threw my way.
After marriage and relocating, life became more complicated. A running injury sidelined me, and soon I was welcoming my first child into the world. My running came to a halt. Motherhood brought an unexpected storm of exhaustion and a touch of postpartum depression I hadn’t anticipated. My blue cap was left hanging in my closet, gathering dust. When my second child arrived 17 months later, I slipped deeper into depression for a year.
I longed for the simplicity of running, for the way it made everything fade away with each footfall. I missed the euphoria that lingered long after a jog, the connection to my old self. Instead, I felt defeated and trapped, constantly trying to be everything to everyone.
I attempted to run again, but each effort left me feeling tired, out of shape, and frustrated. I often walked home in defeat, my head hung low. Running had become as complicated as my life. Everything felt unfamiliar.
This is the experience many of us share in the early years of motherhood. While we cherish the joys of raising children, we can’t help but remember who we were before and worry about losing that part of ourselves forever. We ponder how to move forward with such a significant piece of our identity seemingly missing.
The many roles of parenting can easily lead us astray from where we want to be. Yet, we navigate each day one step at a time. Soon, I found my old running hat, buried beneath jackets in my closet, the brim faded from years of shielding me from the rain. I put it on, laced up my shoes, and stepped outside.
I was slow, my chest burned, but I kept going. Within minutes, the world faded away, and I fell into a rhythm. My body remembered the runner I used to be, and as I continued, I rediscovered her too. That familiar euphoria washed over me, and I realized that she had never truly vanished. She had simply stepped back, allowing me to become the person my family needed.
As I ran down that road, I felt an overwhelming sense of reunion with my old self. We had much to catch up on. Rediscovering yourself takes time and patience, but it is possible. No matter how lost you feel, you are doing better than you think. The person you once were is still within you. She’s just waiting for the right moment to rejoin you. Until then, take each day one step at a time.
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