Me before Her

Hello friends, 

You hear other women talk about how they felt like they've lost part of themselves when they became mothers, listen to them as the lament their past selves, and think to yourself; that'll never be me. And here I am, posting old selfies and reminiscing on the weirdo that once was....

There really is this great reflection period that happens when you have this little shadow following you around all day. You're so caught up in the daily grind of making sure they don't jump off the side of the couch or eat that damn wire they've been clawing at all week, and it feels like there's little room for that central sense of 'you'...not to mention that silent judgement from all of society. It's like some secret council forms the day you have your kid that quietly judges everything from the way you styled your hair that day, to the way you lost your cool on the stroller in the grocery store parking lot as you tried to put it in your trunk.... so you try to curb the beast. You dress a little nicer. You 'mom'.

Admittedly, I did lose myself there in the chaos for a moment a few months ago.  But as my little gremlin grows, she's a year old now, I'm finding tiny pockets of time to rekindle that old flame. This blog and my Patreon have been one of those tiny pockets. Before the house wakes up in the morning, I find a moment or two to sit down at my desk and vomit out some random thoughts into the void. Much nostalgia. Very millennial. 

But I miss her, especially in the moments where life is just so overwhelming. It's not to say this new version of me doesn't have her glowing moments. The resilience I've grown into has brought about so much strength and I've learned so many lessons in motherhood already. Yet, there are some days where I'll look back at these old photos and wonder how that wild child got so mild. 

Was it the chaos along the way? Did it grind off my sharp edges, or has this child molded me into something completely new? 

Daily life now is very predictable. Laundry. Dishes. Bottles. Bathtime. Repeat. 

And though there is a part of me that has really enjoyed the comfort of a solid routine, I can't help but think back to a time in my life where it was all so unpredictable and be nostalgic. There was a hardness to me back then that could take on some of the wildest challenges that life could throw at me. I was grinding so hard for my art and relentlessly pursued my dreams of becoming a professional artist. But truthfully if I look back at those times with a more critical eye, I remember many a year of deep depression and isolation. I've traded the excitement of the hustle culture and art scene for the comfort and stability of family, and most days that feels like more than just a good trade. 

But there's a bit of a grieving process I've been going through since becoming a mother. I grieve my old routines and the more relaxed nature of that old schedule. I grieve the freedom of responsibility and not having to be the keeper of another soul. And I grieve that feeling of only being one person. Right now, it feels like there's part of me and my physical body that just doesn't belong to me anymore and in a way it doesn't. 

I look back at these photos now with a weary nostalgia, and I find myself fighting the urge to become wistfully sour that I am no longer her. There's a bit of a tug-of-war going on and I think I'm somewhere in this middle space in the journey of womanhood that has me pulling on both the past and present. I love this life of motherhood and family, but I've yet to fully let go of that older version of myself. Which does not allow me to fully embrace the new version. And that has created tension.

The strength and motivation that I once gave freely to my art is now coopted by this demanding little milk monster. And to say that I haven't felt that change and its weight would be a lie. But here's the thing, even though I have given space to this grief, the whole experience opened me up to a multitude and somehow, I've found even more space within to be able to feel both at the same time... the grief and the gratitude. 

 In a way, I suppose I'm trying to make peace with this monumental shift in identity. And I think giving myself permission to feel the shift and grieve as it transitions is valid. It's something I never really expected when preparing for this season of my life, I'd never missed a version of myself before. In my experience, it was always this feeling of being excited to shift and grow without any semblance of missing something. The more I think about it though; it feels like a gift to miss her. 

There is a version from the not-so-distant past that was so magical that the ripples of her vibe still echo out into the universe today and make me miss her vibrancy. I had created such a strong sense of self that now that I'm changing, her grip is still so strong and that is a testament to her power. She's not really lost though. She's just shapeshifted into an even stronger form. With that perspective shift, I'm trying to reframe this lingering nostalgia into a building block of this current interpretation of that old wild child. I've not lost anything. I've gained wisdom, patience and resilience. Everything that came before this new interpretation now informs it; she is shaping me as a mother. 

That memory of self isn't gone, she didn't disappear and this narrative society places on us as mothers having 'lost something' in motherhood robs us of all those years before our children that we painstakingly built our identities. All those years were the lessons we can now pass along to our daughters. The years of poor fashion choices and those outfits that made you feel like a million bucks are the style you now proudly wear as a roadmap to influencing their own expression. All those party days you reminisce on are the weary tales you'll tell them as they step foot into adolescence. The way I hustled and busted my ass in the art scene are now motivations my kid can look to for her own motivation and drive when she eventually enters the workforce.  All opportunities to reframe the love of my former femininity and identity into a beautiful guide to raising my kid. 

Maybe it's because I lost my mom at such a young age, that this all now feels revolutionary and mind blowing, but these lessons are ones I've formed out of experience rather than through explanations. I know through the years of learning to be without her, I've isolated from the women in my community. For a very long time, just being around women and especially maternal figures in my family and inner circles, was just too painful. And maybe it's some weird cosmic joke that I now have placed another chain in the feminine cycle of my mother and I by having a daughter. I hope these ramblings can give someone a piece of knowledge in case they too are in a similar situation like I was...where you feel lost in motherhood and the feminine identity. If it doesn't, thanks for reading any way! 

With my little shadow now in tow, I am afforded the opportunity to craft a new chapter in this expansive novel my life is eternally blossoming into. The ways I react to her need to push boundaries and the way I show up physically in the world as her mother, the face I present to the world, are all exciting new adventures. And I can use all those old renditions to inform and sculpt my next story. So instead of crying over old selfies and missing my party days, I'll use them as a mirrored mentor to help navigate this transition into my motherhood role. And I extend gratitude to my grief and all my past selves for their time and lessons, because me after her is such a cool bitch!

all the love, 

<3 h.