Essays on Motherhood: Transformation

Every two weeks, for the past year and a half, my sister and I have gone to get our nails done. Same place, same day, same time. I always pick her up. Her house is exactly 2 minutes and 43 seconds away from mine, which means I leave my house at the same time: 9:45 AM. Or, at least, that used to be the case.

Lately, I can’t seem to get there on time. I tell her I’m leaving in five minutes, but somehow, five turns into eight. Then, on the way there, I find myself driving to my daughter’s school instead of her house, completely on autopilot. What is going on? The “old me” would never have been late. I hate being late. So, who is this version of me?

This version of me is “Mother of a 2.5-Year-Old.”

Between 7:30 and 9:45 AM on this particular Saturday, life was a whirlwind. I wake my daughter, bring her downstairs, and start the morning with potty training (no success). Then it’s a diaper change because—naturally—she needs one the moment we’re done trying the potty. After that, it’s a pinball-machine frenzy of playtime. Kinetic sand to Elsa’s ice palace, Bluey’s toy car to a sticker book, then back to Bluey again, with a pit stop at the blocks. It’s chaos, and I love it. Then I realize: I haven’t showered since Tuesday. It’s Saturday. This is officially a problem.

So, upstairs I go to shower. I remember I bought myself a nice face mask and decide to use it because, I deserve a little moment of luxury, right? While the mask sets, I start adding groceries to our online cart—because after Christmas, our fridge is a sad, empty shell. Before I know it, here I am, I’m running late. I hop in the shower, determined to make it quick, but the hot water, the steam, the quiet—my brain starts to clear. My best ideas flow, and for the first time in days, I feel like me. Suddenly, it’s been 20 minutes.

End relaxing scene.

No clean clothes. No toothpaste. I’m rushing to dry my hair, put on deodorant and send a "leaving in five" text to my sister, but Siri can’t get the message right. I finally stop to type it out, and, of course, forget deodorant in the process. I rush downstairs, only to see my husband in a standoff to get our daughter to clean up. She’s flat-out ignoring him, and my mom guilt flares. I want to help, to be intentional about teaching her to listen, but I also need to go. And this is how “leaving in five” turns into eight.

By the time I'm at the stoplight outside my sister’s neighborhood, she’s texting to make sure I’m actually on the way. She knows I’m usually on time—or at least I used to be. At that stoplight, 25 seconds from her house, it hits me: This is me now. There’s no going back.

Motherhood is transformative.

Today, I’m writing this on my birthday. This is a gift to myself—a reflection on this transformation—and a gift I hope other mothers will find comforting too. You see, I often hear something from new moms that has weighed heavily on my mind: “I miss the old me.” And we feed them this myth: “You’ll feel like your old self again in no time.”

But here’s the truth: I will never feel like my old self again. She’s gone.

The Myth of “Feeling Like Your Old Self Again”

Where does this myth come from? Why do we tell new moms they’ll feel like their old selves again, as if motherhood is just a temporary detour instead of a permanent transformation? I have a few theories, and they all come down to one truth: we don’t understand the transformative nature of motherhood—or, really, transformation at all.

Think of the phrase, “I became a mother.” When you truly become something, can you ever un-become it? The idea of “un-becoming” doesn’t even seem to exist as a concept. Becoming a mother is entering into a completely new identity. To tell someone they’ll feel like their old self again is not only misleading but also harmful. It sets new moms up to believe they’re doing something wrong when the transformation feels disorienting or irreversible.

When we cling to the myth of “your old self,” we deny the reality of what’s happening. New moms are told they’ll reconnect with their old interests, pick up their old routines, and look in the mirror to see their old selves smiling back. But for so many of us, that’s not what happens. And when it doesn’t, we feel like failures.

We wonder why we can’t be on time anymore, why we no longer care about the hobbies we used to love, or why our routines feel foreign. We look in the mirror and don’t recognize the person staring back—not because we’ve lost ourselves, but because we’ve changed. But no one told us to expect that change, much less embrace it.

And it’s not just us who struggle with this. The people around us don’t understand the transformation, either. Much like grief, motherhood is uncomfortable for others to witness. People often expect new moms to “move on” from the postpartum period and rejoin life as it was before. Friends will send a few congratulatory texts when the baby is born, but when you are unable to accept their invitations to brunch or birthday bar crawls or game nights, you stop hearing from them.

At work, we’re expected to be back to normal in six weeks. If we’re not, the consequences are steep: we’re passed over for promotions, raises feel out of reach, and sometimes our jobs hang by a thread. The underlying message is clear: get back to who you were, or else.

