For the past eight years, my existence has been deeply intertwined with my two little ones. Almost everything I do revolves around them; after all, I wear the title of “Mommy.” The moment I saw those two pink lines was a highlight of my life; getting married and starting a family were my lifelong dreams. There I was, sitting in the basement with a glass of pink soda in a plastic goblet, stuffing a pillow under my shirt while binge-watching my favorite (now-canceled) show, Felicity.
However, the fantasy started to unravel when I realized that motherhood was far more demanding than just cuddling babies and marveling at their cuteness. Who signed me up for the chores? What do you mean we need to eat and wear clean clothes? I always thought being a Stay-at-Home Mom and Housewife were interchangeable; I just wish someone had clued me in on that earlier.
While I am grateful for the sacrifices my family made to allow me to stay home, I quickly found myself overwhelmed by the myriad of choices: nurse or formula feed? Cloth or disposable diapers? Should they sleep in our bed or in a crib? Each decision sparked self-doubt and insecurity, especially after the birth of my second son when I faced a tough bout of postpartum depression. My life revolved around diapers (definitely disposable), naps, and advocating for my four-year-old, who encountered challenges beyond his years. I felt trapped in the role of “Mommy,” surrendering any hope of being anything else.
Gradually, I began to pull myself out of that emotional pit. I learned to smile genuinely again, and when my oldest started school, I felt a mix of sadness and excitement. This change opened up a new chapter with my youngest, Eli, allowing us to bond over snuggles and adventures together.
Now, Eli is five, and kindergarten looms on the horizon. I’m struck by the reality that I’m about to enter a new phase of life. My childhood dreams were limited to the baby stage; all I wanted was to be a devoted Mommy. Soon, I will have six hours a day, Monday through Friday, to myself, and I find myself asking, what on earth will I do with that time?
“Okay, Julie, what do you enjoy doing?” Wait—who is Julie? Oh right, that’s me… or at least, that’s who I used to be. I’m realizing that outside of my role as a mother, I’m not entirely sure who I am anymore. I didn’t think beyond that dream, and the reality has proven to be far more complex. I’m not the same woman who first saw that positive pregnancy test; I’ve changed in profound ways.
The books I’ve written and those waiting to be published are unexpected passions I never envisioned, yet now they are integral to my identity. But apart from those, what else is there? Facebook? Pinterest? Sure, I could spend endless hours scrolling, but who wants to look back and say, “Wow, I really knew what everyone was cooking every night,” or “I pinned a ton of design ideas I’ll never replicate?”
I feel unprepared to step into this new life phase. Being “Mommy” is my identity; it’s what I do. But now, I have the chance to actually reflect on who I am and what I love. Admittedly, I’m a bit anxious about what I might discover about myself. But one thing is for certain: it’s time to rediscover who I truly am.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the challenges of motherhood and the journey of rediscovering oneself beyond the title of “Mommy.” It emphasizes the emotional complexities and responsibilities that come with raising children, while also inviting readers to consider their own identities and passions outside of parenthood.
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