Before I became a parent, I was a passionate runner. Remember when we were all something before kids? Artists, musicians, and insatiable readers? Some manage to weave their passions into parenthood, but I was not one of those lucky few.
The whirlwind of life with my first child, coupled with postpartum depression, left me feeling overwhelmed. Without the luxury of family or friends nearby to lend a hand, I found it tough to carve out space for myself. Slowly, I felt myself transitioning into a new identity—one I had never been before and didn’t know how to embrace. I often pondered where the vibrant person I used to be had gone. With the multitude of changes that came with being a wife and a mother, I struggled to find room for myself amidst the demands of everyone else.
For 16 years, I had run with a dark blue cap shielding me from the elements, traversing through roads, trails, and muddy paths. Running was my escape; it cleared my mind from the chaos of life. It was my therapy, my high, my way of coping with whatever life threw my way. With every run, I felt invincible.
Then life got a bit messier after marriage and moving to a new state. I faced a running injury, settled into a new home, and juggled a new job—all while expecting my first child. Running became a distant memory. Motherhood ushered in its own chaotic reality, rife with postpartum struggles and exhaustion I never envisioned. My beloved blue cap hung forgotten in my closet, gathering dust. Seventeen months later, I welcomed my second child and slipped deeper into a year-long depression.
I yearned for the simplicity of running, where every footfall melted my worries away. I longed for the euphoria that came with a jog, the kind that lingered for days. I missed that sense of freedom and independence, instead feeling trapped in a life where I was constantly expected to be everything for everyone. The idea of bounding over creeks and dodging rocks seemed like a distant dream.
I attempted to run a few times, but fatigue and weight held me back. Each time, I found myself giving up. Sometimes I’d cry out of frustration; other times I’d feel anger toward myself. Usually, I just ended up walking home, head hung low. Running had become as complicated as everything else in my life. Everything felt foreign.
This is the reality many of us face in the initial years of motherhood. Amidst the joy and laughter with our children, it’s hard to forget the person we once were. We wonder how long we can cling to her memory before she fades entirely, leaving us adrift in uncertainty. Will we ever reconnect with her? How do we move forward with such a significant part of ourselves missing?
The demands of parenting can easily overshadow our desires and identities. Yet, we tackle each day, each issue, one step at a time. The early years of motherhood are navigated one hour, one day at a time.
One afternoon, nearly six years later, I stumbled upon my old running cap, now hidden behind a stack of jackets. Its brim had faded from years of protecting me from the elements while I ran in the Pacific Northwest. With a surge of nostalgia, I tossed it on, laced up my sneakers, and hit the pavement. I was slow and struggled, but I pressed on. Within minutes, the world faded away, leaving only the sound of my breath. I found my rhythm again, and my body remembered the runner I used to be. As I finished my run, a familiar euphoria washed over me—one I hadn’t felt in years.
In that moment, I realized the old me had never truly vanished. I had merely set her aside to fulfill the needs of my family. She had been patiently waiting for the right moment to return. As I ran down the final stretch, I poured out the weight of those eight years onto the pavement. My old self and I had reunited, and we had a lot of catching up to do.
Reclaiming your identity takes time, patience, and often years. But it will happen, and believe it or not, you’re doing better than you think. Don’t lose sight of who you were amidst the chaos of motherhood. That version of you is still there, quietly waiting for the right moment to resurface. Until then, take each day, one step at a time.
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Summary
The journey of motherhood often leads us to lose sight of our former selves. Jamie Thompson reflects on her struggles with identity post-baby, the challenges of postpartum depression, and ultimately rediscovering her passion for running. By taking life one step at a time, she reconnects with the woman she used to be, reminding readers that their past selves are still within reach.