In my early days of motherhood, I had a vivid reoccurring dream. I was surrounded by supportive people, doting on my baby and touching her little toes. And then we would all start walking together, but I needed to stop to soothe her or pump or change a diaper. I asked "Can you all stop for a second while I fix this?" No one stopped with me. I said "Hey, just one second, I'll just be one second." They turn around, still walking ahead and reassure me that I will catch up. I watch them get further and further ahead of me. This time, I shout, "Guys! Wait! Just give me a second!” but no one heard me. They all kept walking ahead.

I stood there, pleading, “Please, just wait a minute!” But no one waited. They kept walking until I couldn’t see them anymore. And I was left behind, rocking, pumping, or changing a diaper, trying to reconcile the person I used to be with the person I was becoming.

This is the reality of motherhood. It's not a dream. It’s not a detour. It’s a transformation. And transformation is hard—for everyone.

I think people offer platitudes like “you’ll feel like your old self again” because they’re uncomfortable sitting with the enormity of what new moms are feeling. Instead of acknowledging the depth of those feelings, people throw out cliches, hoping they’ll make us feel better.

But new moms don’t need cliches. We don’t need solutions. What would have helped me was someone hearing me say, “I’m lost” and responding, “It’s okay to feel lost. You’re not a failure for feeling this way.”

Grieving Your “Old Self”

Throughout this post, I’ve made a few comparisons between motherhood and grief. That’s because we don’t realize how much grieving naturally occurs over the course of our lives. We think of grief as something tied solely to death, but grief is so much more expansive than that.

Loss is an intrinsic part of life, and ancient texts and religious scriptures remind us over and over that there is something sacred and necessary about grieving when faced with a loss. But loss doesn’t always mean death. Loss can be the end of a friendship, the closing of a chapter, the disappearance of a dream, or—most poignantly in motherhood—the loss of your old identity.

Loss happens when a part of you, a piece of your life, ceases to exist. And in motherhood, this loss is inevitable. You step into an entirely new phase of life, one in which you can never return to the person you were before. The presence of your child changes everything—not just your daily routines, but also your values, your priorities, and the way you move through the world.

So yes, we grieve. We grieve for the “old self” that no longer exists, because, as we’ve established, there’s no going back.

Psychologist J. William Worden developed a model for mourning that consists of four tasks, and I think his framework provides a valuable lens for understanding this grief. These tasks of mourning have also been adapted to process other experiences of disenfranchised grief, a term coined by Dr. Kenneth J. Doka. Disenfranchised grief refers to forms of grief that are not acknowledged on a personal or societal level in modern culture. This type of grief often occurs when people do not recognize or validate your loss, feel uncomfortable with how you express your emotions, or judge your experience as insignificant. Enter, the grief experienced during postpartum.

The grief of motherhood often falls into this category of disenfranchised grief. The loss of your old self is ambiguous and difficult to define, which can make it even harder for others—and even yourself—to acknowledge. You’re expected to embrace motherhood as a joyful experience, and while joy is certainly part of it, the loss that comes with transformation is often ignored.

Worden’s tasks of mourning offer a framework for processing these losses, even when they’re disenfranchised. Though originally created for mourning the death of a loved one, these tasks can help us navigate the complex and often unacknowledged grief of losing our old selves in motherhood.

1. Accept the Reality

The first task is to come to terms with the fact that your old life and your old self are gone—and they’re not coming back. Acceptance means surrendering to reality as it is, not as we wish it to be. You can’t move forward while pretending the change hasn’t happened.

Acknowledging this loss is hard because it feels like letting go of a piece of yourself. But accepting the reality of this transformation doesn’t mean denying the importance of who you were. It means recognizing that you are different now, and that’s okay.

2. Process the Pain of This New Reality

Grieving your old self means allowing yourself to feel the pain of this loss. But here’s the catch: we’re not great at this. Culturally, we’re afraid to feel. We avoid discomfort at all costs, distracting ourselves, suppressing emotions, or rushing toward a solution.

But grief demands to be felt. Suppressing it doesn’t make it go away; it just prolongs the process. So let yourself experience the emotions that come with this transformation. Feelings of sadness, frustration, or even anger are natural. What isn’t natural is forcing yourself to bottle them up.

Grief isn’t just an emotion—it’s a process. And feeling the full range of that process is necessary to move forward.

3. Adjust to a World as Your “New Self”

You are different now. Life is not the same, and it never will be. This task is about adjusting and adapting to this new normal.

Motherhood calls for a reorientation of your routines, needs, feelings, and even your beliefs. It’s a constant restructuring of who you are in this new role. And while this adjustment isn’t easy, it’s essential. It’s how we rebuild, reshaping our world to reflect the person we’ve become rather than clinging to who we used to be.

4. Find an Enduring Connection with Your “Old Self”

Though your old self is gone, she’s still a part of you. The experiences, values, and memories of your “old life” helped shape the person you are now.

This task is about honoring your past self, not erasing her. Find ways to carry her with you—through cherished memories, lessons learned, or the parts of her that still resonate. Rather than focusing solely on what you’ve lost, see that time as a gift. Thank your old self for bringing you to this point.

In this way, you can create an enduring connection with your past while fully embracing the transformation of who you are now. As with any loss, allowing yourself the space to feel, adjust, and honor what was can make all the difference. The old you brought you here, and she deserves to be celebrated for that.

Rebuilding After Transformation

In my first year postpartum, I was lost. I didn’t even realize just how lost until recently. Friends had walked on ahead, leaving me behind in my new reality. I felt abandoned, alone, and without an identity as a mother or as my "old self". Everyone told me, “You’re doing great!” But great at what? I had no idea what I was doing, and hearing those words only made me feel more disconnected.

I sought therapy because I didn’t know where else to turn. I needed someone who could see me, hear me, and help me process the overwhelm. Finding a therapist who could work with my schedule and childcare situation was a challenge, but eventually, I found someone and made it work.

One of the first things I shared was my anxiety about the endless cycle I was trapped in: pumping, bottle feeding, washing bottles, bagging milk. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I told her how I felt trapped in my own home, bound by this relentless rhythm. Her response: “Why don’t you just put the bottles in the dishwasher?”

I can still remember the way I felt sitting there—already overwhelmed, already doubting my abilities as a mother, and now feeling stupid. Stupid, because I could’ve been putting bottles in the dishwasher all along. I mumbled something like, “Oh…yeah. I’ll just…put them in the dishwasher,” and we moved on.

But the problem wasn’t about the bottles. Once I started putting them in the dishwasher, my anxiety latched onto something else. Because it was never about washing bottles—it was about needing validation. I needed someone to look at me, a brand-new mom who had no idea what she was doing, who felt isolated in these feelings, and say, “You’re doing your best, and it’s okay to feel lost.” I needed someone to sit with me in my fear, not offer me a quick fix.

I canceled my next appointment, and I started taking training in maternal mental health care. I promised myself that no postpartum parent I worked with would ever leave a session feeling like I did that day.

Looking back, I didn’t know about Worden’s four tasks of mourning at the time, and I’m still not sure if or how I worked through them. What I do know is that I started to make meaning out of my transformation. Slowly, I am rebuilding.

I wanted to understand what I was experiencing so I could validate it for others. I pushed myself to create new friendships with other moms. I discovered interests that felt authentic to the “new me,” like writing and learning. And I found gifts in the transformation.

I connected with my mom and sister on a deeper level. They supported me through my process and then I found ways to try to support my sister during her transformation of motherhood and I began to understand my mom from a different perspective, establishing deep respect for her transformation as well. I formed a deeply genuine friendship with our nanny, whose support was beyond anything I could have imagined. I learned to embrace the duality of emotions—feeling two contradictory things at once and not forcing myself to choose one as “right.”

Motherhood broke me open, but from those broken pieces, I am rebuilding a version of myself that feels stronger, more connected, and deeply rooted in compassion.

Final Thoughts

I enter my 33rd year today and I naturally reflect on the 33 other versions of me that have celebrated this day over the years. Each version was unique, shaped by her own joys and challenges. But today, I’m grateful for this version of me. Despite the pain and confusion I experienced during the transformation of motherhood, this version is a mother to my very own little spot of sunshine.

This morning, she came running to tell me “good morning!” and I was reminded of the all-consuming love I have for her—a love that fires through every available neuron in my brain and fills every ounce of my body. It’s the kind of love that creates patience when I have none and laughter when I feel empty. I could whisper “I love you” to her all day and night, and I still don’t think she’d ever fully understand how much I mean it.

I hope to make this the first in a series of essays on motherhood, because there is so much more to say. Maternal rage. Isolation. The impossible expectations placed on working moms. Finding an identity outside of “mom.” These are topics we don’t talk about enough, and they need space to be explored.

If you’re reading this and you feel lost, know this: you are not alone. You are not failing because you miss your old self or because you’re struggling to make sense of who you are now. You are not broken because this transformation is harder than you imagined.

The grief of losing your old self is real, and it’s valid. You’re allowed to mourn, to feel angry, to feel scared. And you’re also allowed to find joy, love, and meaning in this transformation. Both can exist at the same time.

Motherhood is a profound, life-altering experience. It changes everything, and it can leave us feeling disconnected. But it’s also an opportunity to rebuild, to discover parts of ourselves we didn’t know existed, and to create connections that are richer and deeper than ever before.

Happy birthday to me, and happy becoming to all of us.